cotton. The Valenciennes in No. 150 of the Mecklenburgh thread. same. The English and Venetian bars in No. 100, AIGUILLETTE. FLANDERS LACE D'OYLEY. MATERIALS:-W. Evans and Co.'s Boar's Head Crochet Cotton, No. 16, and Moravian Cotton, No. 70, with two steel meshes, Nos. 14 and 16. Eagle cardboard gauge, and a large one, No. 10. This is the first of a set of six d'oyleys, in Flanders lace, which we propose to give to our subscribers; and the description of this one will serve equally well for every other of the set, the pattern to be darned in the centre being the only difference. By referring our readers therefore to this number of the Magazine, when we give the other engravings, without troubling them by repeating our directions, we shall be enabled to give them an extra article on work in each number; a boon which we doubt not they will appreciate. The centre of the d'oyley is done in square netting, thus: on a foundation of 53 stitches, do a row of common netting, with mesh No. 16, having 51 stitches only. Then take the mesh No. 14, and work backwards and forwards, always omitting the last loop of the row, until you come to one stitch only. Half the square is then done. Cut off the foundation, and on the first row (that done with the fine mesh), work the other half of the square like the first, omitting only the row done with the No. 16 mesh. When you again come to one stitch, the square is made, and the border only is to be added. FOR THE BORDER.-Do a round with the No. 10 mesh, over which you must pass the thread twice in making every one, doing two stitches in each at the corner, ascertaining that there is an even number of stitches in the round. 2nd row. Finest mesh. Begin as for an ordinary stitch; but after passing the thread over the mesh, insert the netting-needle in the second loop in the contrary way to that in which a stitch is usually taken, and drawing the first loop through the second, net it; then net the second stitch. Repeat this process with every two stitches, until the whole round is done. Finish with one round of plain netting. This stitch is usually called Egyptian stitch. When the netting is done, the pattern is to be darned on it from the engraving, using the Moravian cotton, and beginning in the centre of the d'oyley. AIGUILLETTE, SUNSET. BY THE LADY EMMELINE STUART WORTLEY. Full tenderly and softly fades away Another leaf is from our Life-tree shaken- What hopes are gathered to their graves to-nightWhat visions and what dreams have ta'en their flight! Fast waves of hours have sought the Eternal sea,— Another leaf is from our Life-tree shaken- How bright, how soft, the deeply-mantling clouds, Another leaf is from our Life- tree shaken- A Heavenly thing can dying there be made; Smiles o'er the whole celestial scene have played, With retinue and with regalia bright As that of conquering kings-Day sinks to Night. Another leaf is from our Life-tree shakenAnother step Eternity hath taken. Ye vanished moments! ye are gone with all Keen pangs, sweet pleasures - Hope, Dismay, And all your precious charge of smiles and sighs: Another leaf is from our Life-tree shakenAnother step Eternity hath taken. In worlds afar, say, shall your trumpet-voice Ah! little matters here your joy or care, Too much we dwell upon this earthly scene, Another leaf is from our Life-tree shaken, It should not be! That gladness or that grief,- Another leaf is from our Life-tree shaken- THE DEPARTED. BY ADA TREVANION. Though each beam Hope flung round thee is faded, To kindle to brightness no more Though the dark grave thy fair form hath shaded, My heart, oh! no other shall fill it, Its beatings shall still be for thee. Thy sweet deeds, unknown to the many, Thy virtues, unequalled by any Whose lustre Time's annals hath gracedThe tender remembrances vying, Of all which in life thou hast been, My life, like a river which glasses A pure beam received from above, Though drear Be the way which it passes, Still mirrors the light of thy love; Hushed where that soft radiance is shining, The dark waters silently roll, So my sad spirit glides, unrepining- She reads thy years Alas! so few, so few! A blossom bathed in dew, Cropp'd by Death's shears. Adown the skies Droppeth the silent moon, And from the grave-yard soon The radiance dies. Through the long night, From the grey ghostly tower, The church-clock booms the hour Till morning light. LOVE, THE ARTIST. BY W. C. BENNETT. "O Art, unto my longing eyes," For ever let her beauty live." To paint her charms, all charms above: But soon, "In vain I strive," he