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Jiarouts.—BoarVhead nstting cotton, No. 18, or crochet thread, No. 10, of Meian. Walter Evaai & Co.

Derby. Small round iteel mesh.

Net a foundation of 86 stitches, and work upon it as many rows as are required for the width of the bread-cloth.

For The Border.—Take a mesh twice the size of that used for the centre, and work two stitches into one of the edge, one stitch into the next, and two into the next, all round, increasng one in each stitch at the corners. Then, with a mesh twice the size of the last, increase in every third stitch of last round. In the next use a mesh three-quarters of an inch wide, and net one in every stitch. In the last round, with the mesh used for the first round, take four stitches together. Repeat all round. Darn the pattern with the same cotton.



ch. Chain-stitch.

dch. Double chain-stitch, or braid-stitc

al. Slip-stitch.

sc. Single crochet.

sdc. Short double crochet.

dc. Double crochet.

stc. Short treble crochet.

tc. Treble crochet.

ltc. Long treble crochet.

in. Miss.


D. Double stitch; one French and one English. P. Purl J. Join. Loop. Any number of stitches drawn up.


K. Knit (plain knit).

P. Purl.

M. Make (increase).

k St. Knit two as one. K 3t. Knit three aa one.

D 1. Decrease one, by taking off a loop without knitting; then knit one and past the other over it.

D. 2. Decrease two; slip one; knit two to-
gether, and pass the slip-stitch over.
SI. Slip.
R. Raise.

T.K. Twisted knitted stitch.
T.P. Twisted purl stitch.


Pn. Plain netting. The ordinary stitch.

Dn. Double stitch. The thread twice round the mesh.

Ln. Long stitch. A stitch in which the knot is not to come close up to the mesh.

D. Draw out the mesh (before the row is completed).

M. Miss.



These consist of crosses X sometirdfe printed as the ordinary letter X; asterisks •--daggers, f. They are to indicate repetitions in any row or round. Two similar ones are placed at the beginning and end of any part to be repeated, and the number of times is written afterthe last. Thus, x 3 dc, 5 ch, miss 4, X 3 times, would, if written in full, be 3 dc, 5 ch, miss 4; 3 dc, 5 ch, miss 4 j 3 dc, 5 ch, miss 4.

Sometimes one pair of marks is used within another, thus—x 5 dc, 3 ch, miss 2; * 1 dc, 3 ch, miss 2 * twice; 4 dc, 2 ch, miss 1 • X twice. This, written at length, would be 5 dc, 3 ch, miss 2, 1 dc, 3 ch, miss 2; 1 dc, 3 ch, miss 2; 4 dc, 2 ch, miss 1; 5 dc, 3 ch, miss 2; 1 dc, 3 ch, miss 2; 4 dc, 2 ch, miss I.

This example will show much valuable space is saved by the adoption of these very simple and comprehensible terms.

Round.—A line of work beginning and ending at the same place, without turning back.

Row.—A line of work which requires you to turn it in order to recommence. Example: We speak of rows in a garter, and rounds in a stocking.


Country Words.—(Manchester.- Heywood, 74, Market-street. London: George Vickers, Angel-court, Strand.)—The second part of this pleasant periodical does not disappoint the expectations raised by the first. It is replete with interest, while many of the papers written in the local dialect have an originality and freshnes3 of character and expression, which gives a special quality to it. "The Marlocks of Meriton" is anamusing and well-written illustration of this speciality, the emphatic northern vernacular being well adapted to the rude, Btrong, bigoted, untaught villagers, whose manners and customs and ways of thinking is exemplifies. Mr. Leo H. Grindon continuet "Echoes of the Past" in the same pleasinglywritten style of paper as that referred to in our last notice of "Country Words," and Mr. Hardwick, the editor, has a seasonable paper on "The Yule-log and Fire-worship"; we should observe, also, that Eliza Cook leads off the number with a clever essay, entitled "Nice Persons," one sentence of which will vouch for the perceptiveness with which it is written:

"Nice persons" never cause the ehild to blush for the parent, nor the parent for the child. Their generous and noble natures seek rather to fling the veil of benevolent courtesy over all the irretrievable errors and misfortunes which flesh is heir to, proving thereby that the example of our Great Teacher has not been wasted on them.

