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rows alternately plain and purled, to set into the band round the neck, and fasten off.

Those who are quick knitters may do a front for the skirt of a short frock in the same way, beginning it, like the stomacher, with twenty-one stitches, and continuing until the requisite length is completed. For the trimming, cast on lo stitches, and knit a plain row.

1st of patterns. -K 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 1, in 1, k 2 t, m 2, k 2.

2nd.-K 3, p 1, k 2, X m 1, k 2 t, k 1 X twice.

3rd.-K 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 1, m 1, k 2 t, k 4.

4th.-K 6, x ml, k 2 t, ki x twice.

5th.-K 3, ml, k 2 t, k 1, m 1, k 2 t, m 2, k 2 t, m 2, k 2.

6:h.-K 3, p 1, k 2, p 1, k 2, X m , k 2 1, ; 4th.-K 3, in 1, k 2 t, p 3, in 1, p 2 t, ; 2, k k 1 x twice.

2, m 1, k 2 t, k 1. 7th.-K 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 1, m 1, k 2 t, k 7. 5th.-K 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 1, in 1, k 2 t, k 1,

sth.—Cast off five, k 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 1, m 1, slip 1, k1, pass the slip stitch over, m 1, k 3, k 2 t, k 1.

mi, k 2 t, k 1. This trimming is to be used for the top, 6th.-Like 2nd. sleeves, and epaulettes, the double open hem 7th.-K 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 2, m 1, slip 2 togebeing made in order that the pattern may be ther, knit 1, pass the two slip over, in 1, k 4, perfect above the muslin band and hems, whilst m 1, k 2 t, k 1. these are covered mostly by the second open sth.-R 3, m 1, k 2 t, m ), p 2 t, p 3, p 2 t, hem.

m 1, k 2, m 1, k 2 t, kl. For the band, cast on 17 stitches, and do five Repeat these eight rows until a sufficient roivs, alternately knitted and pearled.

length is done for the band ; about thiree-quarters Ist pattern row.-K 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 1, slip 1, of a yard if the whole band be knitted, or threek 1, pass the slip stitch over, m 1, k1, m 1, k eighths if the front only be done. Line the band 2 t, k 3, m , k 2 t, k 1.

and front with pink ingrain gingham, which 2nd. -- K 3, m 1, k 2 t, p 7, k 2, m 1, k 2 t, washes with the dress. Make up the dress with

jaconet, in preference to twill inuslin, and trim 3rd.—K 3, m 1, k 2 t, slip 1, k 1, pass the the skirt with edging to correspond with that slip stitch over, m 1, k 3, m 1, k 2 t, k 2, m 1, of the body. k 2 t, k 1.

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kl.

POINT LACE INSERTION. Materials : Evans's Point Lace Cottons; white a. Brussels Lace, Evans's Boar's Head, Cotton Braid, No. 7.

No. 90. For the instructions and diagrains for the b. Venetian Edging, Evans's Boar’s Head, Point Lace Stitches, see the “New Monthly No. 70. Belle Assemblée” for January, 1851.

c. Dotted Venetian Bars, Evans's MecklenTrace the pattern on coloured paper from the burgh, 100. engraving, and line it with a piece of linen ; The open rounds of button-hole stitch are braid it throughout, and work the stitches in worked in the same thread. the following threads :

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EMBROIDERED PURSE.

Materials :-Half-a-yard of French canvas, No. A diagram is given of one side of the canvas

40, 5 inches wide, 2 banks of large gold work. The two sides of each end are worked beads, 8 strings of transparent white, of the on one piece, divided only by a cross stitch line same size, 4 skeins of emerald green floss of floss silk, on which the fringed garniture is silk, 2 skeins of netting silk to match, and sewed. The pattern must be worked from the half-a-yard of sarsnet ribbon of the same hue; diagram given, the gold beads being first put 2 fringed purse-ends and rings.

on; these are distinguished by a x in the centre

of a white square. The white beads are then to The mode of working this purse, by doing be added : they are marked by a white round on the ends on fine canvas, is one now first intro- a black square. The grounding is done in green duced to the public. It is particularly suitable floss silk. Of course the canvas must be profor those who carry a good deal of money about perly stretched on a frame before it is worked. with them, as the ends can never tear or give The beads are put on with strong silk. Leave way. We all know the consequences of a dropped an inch or two of canvas between the pieces, for loop in knitting, and of a stitch giving way in the two ends. crochet; and how often a handsome purse is The space for the rings is knitted in the folthus rendered utterly useless. Embroidered lowing manner :-Green netting silk, and two ends are quite free from this defect, and have a needles, No. 17. Cast on 84 stitches, and knit very handsome appearance.

one plain row.