cried; "Oh who can paint her-who but Love?" I turned to Fancy-"To my sight," As if she breathed before me there!" Oh not her charms, all charms above! Poor Fancy's cry was but the same"Oh who can paint her-who but Love?" Then mighty Love, with laughing joy, She laughed in life before my sight! Oh who like him such brows could draw, Such dark, deep eyes, all eyes aboveLike him could paint the charms I saw ? Oh who can paint her-who but Love? THE VIOLET. (From the German of Goëthe.) BY A. BASKERVILLE. A violet in a meadow lone, A lovely little flower. There came a gentle shepherdess, With tripping step and flowing tress, Along the meadow green. Ah! thinks the violet, would I were 'Mong flowers fairest of the fair, A little, little while; Till me the maid had pluck'd, caress'd, And to her snow-white bosom press'dOh but, oh but One short, one fleeting hour! The maiden came, but oh, alas! And crush'd the gentle flower! ON THE PORTRAIT OF GRACE DARLING. BY MARIA NORRIS. Among the lonely deeps this Maid was bred; Their shells and weeds her playthings, and their song The nightly music of her pillowed head. Oft with a sense of pain, she heard the strong, Wild beatings of the unmanageable waves, Which keep their festival in those North seas, And in their orgies make unnumbered graves. Oft, too, on high went up her kindly pleas For those who battled with the stormy strife; But not with these she ended; courage rare Nerved her to stretch a hand to perilled life, And gave her strength to nobly do and dare. Presuming nought, nor yet of aught afraid; True heroine she-this brave Northumbrian Maid, AUTHENTIC LETTERS OF MRS. ELIZABETH MONTAGU. No. VI. (Continued from page 249.) MRS. ELIZABETH MONTAGU TO MRS. WILLIAM ROBINSON. JUVENILE BALL AT MARLBOROUGH HOUSE. Hill Street, April 11th, 1772. DEAR MADAM, Your account of my dear niece's amendment of health gave me the greatest pleasure. I began to be very uneasy at not hearing from you, for it being your rule to make every one as happy as you can, I was afraid your silence was occasioned by not having good news to tell. Indeed, the weather was so unfavourable to health, one could hardly flatter oneself any great progress in it could be made. I greatly rejoice that the dear amiable child is better, and hope, as the spring advances, she will every day find herself recovering, till she is in full possession of all the joys of health, and all the sweet pleasures of the early season of life. I have not any complaint to make of the autumn of life, but that many of the companions of its earlier season drop off; but it is terrible to be in apprehension of losing one of those one loves, whose age gives a reasonable hope they might survive one. I hope my niece will live to tell her nieces and her daughters what a good-humoured old lady Aunt Montagu was-how she gave tickets and dancing shoes to her young kindred for, balls; and though she was wrinkled, it was not with care; and though she was pale, it was not with envy; and if she looked ghastly, it was not from malice of heart. I look upon my young relations as a virtuoso in flowers does on the roses and carnations in his green-houses-as what is to sweeten, embellish, and enliven my winter. nosticate that she will make others happy and be so herself. As she was not the worse for the ball, I am glad she partook of the pleasure of it; if she resembles a certain Miss Robinson, who lived in the neighbourhood some years ago, she will reckon a ball among the first enjoyments of human life. Considering her state of health, I do not know whether it was very prudent in her father to carry her there, but I am sure it was I carried my little man to a ball at Marl- very amiable; the error should always be rather borough House on Monday night. We went at on the side of indulgence. One should consider seven, and did not get home till one in the that though there will be dancing as long as the morning. The weather was cool-the apart-world endures, it it but a short time that an inments were large and high-there were nine dividual will dance. I have sometimes suffered couple of little folks, who all danced very well. Montagu to fly his kite in a cold evening in The Duke of Marlborough's children are re-autumn, when I have trembled for fear he should markably handsome-between ten and eleven. There was a fine supper for the dancers; and it was very entertaining to see little beaux flattering little belles, and little belles flattering little beaux, with as much spirit as they would do ten years hence. The Duke of Bedford seems a fine