And who is La Duchesse, whose "Wedding Bells" are so sweet that we cannot refrain from re-echoing them here?


Ring gently, wedding bells!

Drip your sweet voices on the sunny air;
In silvery cadences and music swells,

Tell of a happiness so true, so rare.
That heaven but once lets slip such light divine,
A love that once alone on life may shine.

Ring softly, wedding peals!

Kise not in clangour; ripple like a stream
Of melody, rejoicing; O there steals

Strange, yet keen-heard, as voices in a dream,
A solemn warning in your echoing;
I seem to hear you speak as well as ring.

Telling her—" Let the sound

Be never dulled through all the wedded life;
But chiming, very softly, still be found

Sweetest and gentlest when he calls her ' Wife.'"
Let her remember, one hard look or tone
May jungle all the bells into a moan.

Think how her woman's life

Is clasped into the happy sphere of home;
How toil, and worldly care, and earthly strife

Ar» nut for hrr; that it i» his to roain.

And bear the heat and burden of the day,
Till the heart wearies and the hair grows grey.

To let his wedding bells

Ring ever, till the death-knell tolls for one— 1 lark! through the woods, the green and mossy dells,

The cheery peal flies off, with breeze and sun;
But it is hers, when winter comes, and rain,
To make them sound, aye, twice as sweet again.

Ring, holy bridal bells!

Speak of more things than youth, or joy, or mirth; Tor there are deep and dark and tear-filled wells—

AU is not fountain-spray upon this earth; But light grows sorrow, pain is bnt a word. When still through home the wedding-bells are heard."

Mrs. C. A. White, in her article on "Lucky and Unlucky Days," has overlooked Schiller's curious lines on the number Eleven :—

"And what may you have to sav against eleven,

I should like'to know P" "Eleven—is transgression. Eleven, overtops the ten commandments.'"'

A sufficiently impressive denunciation of a number which does not figure in the list of "Egyptian days," nor in the dies atri of Greeks or Romans.

The Life Boat; or, Journal Of The National Life-boat Institution.—In the midst of this bitter January weather, with the lamentable cry of want wringing from dawn to dusk through the streets of the metropolis, we must yet press upon our readers the need of those who are ready to perish in the grasp of a less tardy but more inexorable foe—men who have superadded to the inclement atmosphere perils, from tempests that leave the brave ship helpless and unmanageable on the shoals, or sunken rocks upon our coast, to ground and settle down into the quicksands, or be hurled into fragments upon the craggy shores of our sea-board. Amongst the noblest of the many benevolent institutions of Great Britain—noble, not simply from the nature of its work and its grandly organized system of doing it; but also for fostering that spirit of bravery and humanity, growing and strengthening from year to year amongst our seaside dwellers, the records of which in these pages, simply and curtly given, nevertheless catalogue a series of heroic actions to which each passing week is adding, and the echo of which pierces to the most inland districts of these islands, and is responded to with ungrudged aid. In the list of additional stations and new life-boats, individual benevolence and public sympathy are both expressed, and we rejoice to see that in numerous instances the memory oi

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the dead has been honoured, by being reverentally made the occasion for offering the means of saving life, and at many a station the life-boat perpetuates the love of parents or children, that lias broadened into larger relations and amplified itself into philanthropy for mankind. What urgent need exists for the continued—nay continual exercise of such benevolence in aid of this grand scheme for the saving of life from shipwreck, will best be seen by reference to the Journal before us; but without this, the reader can scarcely glance over the columns of the morning newspapers without a sympathetic shudder over the Bad fate of some doomed ship, that for want of assistance from the shore (in a sea where only a life-boat could exist) has broken up or foundered with all hands on board. How often, through the late cruel weather, have comfortable people found themselves involuntarily sighing beside their cheerful firesides, " God help the poor on shore, and our sailors at sea!" But the first have many helps, while only one form, of assistance can reach the perishing seaman, who, lashed to some icy spar, and drenched and buffeted by the storm-raised seas, must die of exposure and exhaustion, if not washed off into the surf or dashed amid the breakers on the shore. Only the timely aid of . the life-boat can save him and his fellowsufferers; unless, as is not seldom the case, some other dwellers by the seaside, brave as the gallant crews that man these arks of safety, interpose to save the lives that, but for the glorious

