and guarded her, and went out into the world to struggle alone, in feebleness and ignorance. The new home was soon in order, for it did not take long to adjust the small remnant of worldy goods that remained in the widow's possession. Then her thoughts went forward again, in troubled strife with the future. How was she to keep a school, that only resource which had yet presented itself? On the day after Mrs. Leslie's removal, her former landlord-whose interest in her could not die out suddenly (indeed, he had pledged himself to aid her in getting up a school, and he | was not the man to let his words fall fruitless on the air)-called in to see how matters stood and to offer a little further advice. Looking with a careful eye, as was his habit, to such things as touched his own interest, his first suggestion was, that the year's rent be paid in advance, seeing that the means to do so was at hand. "Then," said he, "your mind will be easy as to a home, for that will be secured for a year." He did not say that this pleasant arrangement would take away all obligation from him, in case there should be a failure to pay the rent. But no matter; he was not perfect, and let him have praise for acting kindly up to his best ability, for he had been, so far, a true friend to the almost helpless widow. To this suggestion Mrs. Leslie offered no demurrer; it was in accordance with her own views. "And now," said the other, when this point was settled, rubbing his hands together, and looking particularly pleased, "I've been working for you in a new direction. There's an excellent family living in one of my houses, a man and his wife, who have no children of their own. I've been talking to them about you, and persuading them to take one of your children and adopt it as their own." An instant pallor came over the widow's face, and she drew her arm with almost a vicelike clasp around little Katy, who was leaning against her. "The lady is coming here to see you about it to-morrow. I think she will prefer the little girl." For a few moments Mrs. Leslie struggled with her feelings. Then she said, in a low, husky voice, "You are very kind, sir, but I cannot part with my children." "But reflect, madam," urged the man; "think of your condition and of the child's good. You will be wholly relieved from the burden of her support, and she will pass, by adoption, into one of the best homes in our city. The family is rich, and she will grow up as an only child. I know that it must be a trial for any mother; but then we must consult the good of our children, as well as our own feelings." Mrs. Leslie bent down her head until her face lay hidden among the soft curls that clustered around the temples, brow, and neck of her darling Katy. She was not debating the proposition, but opening her heart deeper, that the child might get a more secure place there, "What say you?" The landlord pressed hard the question. "That I will die with my children, but not part with them." The landlord was disappointed and offended. Losing patience, he said, roughly, "Very well, madam, you can paddle your own canoe, for all I care." And he went stalking from the house, and never came near her again. Night seemed to have fallen suddenly, after a dark and tearful day. The only friend upon whom Mrs. Leslie had leaned, with any hope of being sustained in her efforts, had now turned from her in anger; and she felt like one, in passing over some fearful chasm, was conscious that the slender plank was yielding beneath her tread. Mrs. Waylahd, the woman into whose house she had removed, came up to her room about half-an-hour after the landlord went away; the unusual stillness there had attracted her notice. She tapped at the door lightly, but, as no response came from within, she pushed it open, and entered. She found Mrs. Leslie sitting with Katy in her arms, and her face bent down and hidden. The baby lay asleep in its cradle, while Edward sat playing with some paper soldiers on the floor. The only one who noticed her entrance was the little boy, who looked up to her with a pleased smile. "Mrs. Leslie !" But there was no movement of the bowed figure. "Mrs. Leslie !" She spoke now in a louder tone, at the same time laying her hand upon Mrs. Leslie's shoulder, With a start, Mrs. Leslie raised her head, and looked at Mrs. Wayland in a bewildered manner. "Are you lil?" asked the latter, in a kind voice. There was something in the voice that went stealing down into the sufferer's heart, "Not ill, but in despair," she replied, mournfully. "There is a bright side to every cloud," said Mrs. Wayland. "Not to the cloud that has fallen over me," was the sadly-spoken answer. Katy, who was laying upon her lap, now raised herself up; as she did so, her mother drew her tightly to her bosom, and said, in a half wild way, "Give up my darling to a stranger! Never! never! I will die with and for my children, but never give them up." "No one wishes to take away your children," said Mrs. Wayland, who began to think that the poor woman's mind was disordered. "Yes, they do; they want my Katy," was replied. "Who wants her?" "A lady is coming to-morrow." "What lady?" "I don't know her name, but Mr. Lawson has been talking to her; and, because I told him that I would die with my children rather than part with them, he went off in anger, saying that I might get along as best I could.” "Mr. Lawson is well enough in his way, but he isn't all the world by a great deal," said