healthy boy, which I was glad to see; for without health his great inheritance could give but little pleasure. I think the next generation will excel the last in dancing-I wish they may excel us in everything. I had many compliments made me on the appearance and manners of my little man-he had a good ear, and dances well. The Duchess of Marlborough invited only the parents of the young folks, and two or three particular Bishops and Mrs. Moore were there. She inquired after you. I was very sorry you and my brother were not in town when the Primate of Ireland, Sir William Robinson, and our family, dined here. We all dined in Lincoln's Inn Fields on Thursday. The Primate and Sir William will dine there on Sunday. His Grace will soon go to Bath. The late east sharp wind drove away the impatience I had to be in the country, but today the wind is west, and my rural wishes are returned; but I have not yet fixed my time for leaving London, not knowing what weather will take place of the cold and dry. My best compliments attend my brother--my best wishes the dear little ones. get an ague, because the kite-season is short, and that if that time three years the weather should be ever so favourable the opportunity would not have been valued. To fits of peevishness, or gloom, or obstinacy, I am very severe, because they are always contrary to the happiness of the animal in all its stages of existence. Bad habits are never to be indulged, as they lead to great and permanent evil; but whoever can deny a child a harmless pleasure, and to taste the joys peculiar to its season of life, is more wicked than Macbeth, who murdered the innocent asleep. Their day-dreams are quite as innocent and much more gay. The warmth of the weather prevented my seeing the "School for Scandal;" but every one agrees with you in commending it. Of all the vices of the human disposition, a love of scandal and detraction is the most contemptible. It has now got from the gossips' tea-table to the press, and the scribblers weekly let fly their popguns at the Duchess of Devonshire's feathers. Her Grace is innocent, good-humoured, and beautiful; but these adders are blind, and deaf, and cannot be charmed. However, the scribblers are some of them-and all of themhungry; but the circulators of scandal, who have neither hunger for their excuse nor wit to give it a seasoning, are sad vermin, and I am glad Mr. Sheridan has so well exposed them. The uncertainty of human life is certainly a discouragement to every enterprize; but to none less, I think, than to building a house. If it is a good one, there will be somebody to live in it and enjoy its comforts; if otherwise, its inconveniences will not make one uneasy in the tomb. To undertake a trust, which by not fulfilling may be detrimental to some person; to bring children into the world when it is too late in life to hope to see them educated and established; are things about which a prudent person may hesitate; but even in this case we can never do wrong when we follow the general principles by which the Author of our nature has intended we should be directed. The shortness and uncertainty of life would discourage all great undertakings; and as the human race is to continue, Providence has ordered we should act here as if we were to live for ever. We have had a series of the worst weather since I came hither that I ever knew at this time of the year. Sir William Temple says, the three greatest blessings are health, peace, and fine weather: the first two are most important, and I have enjoyed them in so perfect a degree that I have well endured the want of the third. Dr. Robertson's History of America has amused me by my fireside when wind and rain have combined against my amusements abroad; a long deprivation of the quiet joys of rural life gives me a quick relish for them: if I had stayed in town, the great numbers of foreigners lately arrived there, who have all brought letters of recommendation to me, or would have been naturally introduced by my previous acquaintance with them abroad, must have taken up much of my time and attention. Lord Shelburne called here the other day, to invite me to Bowood to meet l'Abbé Raynal, whom I knew in Paris, and two French countesses, who brought letters to me from some of the beaux esprits there; so to them I shall have an opportunity of expressing my regret at being out of town; but there is a Spanish Baron de Castille, and some others who were also recommended to me, who I fear will depart with a bad opinion of my hospitality -for twenty to one