STORIES FOR THE YOUNG. MY PETS. V.-TOM, THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. I now come to the very prince of pets, the one of all I ever had the most noble and most dear,-Tom, a Newfoundland setter, the favourite dog of my brother Albert. He has been a member of our family for five or six years past. We brought him from the city to our pleasant village home, where we now live. Tom is a dog of extraordinary beauty, sagacity, and good feeling. He is very large, and, with the exception of his feet and breast, jet black, with a thick coat of fine hair, which lies in short curls, glossy and silken. He has a well-formed head, and a handsome, dark eye, full of kindness and intelligence. His limbs are small, and his feet particularly delicate. He is, I am sorry to say, rather indolent in his habits, always prefers to take a carriage to the hunting-ground when he goes sporting with his master, and he sleeps rather too soundly at night to be a good watch-dog. We make him useful in various ways, however, such as carrying baskets and bundles, and sometimes we send him to the post-office with and for letters and papers. These he always takes the most faithful care of, never allowing any one to look at them on the way. He is a remarkably gentlemanly dog in his manner, never making free with people, or seeming too fond at first sight; but if you speak to him pleasantly, he will offer you a friendly paw in a quiet way, and seem happy to make your acquaintance. He never fawns, nor whines, nor skulks about, but is dignified, easy, and perfectly at home in polite society. He is a sad aristocrat, treats all well-dressed comers most courteously, but with shabby people he will have nothing to do. Tom knows how to take and carry on a joke. I recollect one evening, when we had visitors, and he was in the parlour, I put on him a gay-coloured sack of my own, and a large gipsy hat, which I tied under his throat. Instead of looking ashamed and trying to get these off, as most dogs would have done, he crossed the room and sprang on to the sofa, where he sat upright, looking very wise and grave, like some old face in a quaint painting. The illus trious General Tom Thumb once travelled with my brother and this dog, and, falling very much in love with his namesake, offered any price for him. Of course my brother would not think for a moment of selling his faithful friend; and even had he felt differently, I doubt very much whether Tom, who had been used to looking up to full-grown men, would have shown much obedience or respect for such a funny little fellow as the General. It was amusing to observe the dog's manner towards his small, new acquaintance. He was kind and condescending, though he sometimes seemed to think that the General was a little too much inclined to take liberties with his superiors in age and size, rather more forward and familiar than was quite becoming in a child. Two or three years ago, Tom was the beloved playfellow of my brother Frederick's youngest daughter,—our little Jane. She always seemed to me like a fairychild, she was so small and delicate, with such bright golden curls falling about her face, the sweetest face in the world. It was beautiful to see her at play with that great black dog, who was very tender with her, for he seemed to know that she was not strong. One evening she left her play earlier than usual, and went and laid her head in her mother's lap and said, "Little Jane is tired." That night she sickened, and in a few, a very few days she died. When she was hid away in the grave, we grieved deeply that we should see her face no more; but we had joy to know that it would never be pale with sickness in that heavenly home to which she had gone; and though we miss her still, we have great happiness in the thought that she will never be "tired" any more. One day last spring, I remember, her mother gave me a bunch of violets, saying, "They are from the grave of little Jane." I suppose they were like all other blue violets, but I thought then I had never seen any so beautiful. It seemed to me that the sweet looks of the child were blooming out of the flowers which had sprung up over the place where we had laid her. Tom seems much attached to all our family, but most devotedly so to my brother Albert. They two have hunted very much together, and seem equally fond of the sport. If Tom sees his master with his hunting-dress on, and his fowling-fully till he was out of sight. piece in hand, he is half beside himself with joy. But when he returns from the hunt, spent and weary, he always comes to me to be fed and petted. he would ask what it was; and when my brother patted him on the head, bade him good bye, and passed out of the gate, forbidding him to follow, the faithful creature whined sadly, and looked after him wist You will remember that years have passed by since this brother and I were schoolmates and playmates together. He is now a fine young man, while I am a full-grown woman, who have seen the world I used to think so grand and glorious, and found it no better than it should be. But of my brother. He is our youngest, you know, and so has never outgrown that peculiar fondness, that dear love, we always give to "the baby." While I have been writing these histories, and recalling in almost every scene the playmate of my childhood, I can only see him as a boy, a little black-eyed, rosycheeked boy; it is very difficult to think of him as a man, making his own way bravely in the world. Last spring we observed that dear Albert's bright face had become very thoughtful and serious; we knew that something was weighing on his mind, and finally it came out. He was