esting pet. But one Saturday forenoon I let him out, that I might clean his cage. I had not observed that there was a window open, but the bird soon made himself acquainted with the fact, and, with a glad, exulting trill, he darted out into the sunshine. Hastily catching my bonnet, I ran after him. At first, he stayed about the trees in front of the house, provokingly hopping from branch to branch out of my reach, holding his head on one side, and eyeing me with sly, mischievous glances. At last he spread his wings and flew down the street. I followed as fast as I could, keeping my eye upon him all the time. It was curious that he did not fly across squares, or over the houses, but kept along above the streets, slowly, and with a backward glance once in a while. At length, he turned down a narrow court, and flew into the open window of a small framehouse. Here I followed him, knocking timidly at the door, which was opened at once by a boy about nine years old. I found myself in a small parlour, very plainly, but neatly furnished. In an armchair by the window sat a middle-aged woman, who I saw at once was blind. A tall, dark-eyed, rather handsome, girl was sitting near her, sewing. But I did not look at either of these more than a moment, for on the other side of the room was an object to charm, and yet sadden, my eyes. This was a slight girl, about my own age, reclining on a couch, looking very ill and pale, but with a small, red spot on each cheek, which told me that she was almost gone with consumption. She was very beautiful, though so thin and weary looking. She had large, dark, tender eyes, and her lips were still as sweet as rosebuds. I think I never saw such magnificent hair as hers; it flowed all over her pillow, and hung down nearly to the floor, in bright, glossy ringlets.

At that moment she was holding the truant Robin in her white, slender hands, crying and laughing over him, calling him her dear lost pet," her "naughty runaway, and a hundred other loving and scolding names. I, of course, felt rather awkward, but I explained matters to Robin's fair mistress as well as I could. She looked pleased, and thanked me warmly for the good care I had taken of the bird. Then she made me sit down by her side,

and asked my name, and told me hers, which was Ellen Harper, and introduced me to her mother, sister, and brother, all in the sweetest manner possible. We got quite well acquainted, and talked like old friends, till Ellen's cough interrupted her. Then, as I rose to go, she made me promise to come again very soon, and raised herself as though she would kiss me before I went. Just as I bent down to press my lips to hers, Robin, who, of his own accord, had taken possession of his old cage, which had been left open for him, burst out into a sweet, merry warble, full of the most astonishing trills and shakes. Then I felt that it was well that we two should love one another.

After that, I went almost daily to see Ellen Harper. I carried her books, I read to her, talked to her, and listened to her low gentle voice, and looked down deep into her clear hazel eyes, till I grew to love the sweet, patient girl more than I can tell. I think that she was a most remarkable person. Her parents were quite poor, and she had enjoyed few advantages; but she was far beyond me in scholarship and reading. And then she was a true Ĉhristian, with a calm hope, and a cheerful resignation; she seemed indeed to have given her heart to God.

Ellen knew that she was dying; she knew that, young and fair and beloved as she was, she had not long to stay in this bright, beautiful world. But she did not fear, or complain, for she knew also that a kind Father called her away, to a world far brighter and many times more beautiful than ours. It was touching to see her trying to comfort her sister Lucy, whose strength would sometimes give way as she saw that slight form growing weaker every day; or her young brother Willie, when he would leave his book, or his play, and come and lay his face against her bosom and cry; or her father, when he would come home from his work at night, and sit down beside his darling child, and hold her thin, fair fingers in his great, brown hand, and say no word, only sigh as though his poor heart was breaking; or her mother, who was blind, and could not see the change in her "own little Nellie," as she called her, and so had to be told again and again that she was failing fast. For all these dear ones, Ellen had words of

consolation, and they always felt stronger after she had talked with them.

On some of those mornings when I went over to dress her beautiful hair, which I dearly loved to do, she talked to me as an angel might talk, I thought, and told me many sweet and holy things, which I shall remember all the days of my life.

As long as she stayed with us, Ellen had great pleasure in her pet Robin. She said that to her ear he always seemed to be singing hymns, which was a great joy to her after she became too weak to sing them herself.

Dear Ellen died at night. She had been very restless in the evening, and at last said that, if she could lie in her mother's arms, as she used to lie when she was a little child, she thought that she could sleep. So Mrs. Harper laid down beside her daughter, who nestled against her bosom and slept. Ellen's happy spirit passed away in that sleep. But her mother was blind, and could not see when her child was dead; and when her husband, fearing what had happened, came near, she raised her finger and said, "Hush, don't wake Nellie !"

The next morning, Lucy sent over for me to come and dress Ellen's hair for the last time. I found my friend looking very much as I had always seen her, only with a sweeter smile, if possible, hovering about her lips. She was lying on her couch, dressed in white muslin, and with many flowers scattered around her. A vase of roses stood on a stand at her feet, and over it hung the pretty cage of Robin, and Robin himself was singing very sweetly, but in lower tones than usual, as if he thought his young mistress was sleeping, and feared to waken her.