humanity that shrinks not from self-sarritice to achieve the saving of others, had found a grave within the engulphing sea. Every aid, however small, is" gratefully accepted towards the maintenance of the institution, and donations and bequests are received by all bankers, in town or country; or, by the secretary, Richard Lewis, Esq., 14, John Street, Adelphi. C. A. W.

The Royal Dukes Of Great BritainPrice 6d.—(Claye, Little Underbank, Stockport.)—We have pleasure in recommending this nice little compilation in aid of history, which will be found very useful to learners, whether at home or at school. The author, who, we understand, is but a lad, has arranged a succinct account of the Princes of Wales and Dukes of Cornwall, with the peerages of York, Cumberland, and Cambridge. The utility of this arrangement, which gives at one view an outline of the jlate of birth, marriage, and death of each successive royal Duke, is obvious. Thus, under the head of " Henry of Greenwich," we find the following: "Second son of Henry VII. and Elizabeth of York; was born 1491; married (first) Catherine of Arragon, (second) Anne Boleyn, (third) Jane Seymour, (fourth) Anne Cleves, (fifth) Catherine Howard, (sixth) Catherine Parr. He became King 1509, and died 1547"—circumstances well remembered on the part of King Henry VIII, but not so familiar to boys and girls under his princely name of "Henry of Greenwich."


"Mark the sable woods,
That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow;
With what religious nwe the solemn scene
Commands your steps! as if the reverend form
Of Minos, or of Numa should forsake
The Klysian seats, and down the embowering glade,
Move to your pausing eye."

'Pliny assures us that Minerva, as well as Diana, dwells amid the forests, and Akenside, above, finely alludes to the religious feelings which the woods, as they boldly stretch up! the summit of a lofty mountain, inspire in the beholder. Trees have always been venerated, j From the time of Abraham to that of Constantine, pious pilgrimages were made to the oaks of Mamre, near Hebron, whilst the surrounding , nations of the Jews dedicated trees and groves j to their deities. Amid the woods of Etruria, Numa sought refuge from the cares of a new, |

and, until his reign, turbulent people; and it was Numa who first erected a temple to Peace and Faith.

The consecration of groves was common among the Jews, and Abraham himself planted a grove in Beer-sheba, worshipping there. Moses, however, forbade the custom, and Ezekiel and Hosea reproved it. In such esteem did they hold the cedars of Lebanon, that one of the most fearful threats of Sennacherib was that he would level these beautiful tree9 to the ground.

The temples of the Greek* were mostly built in groves. Tacitus informs us, that the first part in consecrating the Roman capital, consisted in the soldiers entering with boughs of trees, and then the vestal virgins, attended by boys and girls, sprinkled the floor with spring, brook, and river water.

The oratories of the Jews were surrounded by olive trees, whilst in the deepest recesses of the forests, the Druids of Gaul, Britain, and Germany were accustomed to sacrifice. Virgil, describing Elysium as filled with the most luxuriant gifts of nature, also represents that the highest bliss of the happy spirits, is to repose on flowery banks, or to wander among its shady groves. The Icelanders believe that upon the summit of Boula, a mountain which no foot has yet ascended, there is a cavern, opening to a paradise of never-fading verdure, delightfully shaded by trees, and abounding in large flocks of sheep. We know that our boasted AngloSaxon race once worshipped trees, because of Canute's having forbidden this species of idolatry among them. When a native of Java has a child born, he immediately plants a cocoa-nut tree, which, adding every year a circle to its growth, indicates the age of the trees, and by this means the age of the child. He, in consequence, regards the tree with affection all the rest of his life. The Tartar diviners assure us that whoever plants trees will enjoy life to an advanced age. We Christians dress our houses and churches with holly, bay, and cedar, as it were, to welcome the Nativity of our Saviour, and we sing the carols of the Advent, and we place in our dwellings the "Christmas Tree," the evergreens—beautiful emblems of the bright and unfading world, where Christ has gone to prepare endless mansions of bliss, joy, and happiness for bis faithful followers.