the do our duty, obstructions remove themselves out of our way. We have but to lift our feet and plant them firmly in advance, to find the ground sure beneath our tread. old lady, showing a trifle of womanly indigna- | the heart of Mrs. Leslie that, when we strive to tion. "It's all very well for a man to talk to a woman about giving up her children, as if they were sheep or cattle, but he knows nothing about it; so, brighten up, my little woman, and don't take it to heart. Things will come out right; they always do. That's my experience, and I've had some pretty hard rubs in getting through the world. If I understand, you have enough ahead to keep you for the next six months; so, you see, there's plenty of space to turn around in. Scholars will come in, if only one at a time. "You'll get a school, and no thanks to Mr. Lawson." Mrs. Leslie, without answering, rose and went to a drawer, from which she took a package of money. "Let me do one thing," she said, "and that is, secure this house for a year. Here are twenty-six pounds, the amount of rent. It is set apart for this purpose, and will be safest in your hands." Mrs. Wayland received the money, simply saying, as she did so, "Let it be as you wish." She then added, in a tone of encouragement: "I have something for you on the brighter side; two scholars to begin with." A light glanced over Mrs. Leslie's face. "But let me explain myself," said Mrs. Wayland, taking a chair; she had, until now, been standing. "There is one thing that I have seen from the beginning; you can't teach a school unless there is somebody to take care of your children, the two youngest, especially. Now, I think I can manage this for you. The scholars I spoke of are two little orphan neices; if you will teach them, I will take care of Katy and the baby during school hours. How does this strike you?" "Oh, ma'am," replied Mrs. Leslie, grasping the hand of Mrs. Wayland, "nothing could suit me better." "Very well, that may be regarded as settled, and so much towards a school. Beginning with these two little girls, you can feel your way, as it were. brush up, and get your hand in, by the time other scholars come along." How soon after the shadows fell did the sunlight drive them away! It was but the going down of one day in darkness, that another day of brighter aspect might succeed. In a week, Mrs. Leslie was ready to open her school. She took that time to acquaint herself as much as possible with books of instruction and modes of teaching, for, being in earnest, and seeing only this resource before her, she gave up her thought to her work, and resolved to do it well-that is, up to the full measure of her ability. It so happened that kind Mrs. Wayland had an acquaintance, a young woman recently from England, who, before her marriage, was a teacher. When she was introduced to Mrs. Leslie, and made acquainted with her designs, she entered into them with a lively interest; in fact, undertook to give the teacher not only the first lessons in her art, but to plan for her a course of study in the right direction. Then came another strengthening assurance to Mrs. Leslie always loved children. When a young girl, she would gather them around her, and tell them stories by the hour; and children were always attracted to her. "I am afraid these two little girls will give you trouble," said Mrs. Wayland, on the day the school was opened. "They have been sadly neglected since their mother's death." "I will make them love me," was the quiet answer. And it was so. The young teacher did not begin by adopting a stately formality; she held in her mind no school pattern for imitation. She made no system of rules for strict observ ance; but, desiring to do her duty by her pupils, she sought, through her own instincts, the way to their hearts; and she found the way. How easy the task was that seemed, as she looked at it from the dim distance, impossible to perform! She was able to look right into the minds of her pupils, to take hold, as it were, of their thoughts, and draw them towards those facts and formulas which are first to be stored in the memory, and then raised up into the region of intelligence; and in doing this, in her own way, she kept them always interested, and made their schoolhours pleasant, instead of irksome. At the end of ten days two more scholars were added. The friend of Mrs. Wayland, referred to as having been a teacher, had looked on, with no common interest, to see how the experiment of Mrs. Leslie would succeed. A week's observation satisfied her; and on her recommendation this addition was made to the school. From that time the future of Mrs. Leslie was settled. Her little flock steadily increase 1, until, before six months had expired, the num ber reached twenty. It was plain, however, both to herself and the few kind friends who had learned to take an interest in her, that her duties were too severe. She was a frail, slender woman, with a narrow chest and rather low vitality. The earnestness with which she was bending every power of body and mind to this double work of teaching and self-instruction told severely upon her nervous system, and made signs of warning on her paling cheeks and hollow eyes. But there was no turning back to find a new path; this was the only one that had opened to her feet, and, for the sake of her beloved ones, she must go forward, though the sharp stones cut her at every foot fall. A year later found her with a flourishing