my English concierge in Hill-street would not make them understand, when they delivered their letters, that I was in the country. At present my scheme is to go to London for the melancholy pleasure of taking leave of the Lord Primate and my friend Mrs. Vesey; one is desirous to defer the separation from one's friends to the last moment-the farewell always comes too soon. When these friends leave London I believe I shall set out for Mount Edgecumbe, having long promised Lady Edgecumbe a visit, and shall carry Montagu with me, who is schoolfellow of Mr. Edgecumbe, and is strongly invited. I shall call at Bowood in my way for a day or two. I shall return again to Sandleford, having, perhaps, first made a visit to Lady Nuneham, which I have also promised. Mr. and Mrs. Vesey arrived here yesterday, but alas! leave me on Friday; they are going from hence to Mr. Burke's, at Beaconsfield, who has kindly asked me to be of the party; but as I shall be a good while absent from Sandleford, I have many domestic matters to settle before I depart. I had a most polite and entertaining letter, the other day, from my brother Robinson. I wish we two honest farmers lived near together; with brotherly love and rural sincerity I flatter myself we should be very happy; but, in this short life, how short a time does one enjoy the friends one loves! I understand my Lord Primate and Sir William Robinson intend Horton the honour of a visit. I am very happy that my eldest nephew is to have the advantage of appearing in Ireland, under the Primate's protection. I beg my love to your consort and my nieces, and to my nephew if at home; and when you see my brother Robinson I shall be obliged to you if you will present my most affectionate respects to him. With great regard, I am, dear madame, Your most affectionate sister, ELIZ. MONTAGU, I beg my love to the Recorder, Mrs. Charles Robinson, and my niece. Compliments to Mrs. C. Scott. No. VII. ILLNESS OF YOUNG MONTAGU -- VISIT TO LORD HARCOURT, AT NUNEHAM MONSIEUR AND MADAME DE NOAILLES TAKING OF TRICONDERAGO. Sandleford, the 26th September, 1777. DEAR MADAM, My brother, the Recorder, would probably inform you that he left me in London, nursing Montagu in the measles. I went to London on the 19th of July, in order to make my adieux to the Primate of Ireland, and my friend Mrs. Vesey, who were on the point of leaving England. Three days after I got to Hill-street, my little man was brought home in a very drooping condition, and continued so for a good while; at last the measles appeared, and thank God were not accompanied with any dangerous symptoms: but he suffered a good deal, and I believe his aunt not less. The voice I had been used to hear sing a merry song, or whistle a jolly tune, uttered nothing but groans. On Saturday fortnight he was so recovered, that I brought him with me to Sandleford, and what with riding on horseback, jumping on the hayricks, playing at trap-ball, and whatever suited the character of valetudinarian or boy, he perfectly recovered his health and strength; but to confirm the good things, I was ordered by Sir J. Pringle and Mr. Farquhar to send him to bathe in the sea. I thought Deal, not being a public place, preferable to any bathing-town in that style. Coffeehouses, balls, and assemblies are not good for boys. At Deal his tutor will keep him to his studies, and my god-son, who was in France with us, is now with Mrs. Carter; so there he will have a safe and proper playfellow. Montagu and Mrs. Gilbank set out on Monday: he will be at Deal on Thursday. I ordered him to wait on the Recorder, his aunt, and cousin; but as we are confined to time, he must make the best of his way to Deal, else he should have paid his duty to you and my brother at Denton. I have ordered to have him physicked and cleared of the remains of the measles before I sent him to bathe: we are therefore obliged to encroach on the holydays, which I never love to do; but I hope Mr. Heath will not blame us. He is ordered to bathe three weeks. Montagu's measles deranged all my schemes: I could not carry him to Mount Edgecumbe to take his physic, regular exercise, &c.; and when that affair was over, the time for going to school left but bare three weeks for the bathing. I propose to go to Lord Harcourt's on Friday. I have had repeated invitations all this summer, and had intended going in about three weeks; but Lady Nuneham earnestly entreats me to meet the French Ambassador and his lady there this week, which I shall do with great pleasure. Nuneham is a very fine place, and 2 B |