Pattern :-* knit 1, make 1, knit two together X. Repeat this to the end, and continue it for every row, until sufficient is done: then knit one plain rol, and cast off.

TO MAKE UP THE Purse.Sew up the sides of the canvas as closely as possible (which can only be done by sewing thein on the right side). Make linings of the ribbon to fit the ends, put them in, and sew them together at the seams and ends. Sew the knitting to one end, letting the opening come in the centre of one side; slip on the rings and run on the other end. Conceal the joins of the side of the canvas, and those where the knitting is sewed on, by a row of gold beads, fasten on the fringe, and the purse is complete.

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H 0 W L E Y H A L L.

Howley Hall, once the magnificent seat of the manor hall,” he said. “It had spared this Savile family, has little left to record the former ruin and desolation, and left the building a greatness and beauty of its construction. The model ornament of what an English residence extent of the site may be easily traced. A few should be. But man has been less sparing in broken walls, that rise as if in mockery of their the work of destruction : he has levelled the former pageantry and power-some arched pas- glory of a great family, and scattered its might sages underground, choked with rubbish and and grandeur with the dust! I do not know fallen mortar-work—an ancient and crumbling whether the history of these old walls be ingateway, on which appears, in a worn and teresting to you”- here I assured him that his weather-beaten condition, the armorial bearings information was most acceptable. He then conof its former possessors, are all that now remain tinued :—"The house was built by Sir John to impress the mind of the wanderer with an Saville, the first alderman of Leeds, in the year idea of its former glory. By Camden it was 1599. For two centuries it stood the admiracalled ades elegantissima, and is said to have tion and pride of the neighbourhood. The magbeen well deserving of the name. Standing on nificence of its ancient proprietors, the ancestral an eminence, commanding a wide and fine view dignity it sustained amid a fair and beautiful of the surrounding country, which must at one country, had rendered it distinguished among tine have been singularly picturesque and in the homes of old England. This broad and eleteresting, the ruins still retain many charms, vated site, these few scattered and crumbling and are the scene of numerous pleasure parties stones, now remain but a melancholy illustration in the summer season. From the ruins south- ; of all temporal greatness--a solemn spectacle of ward is a steep decline, terminating in a pleasant the mutability of terrestrial things-a tablet on valley, over which the eye ranges untiringly. the face of nature, over which the wild winds of The opposite height is covered by an ancient heaven sweep and bear aloud the letterless inwood, through which are many romantic walks. scription, Åd nihilum recidit ! What brought The retired situation of the place-the noble about the destruction and desolation you see height and shade of the forest-trees--the grand around is still a mystery among those who have views, interspersing hill and dale, wood and visited the place. It was rumoured that the pasture land—the straggling ruins that are to misrepresentations of a designing steward in the be seen from almost any part of the locality, family was the primary cause; and other and would alone render it worthy of a visit. But it more gloomy insinuations have been offered. is associated with historical incidents that give Certain it is, that the place was undermined and an additional, if not a greater, interest to the reduced to the ground by means of gunpowder. place. Few who have had the gratification of The history of its fate in other respects seems loitering over these grounds have had a better wrapt in gloom and uncertainty." opportunity than myself of knowing the most From these legendary incidents my friend notable events connected with them. It is very rather abruptly digressed, commencing a ramseldom we find an individual residing in a bling history of the adjacent places, in that parvicinity of this description that knows more of ticular strain of conversation that betrays a the place than ourselves; and if he does, the readiness to communicate, with a temerity or chances are that it would take a strict and per- consciousness of wearying his auditor, giving a severing cross-examination to get anything from hasty and laconic expression to his descriptions. him at all interesting. In my visit to Howley I Directing my attention southward, towards the was more fortunate. As I was rambling by the wood skirting the angle of the opposite hill, he old gateway, which is now converted into a cot- entered into the history of its antiquity, of its tage, and occupied by a gamekeeper, I was former proprietors, its extent, the quality of its joined by an elderly gentleman, residing, as I timber, the beauty of its bowers and walks, its afterwards learnt, in the neighbourhood. He sunshine and shade, and all the anecdotes conszemed desirous of being communicative, and I nected with it. He told me that it was called shoved every disposition to favour his verbosity. “The Babes in the Wood,” in memory of the After volunteering some remarks on the weather, two children murdered there, so beautifully rem and the prospects of the approaching harvest, corded in one of our old English ballads. When he ran off into a long history of the old hall, I smiled incredulously at his story, he assured and the adjacent scenery; and as this was a sub- me that it was the traditionary scene alluded 10 ject on which I felt most nearly concerned, 1 by the ancient song-writer. I remembered the lent an attentive ear. Finding that he had got a legend: simple and touching, it has found a most patient auditor, my new-made acquaint- home in many an English heart. How the poor ance grew warm and eloquent in his descrip- children were given by the will of their remorsetions, pointing out the various places he alluded less uncle into the hands of the murderers-to in his speech, till his gestures grew warm and how the assassins quarrelled, wavered in their eloquent as his words.