The use the poets have made of trees is very striking, beautiful, and important. Old Homer frequently embellishes his subjects with them; and no passage in the Illiad is more fine than where he compares the falling of the leaves and shrubs to the fall and renovation of ancient families. Such illustrations are frequent in the sacred writings. Says the author of Ecclesiastes, " I am exalted like a cedar in Lebanon," and "as a cypress tree upon the mountain of Hermon. I was exalted like a palm tree in Engedi, and as a rose plant in Jericho; as a turpentine tree I stretched out my branches, and my branches are the branches of honour and grace." In the Psalms there is a fine allegory, where the vine is made to represent the people of Israel.

How beautiful is the passage in Ossian, of Malvina's lamentation for Oscar: "I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me: but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low; the spring returned with its showers, but no green leaf of mine arose." Again, when Osssian is old, blind, and weary, and almost without friends,'he compares himself to a tree, dried up and decayed; "But Ossian is a tree

that is withered; its branches are blasted aad bare; no green leaf covers its boughs; from its trunk no young shoot is seen to spring; the breeze whistles in its grey moss; the blast shakes its head of age; the atom soon will overturn it, and strew all its dry branches with thee, O Dermid! and with all the rest of the mighty dead, in the green winding vale of Cona." Phocian, one day hearing an orator promise many fine things to the Athenians, exclaimed: "I think I now see a cypress tree; in its leaves, its branches, and in its height it is beautiful, but, alas! it bears no fruit." Very beautiful, too, is the metaphor, with some delicate flattery, where Horace represents the glory of Caesar's house like a tree rising slowly from its seed, and after several ages, spreading its branches to the heavens—there towering with as much dignity in the forest, as did Marcellus above all other youths. Dr. Blair compares a good man to an oak, whose branches the tempest may indeed bend, but whose root it can never touch—a tree which may be occasionally stripped of its leaves and blossoms, but which still maintains its place, and in due season will flourish anew.

Mycologists have supposed trees to be the residence of inferior deities, and beautiful are some of the fictions which have arisen from this . notion. Not to mention any from the ancients, and far superior to those of Ovid, is that of Tasso, where he describes Rinaldo as living in an enchanted wood—a large myrtle surrounded by a hundred smaller ones. As he approaches the air resounds with strains of enchanting music—every tree opens, disclosing nymphs of seraphic beauty, who, forming into a circle, welcome him to their enchanted grove, with songs of pleasure and delight.

Thus is it that the forest, from time immemorial, has been the theme of song, and to this day the sylvan solitude is the magic spell of romance. And truly, what can be compared to the forests? It is nature's own sanctuary. From its ever-green moss, and its flowers, are slieda balmy freshness, whilst leaves, dew-drops and sunbeams seem mysteriously to dance through the branches, and conduct the mind by an invisfble power into the realm of wonders. Such is the forest, the labyrinth of fairytale and table—the silent retreat of useful, solitary thought.

The oak is the aboriginal tree of Europe, and early was reverenced as the Tree of of Life, the precious gift of the Great Father. Its fruit appeased the hunger of the wandering hordes on the shores of Greece; in its trunk they found a dwelling; from beneath its roots sprang the rivulet that gave them drink.