They had cut away some of the hair from the back of Ellen's head, but around the forehead the familiar ringlets were all left. These I dressed very carefully, though my tears fell so fast I could scarcely see what I was doing. I shall never forget the scene when the family came into the parlour to look upon Ellen, after she had been laid out, that morning. Lucy, sobbing and trembling, led her mother to the couch. The poor woman felt in the air above the dead face a moment, and said, "How I miss her sweet breath around Then she knelt down, and, with

me!"

her arms flung over the body, swayed back and forth, and seemed to pray silently. The father took those shining curls in his hands, and smoothed them tenderly and kissed them many times, while his great hot tears fell fast on the head of his child, and on the rosebuds which lay upon her pillow, and seemed to give a flush to her white, cold cheek.

I noticed that little Willie was the calmest of them all. He seemed to have taken to heart the words of his sister, when she told him that she was going into a better and happier life, where she would continue to love him, and whither he would come, if he was good and true in this life. So he did not grieve for her, as most children grieve, but was quiet and submissive.

Ellen was buried in a beautiful cemetery, a mile or two from the noise and dust of the city. The morning after she had been laid there, I went to plant a little rose-tree over her grave. I was somewhat surprised to find Willie there, and with him Robin Redbreast, in his pretty cage.

"Why have you brought the bird here, Willie?" I asked.

"Because," said he, in a low, trembling voice, "I thought that, now sister's spirit was free, I ought not to keep her bird a prisoner any longer."

"That is right," I said-for I thought that this was a beautiful idea of the child's.

So Willie opened the door of the cage, and out flew the Robin. This time he did not alight on the trees, but mounted right up toward heaven. There was a light cloud floating over us, and, as we stood looking up after the bird, Willie seemed troubled to see that it passed into this, and so was lost to our sight. 'Ah," he said, "I hoped he would follow Nellie! but he has gone into the cloud, and sister's soul, I am very sure, passed away into the sunshine."

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WHATEVER is done without ostentation, and without the people being witnesses of it, is, in my opinion, most praiseworthy; not that the public eye should be entirely avoided, for good actions desire to be placed in the light: but notwithstanding this, the greatest theatre for virtue is conscience.-Cicero.

THE WORK-TABLE FRIEND.

EDGING IN FRENCH EMBROIDERY.

Materials.-French muslin, with W. Evans and Co's. Royal Embroidery cotton, No. 24, and Moravian, No. 30.

THIS section is given the full size, so that the design may be traced from it. The edging consists of an indented scallop, considerably raised and covered with graduated overcast stitch. The three flowers are also done in raised button-hole stitch, the stiletto being used for piercing the small eyelet hole in each. The leaf is worked in satin stitch, with a veining sewed over a thread down the centre. The stem is done in the same manner. The tendril is simply traced and sewed over. The Moravian cotton is used for tracing and raising the work, the embroidery cotton for sewing it over.

FAIRY PURSE.

Materials.-A skein of the finest French netting silk, a little Vert Islay and bright crimson silk, 4 skeins of gold thread, and trimming similar to that seen in the engraving. A fine netting needle, and steel mesh, Nos. 13 and 16.

THE black silk which forms the foundation of this purse is exceedingly fine, not exceeding Evans's Boar's-head cotton, No. 100. It is not made in England, where for a long time past, the art of netting has been comparatively much

neglected. The appearance of this purse, when worked, is the most delicate and fairy-like imaginable. Begin on a thread foundation, by working with the fine mesh four stitches. Withdraw the mesh from two of them.

1st Round.-Do two stitches in every stitch, beginning with the first, of course; and for the sake of convenience, withdrawing the mesh from two whenever there are four on it. There will now be eight stitches in the round, every alternate one of which is short.

Net

2nd and following Rounds. 2 stitches in every short stitch, and 1 in every other. Continue increasing thus until there are 60 stitches in the round. Do 40 rounds without any increase.

Take the large mesh, and do a plain round.

With the fine mesh do a round of Egyptian stitches, in the following manner: Miss the first stitch, take up the second with the needle, but in the reverse way to that in which it is usually done, namely from above instead of below, drawing it through the first loop. Having netted that, do the first loop in the usual way, taking it through the second. peat this all round. Do a plain round with the fine mesh, then repeat these three rounds, beginning where you use the large mesh. Five more rounds must be done with the small mesh, and then the

Re

There are to be twelve in the round. When all are done, work one row of netting all round the points, with the same (that is, the fine), mesh. The darning only, now remains to be done.

It will be found on examining the end of the purse, that four lines of close stitches radiate from the centre. This is where the two stitches were netted in one in every round. The line of holes on each side of this is to be darned in gold thread, the needle being taken to one square beyond the last round of increase on one side, and merely up to it on the other. The pure white parts of the engraving represent the gold darning. The triangular spaces between must also be darned, two opposite divisions being filled with gold, one with green, and the fourth with crimson. A single row of holes is left between the triangular and the line of gold, the longest row of the former covering twelve holes, and each succeeding one having one less.