purpose, and spared the innocent babes-how "Time had dealt more leniently with the old they gave them up to a more cruel death, left

N

It was,

them in the wood to starve and die-how the ground, and the turf is now growing over its poor plaintive red-breast sang a dirge over their sides, barely leaving the almost unintelligible little cold lifeless bodies, and covered them with inscription for the curious gaze of the visitor. the autumn leaves : the whole story came fresh Looking over the adjacent country, I descried and true to my memory. Although my anti- the long chimneys of the Leeds factories, a few quarian friend did not get the ascendancy of my miles distant, sending forth their clouds of incredulity, he excited me with an interest for smoke over the ancient and princely estate of the place, inasmuch as I afterwards paid it a the Meynell family, Temple Newsome; forinerly visit. I found many relics of its antiquity : an- a residence of the Knights Templar. The smokecient timber was interspersed here and there- besmeared houses of Batley lay at the foot of the romantic glades and walks, as they prinnevally hill beneath ine, by which the railway runs, constood, gave an interesting wildness tothe scenery; necting that place with Leeds. Turning away decayed leaves, the accumulation of many an from the place, I thanked my friend for the inautumn, had inade a soft and agreeable path. formation he had given me, and looking towards The solitude, only broken on by the rustling the lofty spire of Wakefield's venerable church, of the game among the underwood, had serious I retraced my steps homeward. R. H. B. if not solemn impressions for the soul. indeed, a pleasant place to loiter away a thought

THE AUTUMN WIND. ful half-hour ; and I went away, almost con

Thou Spirit wild and lone, vincing myself of its association with so great

Making such mournful moantraditionary lore.

Thy voice comes o'er my feelings with a sharp After ascertaining that I had no great distance and aching pain ; and like some lone vind-harp to journey, and some time still at my disposal, Stirr’d by the night-breeze, my sad, beating heart the antiquary proposed that I should accom- Gives back a thrilling answer, taking part pany hiin to another part of the locality, to view

In quivering tone. an interesting memorial of a different descrip

Again that mournful strain! tion. Leaving the ruins, we presently came in

Doth it not tell so plain sight of two or three gloomy-looking houses, of blighted hopes ?-of days of youth bygone ?chietly remarkable for their antiquity: The Of those departed dear ones, from us torn windows, and I may say the architecture in most By death's cold hand ?-ofyoung eyes, once all bright respects, was of the style of the fifteenth cen- With love, and joy, and truth, to meet the sight tury; and the interior, which I was informed

Never again? did not belie the impressions gained from an ex

Hark, how it idly grieves ! terior view, was built with walls of black oak,

Stirring the fallen leaves, casting a gloom even on the brightest day. With rustling wail! Doth it not seem to say, Passing through a farm-yard, we emerged into All lovely things of earth must pass away an open plain of pasture-land, over which was

Into one common tomb for evermore; but I cut an uneven and rugged occupation road. Must still live on-alas! I cannot die About fifty yards forward is a small hollow, to

Death ever weaves avoid which the road has been raised. Within

His net for all things here. this hollow, buried almost in the green sward,

The young, the bright, the dear lies a large stone. There is nothing remarkable I see spring up and bloom-then fade away, in the stone itself, and a casual observer might Mix'd in a mass of undistinguish'd clay, pass it without bestowing any extraordinary with all vile things; and over them, in vain, curiosity in its discovery. My guide, however, with breaking heart, 1 pour my mournful strain directed my attention to it; and with some dif

Still year by year. ficulty, on very minute examination, Ide

Now with a solemn sweep ciphered the following characters :

Of music, low and deep, Nevison killed Fletcher, 16-.” The last two Through the half leafless oak-wood's open doors, figures, intended to chronicle the period of that Like a full anthem's sacred swell it pours, particular event, had become so worn with age,

And on the billowy sounds of sorrow surge, that I could not possibly note the year. I was told And now they die away in fitful dirgethat this was a favourite resort of Nevison, the

And now like sleep, notorious highwayman, a female towards whom

A silence most profound he made some professions of courtship, residing

Creeps over wood and groundin one of the neighbouring houses... A pro- Unutterably sad— past all belief;

A solemn pause in Nature's holy griefclamation offering a large reward for the apprehension ofthe adventurous roadsman, had induced Had breath'd a deep, unconquerable despair

As though the troubled Spirit of the air two brothers named Fletcher to engage in his

On all around. capture. Having traced him to Howley, and coming to close quarters, Nevison saw at once

Ah, me! I cannot choose that his only chance of escape was in the death Themselves in old remembrances of yore

But weep! my spirits lose of one of his antagonists, and without hesitation

Of things that once have been, to be no morehe fired his pistol on the foremost, who fell on

Oh, never more! and low I lay my head the spot. The stone was erected some years Among the yellow leaves on earth's cold bed, afterwards to commemorate the event; it has,

And life refuse ! however, for a long time been levelled with the

ALBERT TAYLOR.