school, but in a new location. The room at Mrs. Wayland's proving too small, she had taken an entire house, with ampler accommoda tions. Here she went on, in her life-battle, from conquering unto conquest. The reputation of her school had spread so widely that she was solicited to take more advanced pupils. She 66 had neither the time nor the ability to teach of the train, and Katy had come around from these, and so had to add to her establishment her pleasant home to share the family joy. She two or three competent instructors. Yet still, sat with her mother, and talked of the smiling as her work increased, her strength of body- future which stood, with a quiver full of blessnot of will-declined. The aching head and de-ings, beckoning her onward. pressed nervous system, the pains that often sobbed her of sleep, had no power to turn her aside from her chosen path. For her children she was ready to die, if that must be; to accept the crown of martyrdom, but not to swerve from duty. Two, three, four, five years came and went, yet the devoted little woman was still at her post. The school was large, and the demand on all her faculties constant and imperative. "You will kill yourself," said one. "You will have to give up your school," said another. "No one has a right to commit suicide," suggested a third. Mrs. Leslie heard all this, looked at her help less children, considered them, and kept on. The question of stopping was not even debated. And still, as the years went by, the pale, thin face of Mrs. Leslie was seen daily in her school, which, under her excellent management, held its own, though institutions of greater scope and higher pretensions were growing up around her. At last, Edward, her eldest son, reached his majority, and entered the world as a pureminded, earnest, honest man. At seventeen, she had placed him in a store, where, by industry and intelligence, he gained his employer's confidence, and now he was fairly launched on the sea of life, well furnished for the voyage. Katy had been educated as a teacher, and brought into the school; but a man worthy to claim her hand wanted her for another position, and so removed her to a new home. Willie, who was studying medicine, alone remained to leau upon her failing arm. How earnestly and tenderly did Edward and Katy beseech their mother to give up, and spare her life! But her duty, as she saw it, was not yet done, and so she kept on a few years longer; then the end came, and she rested from her labour. Willie, her youngest born, and-if her true mother's heart leaned towards one of her children more than another-her idol, had closed his three years' course of study, and received his diploma. The hour for his arrival at home had come, and, with a heart full of love and thankfulness that God had spared her to complete her wish, Mrs. Leslie looked for his appearance. She was conscious of feeling weaker than usual; the ordinary duties of the day had pressed upon her heavily, and many times she had been compelled, through sheer weakness, to lie down, in order to recover her wasting strength. The night had fallen. Edward was away at the railway-station to meet Willie on the arrival I feel very weak to-night-weaker than usual," said Mrs. Leslie, leaning back in the large easy-chair, with a weary movement. "Let me bring you a pillow." And Katy ran lightly over to her mother's room and brought back a pillow, which she placed on the sofa. "Now lie down," she said. "Ah, that is more comfortable." And she kissed the pale brow and thin lips of her heroic mother, tenderly and lovingly. "The train is late coming to-night. I hope nothing has happened to it." There was a tremor of concern in the voice of Mrs. Leslie. She had hardly said this when the door was heard to open, and then came manly footsteps, with a springing tread, along the passage. "Thank God!" leaped from the mother's heart, as she rose up, and leaned forward eagerly to get the first sight of her boy, returning home with honour. Into her outstretched arms he came. Clasping him almost wildly to her heart, sчe sobbe : "My son! son!" "Dear, dear mother! I am with you again." For an unusual time, Mrs. Leslie stood holding her arms around her son, and hiding her face upon his shoulder, then, lifting her head, she murmured, as if answering back to her own thougts: "Yes, blessed be God! It was His strength, not mine." The children noticed an unusual pallor in her always pale face. "Lie down again, dear mother," said Katy, pressing the light form back upon the sofa. This excitement is too much for you." 66 There was a smile of peace on the mother's pale face, as she looked firt at one at then at another of her children. “God bless you all!" she said, with unusual emotion, "and make you, my sons, good and true men, and you, my daughter, a good and true woman. I have lived for this hour; and my reward is great. God bless and keep you!" The low voice quivered, and tears came out from beneath the closed lids, and shone on the silken lashes. 278 LOVE AND PRIDE. BY S. KENYON. Love and Pride. I saw a maiden in the bloom of life, In thoughtless pride. Ah, foolish girl! One day Aye, she had married wrongly-married sin : Oh, sin, to marry, when the heart must stray, And gainst his works the wise must still contend Yet blame her not too much; ye can't devise Or trace all causes whence such evils rise, The guilt of actions only God can know, Weeping to think what might have been, and how The earth may hide, but will bring forth the seed; Our help and stay, oh, fail not! keep that sphere, ANECDOTE.