Leaving four vacant holes, or three threads, from the top of a triangle, darn with gold, in a direct line over thirteen holes, (or 14 threads). Do another line parallel with it, not sloping either upwards or downwards, but maintaining the same distance from the darned piece below; bring your needle out at the bottom, and slip into the next line of netting, on which darn over six holes only. Leave off at the top of this line, and darn across 2 only, sloping downwards. three lines of netting across 2 only, then 1 across 3, the uppermost of which is a hole higher. Now darn across 13 holes of the next line, and in the two lines following, keeping the space of 4 holes between the lower part of this darning and that at the bottom of the purse. Repeat between the crosses, to form one pattern.

Do

The lower part of the gold being done, begin again at the second line over 13 holes, but at the top of that line. Run your needle in it, merely to fasten on, and in the next parallel line of netting darn across 3 holes, not sloping: then 3 successive lines across 2, slanting downwards, and finally across 6, which should be in the line of netting next to the long line of 13, of the same height, and leaving a space of four holes between it and

the line of 3 at the bottom. Observe that

in this purse there are alternately 2 and 3 lines of gold darning over 13 holes. In the spaces between a spot, similar in form to that seen in the engraving, is worked alternately in crimson and green. Simi

lar spots, in the same colours, appear above the gold darning. They are formed by working first over 2 holes, then over 3, the last of which is a hole higher, and finally, over 2, sloping downwards. There are 2 rounds of these spots, with 12 in each, of which 6 are of one colour, and 6 of the other.

The vandykes, at the top of the purse, are darned in gold, crimson, and green successively, 4 of each colour. The longest line of darning is over 5 holes.

In darning netting, great care must be taken not to draw it out of shape. It requires very great nicety. The ends must be carefully run in, backwards and forwards, and cut close.

Observe that in darning, the thread covers always one more thread than the number of holes, whereas the reverse of this is the case, as regards spaces left between. The strings are run in the rounds of long stitches. Materials, 8s. 6d. post-free.

NATURAL HISTORY.

THE HOUSE SPARROW.-The geographical range of this well-known bird is very extensive. He is common throughout Europe, the islands of the Mediterranean, in the north of Africa, in Asia also, in the Himalayan district, and in various other parts. Everywhere he is the same, at least under the same circumstances, except indeed in appearance; for how unlike is the smoke-begrimed sparrow of the town to the handsomelyplumaged bird of the country! Everywhere he makes himself at home. The cloud-capp'd towers" and the Poor-law Union-house, the lowly-thatched cottage and the splendid Gothic mansion, nay, the very palace of the Queen of England herself, one and all bear testimony to the universality of the dispersion of the sparrow, and the self-accommodating nature of his domiciliatory visitations. The following pleasing instance of both instinct and affection is mentioned by Mr. Cordeaux :-"Living in the City portion of the great metropolis of London, I ob

66

served one afternoon, in the aperture generally left for the cellar or kitchen window, when underground, an unfledged house sparrow, incapacitated from flying to any distance, which had been inadvertently precipitated down this same dungeon, across which, in an oblique direction, was laid an iron bar, extending within a foot of the surface. The mother was at the top, looking down with pity and alarm at the awkward position of this, perhaps, her only child. Many and ingenious were the attempts on the part of both parent and offspring for the regaining of the latter's lost position; each and all proved futile and unavailing. I looked on with a degree of pleasurable excitement, mixed with fear and anxiety lest the drama should be incomplete by the flying away of the mother and the desertion of the child. But no! Nature's uncalculated ways on these points are perfect and allsufficient, as this case most beautifully proves; for although each new proposal seemed to be blasted in the carrying out, at length the intelligent creature, after considering for a moment, flies away, returns with a stout straw in his beak, and rests for a few moments on the edge. Then conceive my delight when the little nestling, after a chirp or two from its mother, learning no doubt the particulars of the project, climbs to the farthest end of the bar, next the ground, receives the proffered straw in its beak, and is raised, to my breathless and unspeakable astonishment, to the earth, on which its now delighted mother stands." It is often remarked what impudent birds are London sparrows, and not without reason. Born and bred in the bustle of the town, they must either live and jostle with the crowd, or look down from the house-tops and die of hunger. Naturally enough, they prefer the former; and all our town readers will, we are sure, testify to the cool intrepidity with which this familiar bird will pounce upon a bit of bread, or some other tempting morsel, which happens to catch its eyes upon the pavement, and with what triumph and exultation it bears it off to its mate, seated on some window-sill or coping-stone above, or followed, perhaps, by three or four disappointed companions, who were a moment too late to seize the spoil.—Morris.