wool, not split; fasten off the wool, and, with a darker shade of colour, also unsplit, work a long stitch in last loop, with three stitches in the top loop. A wire must be worked in the edge of each, leaving a small bit at the end for a stalk.

A pretty little bud may be made, by cutting five or six bits of yellow split wool, and three or four bits of violet, about an inch long; place them all across a wire, which must then be turned down, and twisted very tightly; fold down the ends of the wool, and fasten them about a quarter of an inch down the wire, by twisting some green split wool round, cut off the ends of wool, and cover the stem in the same way. By twisting the bud a little you will give it a variegated appearance.

THE CONFEDERATE EXILE.

BY WILLIAM READE.

O! my Virginia, thou art fallen low

Beneath the victor's heavy, heavy hand; Seldom have nations reeled beneath a blow Equal to thy fate, loved and bleeding land! The Northern flags are flaunting in thy face, The Northern tents are covering thy soil, The Northern guns have swept away thy race, The Northern legions swoop upon their spoil.

Yet the four years just past may swell thy pride, For thou hast drawn the eyes of all the world, Beholding how, as all thy heroes died,

The Northern arms were fiercely backward hurled. Beholding how, with foes as ten to one,

Shut in from aid and under Famine's wing, Such deeds of gallantry thy sons have done As to their memory shall for ever cling.

O! my Virginia, vain thy children's blood,
Though poured like water cheerily and free;
In vain the courage that all odds withstood,
In vain the genius and the heart of LEE,
In vain the chivalry that never stained

Its name with Northern outrage—or the roll Of deeds of fire, and passions worst unchainedA list of wrongs that harrow up the soul!

Yet, my Virginia, one thing wert thou spared,
Thy sister Carolina's awful woe;

Worse than full battle-fields. And she despaired More, than had streams of blood been doomed to flow

Throughout her fruitful lands, for she hath seen Her fairest doomed by hundreds to the fateFar worse than death; and by it she hath been Taught even more than thou-unswerving hate

Of Northern despots. Yet, alas! she weeps
In unavailing sorrow o'er her wrongs;
To them there clings the woe that never sleeps:
They "turn the blood to flame." To them belongs

DREAMING.

BY CHARLES KENDAL.

There is a white spot in each mortal's life,
Which ever, by God's mercy, spreads itself
O'er the black mist that hides the dread to be,
And brightens all the prospect for the nonce;
Some sweet and pleasurable memory,
That shines out, like the sun in winter skies,
In that most dull and unenlightened blank,
That stands for living with so many a man.
And what a fairyland of dear delight
Do we construct upon so frail a base!
A palace of enchantment, ever new,
That, tottering ever builds itself again,

And spreads long vistas of bright-glimmering hope
Before our aching eyes, till we are fain

To banish every lingering of gloom
And give ourselves up to the magic haze
Of dream-born fancies, that does veil us in
From all the caring miseries without.
How should we sadly, wearily plod on
In one eternal, hopeless round of toil,
(That in itself has no such noble aims
As to allay the thirst for better things,
Which is the portion of all ardent souls)
If we were not sustained by such delight!
It is a heaven-gift to men, this power
Of weaving round the bare, rough cliffs of life
An iris-tinted web of phantasy;

And as such is most freely given to all,
Who are not lost beyond all power to save.
By this, above all other of his means,
Does God vouchsafe to our most gross, dull eyes
Some faint celestial glimpses, now and then,
When, momently unloading all our cares,
Like Mahmoud's coffin in the Arab mosque,
That hovers, weirdly, betwixt heaven and earth,
We hang suspended on the wings of dreams,
Between past memories and future hopes.

FIRST FIGURE-Dress of white lama or alpaca, ornamented at the bottom of the skirt with bars of mauve silk, cut to a point at each end, and crossed by a mauve bias-piece of the same silk; white_muslin body. Jacket to match the skirt. English hat of fine Tuscan, ornamented all round with mauve hearts-ease, and behind with a cascade of ribbon loops, from which long ends hang down the back.

SECOND FIGURE-Dress of Algerian gauze, of a white ground, with small green stripes, bound at the edge of the skirt with a green ribbon. Body composed of a very low corselet, crossed by a handsome green silk ribbon embroidered with groups of flowers, which forms an epaulet on the top of the sleeves, belonging to a white under-body with Swiss plaits, and falls in long ends on the skirt. A Yack lace shawl. Coquielle bonnet, of green crape, veiled at the edge of the front with a white tulle scarf, tying near the strings. Behind a group of Bengal roses, as a cache peigne, over a cascade of tulle, inside the same flowers. Rays are just now the rage in every material, and are really pretty in effect, but especially so in gauze or muslin. Bodies demi-high behind, and decolleté and square before, are much worn over Swiss chemisettes, as in the corslet body we have just described, and which when made in either black or coloured silk is charmingly effective. Round waists continue in favour; and for the interior, the Figaro vest is as much worn as ever. Made without sleeves in bright coloured silk, or of black lace, it has a very