—A good anecdote is told of a painter, to whom a certain clergyman sat for his portrait. The minister felt called on, during the sitting, to give the artist a moral lecture. Somewhat in awe of him, he began very nervously; but as the artist painted away without any sign of annoyance, he gathered courage as he proceeded, and finally administered a pretty good He paused for a reply, and confessed after. wards he never felt so insignificant in his life as when the artist, with the urbane but positive authority of his profession, merely said "Turn your head a little the right, and shut your mouth,”. sermon. 1 THE LADIES' PAGE. CROCHET ANTIMACASSAR. DIAMOND PATTERN WITH STARS AND STRIPES. MATERIALS.-Crochet-cotton No. 14, of Messrs. Walter Evans & Co., Derby; penelope needle No. 3, and coloured mohair braid of half an inch in width for the narrow stripes, and one inch for the broad. For the tassels, one ounce of single Berlin wool, the same colour as the braid. THE INSERTION. In this pattern the first row of crochet is worked on the braid, using it instead of a foundation chain, and, to prevent any difficulty in regulating the stitches, it is advisable to cut a slip of paper rather narrower than the braid, place it on a measure, and with a pencil make dots on the edge of it the required distance apart, as afterwards mentioned; then tack the paper on the braid as a guide for the stitches. Take a stripe of the narrow braid, the length of the Antimacassar, and hem the ends to secure them, as the stitches are to be one quarter of an inch apart; tack a slip of paper as before directed. 1st row. Commence at one end of the braid, and work 2 chain and 1 treble on it, repeating to the other end, regulating the distances by the paper. Work 7 chain and 1 plain 3 times across the braid; then down the other side work a row of 7 chain and 1 plain, these stitches must be one-third of an inch apart; then 3 loops more on the end of braid. 2nd. Miss 1, and work 1 plain in the first 2 chain of last row; then 3 chain, miss 2, 2 treble in the next 2 chain, 4 chain and 2 treble in the same 2 chain as before; then 3 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the next 2 chain. Repeat along the treble stitches; then leave a yard of thread. 3rd.-Commence at the first plain stitch of the last row, and work 1 plain in the 3 chain; then 3 chain, miss 2, 2 treble in the 4 chain, 4 chain and 2 treble in the same 4 chain as before; then 3 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the three chain, and, missing the 2 plain, repeat to the end. Take another stripe of the narrow braid, and repeat the direction to the end of the 2nd row, and for the joining work the third row as follows: 3rd.-Commence at the 1st plain stitch of the last row, and work 1 plain in the 3 chain; then 3 chain, miss 2, 2 treble in the 4 chain; then 2 chain; take the 1st stripe and join to the 4 chain at the point of the last vandyke of it; then 2 chain more, 2 treble in the same 4 chain; then 3 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the 3 chain. Repeat until all the vandykes are joined. At the end make 16 chain, join to the 1st row of the 1st stripe, and, in this loop of chain, work 3 chain and 1 treble 7 times. Fasten off. With the thread left at the other end, make a loop to correspond. Repeat the whole of the direction once more. THE BROAD BRAID. As the stitches on both sides of this braid will be one-third of an inch apart, the paper guide can be marked accordingly. Take a stripe and hem the two ends in a point; then, commencing at the straight edge of the braid so as to be even with the narrow stripe, work 4 chain, join to the centre of the 7 chain on the narrow stripe: then 3 chain and 1 plain on the broad stripe. Repeat until all the loops are joined. Work along the pointed end 7 chain and 1 plain 5 times. Then, as before, down the other side of the braid, joining to the second stripe of insertion. THE STARS. Commence with 6 chain, and work 1 single on the 1st stitch to make it round. 1st round.-Make five chain and 1 treble in the foundation round, then 2 chain and 1 treble in the foundation 4 times more, 2 chain 1 single in the 3rd stitch of the 1st 5 chain. 2nd. Miss 1, and work 1 plain and 2 treble in the 2 chain; then 3 chain, 2 treble and 1 plain in the same 2 chain as before. Repeat 5 times more, and fasten off. Sew these stars on the broad braid, leaving a space of about one inch between them. Make the tassels alternately of white cotton and coloured wool; these are formed by winding the material round a card about 2 inches wide, and, after securing the folds at the top to form a head, make 6 chain, draw it through a loop of the work, then 6 chain more, and fasten off at the top of the tassel. GARTER IN WOOL AND ELASTIC CORD. MATERIALS. Black silk elastic cord, blue fleecy wool, blue silk ribbon, four-fifths of an inch wide. This garter is made of four pieces of flat black | cords. The garter is then sewn together; the silk elastic, folded in half their width, and darned closely with fleecy wool. Fasten the four pieces of elastic together at the ends before commencing and drawing the wool alternately once above and once underneath the elastic seam is hidden under a rosette of blue silk ribbon. Instead of darning the elastic, they can be joined on to one another by button-hole loops of fleecy wool. |