“ Here

HINTS TOP E DES TRIAN S.

Of all exercises, Walking is the most simple The moderate pace.—Here the weight of the and easy. The weight of the body rests on one body is advanced from the heel to the ball of the foot while the other is advanced; it is then foot; the toes are less turned out, and it is no thrown upon the advanced foot while the other longer the toe, but the ball of the foot, which is brought forward; and so on in succession. first touches and last leaves the ground; its outer

In this mode of progression, the slowness and edge, or the ball of the little toe, first breaking equal distribution of motion is such that many the descent of the foot, and its inner edge, or the muscles are employed in a greater or less de- ball of the great toe, last projecting the weight. gree; each acts in unison with the rest; and the Thus, in this step, less of the foot may be said whole remains compact and united. Hence the actively to cover the ground; and this adoption time of its movements may be quicker or slower, of nearer and stronger points of support and without deranging the union of the parts or the action is essential to the increased quickness and equilibrium of the whole.

exertion of the

pace. It is owing to these circumstances that walk- The mechanism of this pace has not been sufing displays so much of the character of the ficiently attended to. People pass from the walker-that it is light and gay in women and march' to the quick pace they know not how, children, steady and grave in men and elderly and hence all the awkwardness and embarrasspersons, irregular in the nervous and irritable, ment of their walk when their pace becomes momeasured in the affected and formal, brisk in derate, and the misery they endure when this the sanguine, heavy in the phlegmatic, and pace has to be performed by them unaccomproud or humble, hold or timid, &c., in strict panied, up the middle of a long and well-lighted correspondence with individual character. room, where the eyes of a brilliant assembly are

A firm, yet easy and graceful walk, is by exclusively directed to them. no means common,

There are
few men

The quick pace. Here the weight of the body who walk well if they have not learnt to regu- is advanced from the heel to the toes; the toes late their motions by the lessons of a master; and are least turned out, and still nearer and stronger this instruction is still more necessary for ladies. points of support and action are chosen. The

Walking may be performed in three different outer edge of the heel first touches the ground, times— slow, moderate, or quick, which some- and the sole of the foot projects the weight. what modify its action.

It is important to remark, as to all these paces, The slow walk, or march.-- In the march, the that the weight is successively more thrown forweight of the body is advanced from the heel ward, and the toes are successively less turned out. to the instep, and the toes are most turned out. In the general walking of ladies, the step This being done, one foot-the left, for instance ought not to exceed the length of the foot ; the -is advanced, with the knee straight, and the leg should be put forward, without stiffness, in toe inclined to the ground, which, without being about the fourth position, but without any effort drawn back, it touches before the heel-in such to turn the foot out, as it throws the body awry, a manner, however, that the sole, toward the and gives the person the appearance of a proconclusion of the step, is nearly parallel with the fessional dancer. The arms should fall in their ground, which it next touches with its outer natural position, and all their movements and edge; the right foot is then immediately raised oppositions to the feet should be easy and unfrom the inner edge of the toe, and similarly ad. constrained ; and the pace should be neither too vanced, inclined, and brought to the ground; slow nor too quick. and so in succession.

The gait should be in harmony with the perIt must be observed that the toe's first touch son-natural and tranquil, without giving the ing and last leaving the ground in the march, appearance of difficulty in advancing, and acgives to it a character of elasticity and of spirit, tive, without the appearance of being in a hurry. vigour or gaiety; and that when this is laid aside, Nothing can be more ridiculous than a little and the whole sole of the foot is at once planted woman who takes innumerable minute steps, on the ground, it acquires a character of so- with great rapidity, to get on with greater speed, briety, severity, or gloom, which is equally pro- except it be a tall woman who throws out long per to certain occasions. This observation is in legs, as though she would dispute the road a less degree applicable to the following paces. | with the horses.-From an American Magazine.

OUR CONSERVATORY.

Mode OF

MAKING ARTIFICIAL RUBIes, gate in a crystalline condition. Such solvents EMERALDS, &c.— The process consists in em- are boracic acid, borax, phosphate of soda, ploying a solvent, which shall first dissolve the phosphoric acid, &c. :—the one chiefly employed mineral or its constituents; and shall further, by M. Ebelman is boracic acid. By putting either on its removal or on a diminution of its together certain proportions of alumina and dissolving powers, permit the mineral to aggre- magnesia, with a little oxide of crome or other

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