pretty and coquettish air, and makes a simple white or muslin toilet look dressy. They are often very beautifully embroidered round the edge, in which case the material is of cashmere or linos lined with silk. In this case the skirt should be of the same stuff, or of the same shade as the lining, and embroidered at bottom. The half corsages with Swiss plaits are chiefly worn by young persons. Sleeves are nearly all semi-tight with a small jockey or other ornament at the top. In lingerie there is nothing very new. Linen collars and cuffs to match are worn with every description of house and walking dress. The most fashionable collar has the corners turned down, and is edged with narrow valenciennes. Of assorted sleeves those with pointed cuffs, zebriés, as we call it, with alternate bands of linen and embroidered muslin, are most in vogue. Waistbands continue to be worn, but the buckle and clasps are much more reasonable in appearance. I have seen some very pretty robes of rayed gauze, intended for summer balls; one was striped with Mexican blue, and ornamented down the seams, and at the bottom of the skirt with a light chicory ruche of taffety, the colour of the rays. This ruche was sprinkled with little pearls of straw. The corsage high, and ornamented with a chicory ruche, simulating and tracing before and behind the appearance of a corselet, finished with a short basque, surrounded by the same ruching. The sleeves are nearly tight, and are garnished with an epaulet to match the basque.

66

POETRY accepted, with thanks. Useful;" An Evening Song."

Declined, with thanks. "A Summer Shower;" "Sylvia's Thoughts;" "The Lily," "Three Wishes;" Martyr Blossoms" "A Ship went Sailing." Sandymount.-Our correspondent will perceive that we have published the lines she has sent us; and having done this for the sake of the promise there is in them, we will do more, and counsel her to be more modest in her estimate of her productions. A youny author who sends us the first-fruits of her poetic musings, and, apparently in all earnestness, talks of Tennyson in one breath with herself, has

CHAP. XXIV.

In the course of the same day, Colonel Tarragon came again to bid his sister farewell. Lady Laura was dressing to go out, when he came; and being in attendance on her, I asked her to convey my best wishes to her brotherdeceptive I admit, on my part; love teaches deceit, as a first lesson. The want of agitation or emotion with which I heard his message delivered evidently greatly amazed my stepmother. She shot a glance of triumph at me as she left the room. I knew well her thoughtVincent at any rate would be removed out of any sphere. I fear, at that time, Lady Laura, to gratify her vindictive feeling, would have cheerfully parted with half-a-dozen brothers.

I heard that Colonel Tarragon was to leave town that night, en route for his regiment; but Mrs. Martin delivered to me, privately, a small three-cornered note, which contained three lines, whose fervour almost made up for their brevity.

Any girl who has loved will casily credit that I committed these lines immediately to my memory, to be conned over and considered, when afterwards doubts intruded and fears predominated.

Strange thoughts would from time to time intrude even in the first halcyon days of requited love. I began now to tax my memory, for the first time, as to what was Vincent's own belief in higher matters. I could not for my life recollect one observation that ever had reference to his religious opinions, or that gave evidence of his principles being founded on a firmer, surer code,

than that of human honour.

My reason gave me no satisfactory answer, and I strove to silence inquiry by giving my lover credit for not obtruding matters of sanctity in a circle so frivolous as that of Lady Laura's drawing-room. "Doubtless," I said, "he has

too much reverence for religion, to bring his faith forward for scoffers to sneer at." It was one of my own worst of grievances, that religious observances of any kind seemed utterly banished from my father's house; and I was obliged to keep a watch over myself, lest I too, should be betrayed into laxity in those duties which at Miss Norman's I had justly been taught were of the highest importance.

I had Sundays, however, generally to myself, at least the evenings for reading and reflection; for Mr. Castlebrook and Lady Laura were always at the select parties held at Carlton House on that day. In the mornings I invariably attended divine service, though my step-mother at first tried to interfere with this practice. Yet as I was home in time to attend on her before her four o'clock drive, she gradually ceased opposition, which she knew was unavailing; for, willing enough to concede anything of no moment, I had the merit, or the obstinacy, which ever the reader pleases, of being inflexible in the right, and from my earliest youth I had been accustomed to regard Sunday as a sacred day for rest, prayer, and thought. Indeed I will do my contemporaries the justice to say that those who were disinclined to religious observances contented themselves with neglecting the Sunday without endeavouring (as in the present day) to ignore it as a divine institution. Without desiring the rigour of a Puritan Sabbath, and conceding that the law of Moses is to us perhaps no more binding with regard to the seventh day than many of the burdens of the ceremonial law imposed on the Jewish race; I yet freely state that I should deeply regret to see the laxity of a continental Sunday prevail in England. Besides, it seems to me that in rejecting the fourth commandment we might as reasonably refuse to abide by the divine authority of the other nine, which as a code of duty and moral obligations nons will refuse to accept. If therefore we should say the sixth commandment is not binding on Gentiles, what restraint have we against killing or slaying ad libitum ? Christ accepted these laws, and why should we refuse? Heimpressed on the Jews that charity and