The Greeks and Romans consecrated the oak to the gods of Olympus, as from its nestling branches were heard the voices of the future. In the oaktops the German and the Scandinsvian beheld the abode of the god of thunder, whilst their priests cherished the sacred mistletoe, strangely growing on its trunk. There Wm no tres for bold, irregular beauty, which could be compared to it; nor any offering such efficient services for the first wants of man— the house of the living, the coffin for the dead— the ship which conveyed the daring crusader, and the spear for the hunters' arm. To cherish it was a solemn duty, and the Anglo-Saxon alphabet beautifully says of it:

"On the land the oak is,
To the children of men,
For the flesh a depository;
It travels often,

Over the path of the waterfowl,
Exploring the lake.
Let each one possess an oak—
The noble tree I"

Luxuriance and vigour unite in its growth, from the far reacbing'root to the firm, shield-like leaf. There stands the oak, the tree of strength, the monarch of the forest (quercus rober), with its daring zigzag branches, and grand crookedness of stem. This is the hoar king of the forest, to whom the eagle resorts, and heroes take for an example. How fitting and ingenious the device of the English kings when they ascended the throne, to select an oak to bear their name, and carry it down to coming generations.

The heroic nature of the tree seems to be proclaimed by another circumstance: it is seldom seen in a crowd; mostly standing alone, or mingled with other trees of different foliage. In low plains it is often associated in fine groups, and forms a picture for the painter. Such a beautiful sight have we seen in the "Live Oak Plantation," as it is called, belonging to the United States, along Santa Rosa Sound, Florida. This sheet of water extends some twelve miles amidst meadows of luxuriant green, with clear, white sandy shores. Here and there, the stag, but seldom disturbed, raises his proud antlers, as if listening to cries from afar. As our little self-moving steamer passed along, pleasant peeps were obtained between the dark, grotesque zigzag trunks, while through the deep, solemn masses of green foliage, there glided silently the golden sunbeams.

On the mountains, however, we have seen the oak in all its native grandeur, and amidst the aboriginal Alleghanies. There you may behold those monarchs, whose age is a thousand years. Reubens' and other pencils have painted such. Far above Nature's wails of rock, the roots gripe with distorted grasp, deep into the stony ribs, as if they would cleave the earth. Then, the noble tree shoots and grows upwards out of the earth slowly, but of gigantic size, even unto the pathway of the clouds. Like impenetrable armour, the deeply-scared bark fastens itself around the body and limbs of the giant of the woods. The knotty branches show great strength, and when the boisterous north wind hurls his darts against tha iron trunk, the shaggy covering of moss,

lining its sides with a dense shield, wards off the strong blows. Up here, the monarch of the mountain has planted his foot,—a giant hero, admirably equipped, and rejoicing to fight the battle of the clouds with /Kolus and his wild combatants;—while, from below, the evergreen ivy and the honeysuckle climb and twine around the stem, and the robin and the blackbird sing fresh songs amid its branches.

Such is the American oak. It has seen the native Indians, Columbus and Hudson, with the earliest colonists. It still stands, proud and green, but there are few like it, by which we may count back the boundary marks of past history. In this land the fatal axe is too unsparingly wielded against what is planted by the hand of Nature, and we say, "Woodman, spare that tree." Old England, so poor in forests, does differently—she shows great veneration for these truthful witnesses of the past. Proud is she of her oaks, and has a right to be so. In Sherwood Forest to this day stands the tree under whose branches King John gave audience, and perhaps in his time it was centuries old. There stands the very oak in which famed Robin Hood presided when the royal deer were cut up and distributed. There, too, is the parliament oak, in which he held his meetings, with the green oak of the valley, in whose towering and branched trunk the bold outlaw met his merry company. In the New forest a stone points out where, until a hundred years ago, the oak tree once stood, beneath whose branches William Rufus fell by Tyrrell's hand. Thus, the old trees of England call to mind memorable scenes and personages. What protected these oaks? The spirit of reverence for law and self respect. This it is which watches over and preserves her relics, monuments, and trees. So should it be with us.



Nothing is to manne so dear
As wymene's love in good mannere;
A good woman is manne'a blyss*
Where her love right and steadfast it.
There is no solas under heven
Of all that to a manne may neven,
That should a manne clinging to,
As a good woman that loveth true.
Nought dearer is in God's family,
Than a pure woman who speaketh lovelily.
Ncveu—Have knowledge of.

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