about to leave us all for a long time, it might be for ever; he was going to California! We were very unhappy to hear this, but, as it was on some accounts the best thing that my brother could do, we finally consented, and all went to work as cheerfully as we could to help him off. It was a bright May morning when he left, but it seemed to us that there never was a darker or sadder day. The dear fellow kept up good courage till it came to the parting; then his heart seemed to melt and flow out in his tears, fast dropping on the brows and necks of his mother and sisters, as he held them for the last time to his heaving breast. But I will not dwell on this parting, for my own eyes grow so dim I cannot well see to write. I remember that poor Tom seemed greatly troubled that morning; he knew that something sad was happening, and looked anxiously in our faces, as though After Albert had been gone about an hour, I remember that I went up into his room, and sat down in his favourite seat by the window. Oh, how still and lonely and mournful it seemed there! Near me hung my brother's fencing - sword and mask, which he had used only the day before; on the floor lay the game-bag, which he had always worn in hunting, and which he had flung out of his trunk, not having room for it. This brought my merry brother before me more clearly than anything else. I took it up and held it a long time, mourning at heart, but I could not weep. Suddenly I heard a low whine in the hall, and Tom stole softly into the room. He came to me and laid his head in my lap; but when he saw the game-bag there, he set up a most mournful cry. Then I flung my arms about him, bowed my head down against his neck, and burst into tears. I forgot that he was a poor dumb brute, and only remembered that he loved my brother, and my brother loved him, and that he mourned with me in my sorrow. After this it was very affecting to see Tom go every day, for a long while, to the gate out of which he had seen his master pass for the last time, and then stand and look up the street, crying like a grieved child. As you will readily believe, Tom is now dearer than ever to us all; we cannot see him without a sweet sad thought of that beloved one so far away. I am not now at home; but I never hear from there without hearing of the welfare of the noble dog which my brother, in going, bestowed upon me. CURIOUS FACTS.-If a tallow candle be placed in a gun and be shot at a door, it will go through without sustaining any injury; and if a musket-ball be fired into water, it will rebound and be flattened as if fired against any hard substance. A musket-ball may be fired through a pane of glass, and if the glass be suspended by a thread it will make no difference, and the thread not even vibrate. THE WORK-TABLE FRIEND. BRAIDED SOFA CUSHION. Materials. A square of fine cloth, with 2 knots of each of 2 colours, in Albert-braid. Sewing silk to correspond. IN selecting the colours for a sofa cushion, the furniture and hangings of the room must be considered. The cloth should be of the principal tint, and the braid such as will go well with it. A French blue ground harmonizes with orange and black braid; a green with crimson and black; gold colour with blue and black, or violet and green. Nothing can exceed the rich appearance of the Albert braid, when two colours are thus laid on, parallel with each other. In beginning to braid, draw the end through to the wrong side of the cloth, then sew it down, with ordinary sewing silk, taking the stitches always over the thin parts of the braid, by which means they are perfectly invisible. It is much easier to braid with the new material than with the flat silk braid, (usually termed Russia silk), as the latter is apt to work unevenly, except in very expert hands. In braiding with two colours, do the entire cushion with the brightest tint first; after which sew the other, close to it, but on the inside. In the engraving, the white line represents a rich crimson braid, and the black line is the black ground being a very handsome green cloth. The pattern, which is given completely in miniature, must be enlarged to the proper size (about half a yard square). The back of the cushion may be of plain cloth or silk. Cord and tassels to correspond, should finish the edge and corners. The cloth, marked in any colour, may be had for 5s. 9d. Albert braid 1s. 2d. a knot, postage included. GENTLEMAN'S LONG PURSE IN Materials-2 skeins of the finest black netting silk, 6 skeins of gold thread, No. 0, 2 very handsome tassels in black and gold, and slides to correspond. A very fine netting-needle, and mesh, No. 17. IN doing netting so fine and delicate as that of the purse before us, it will be found necessary not to fill even the smallest netting-needle too full of silk; as if made too full, it becomes so difficult to pass through the loops as to tire the patience of the best worker. Begin on 4 stitches, made on a thread only as a foundation. Draw two off the mesh, and work 2 on each of the four, forming them into a round, and never keeping more than two stitches together on the mesh. Continue to work round and round, making two stitches in every small stitch, and by so doing increasing four stitches in every round, until there are 60 altogether, when you will do 49 rounds, without any increase. After this, instead of working round, work backwards and forwards 50 rows. Again close for a round, with the same number of stitches (60), and make 49 rounds. To decrease for the end, net two stitches together 4 times in every round, until only four stitches remain. The two stitches must be taken together invariably at the quarters. The pattern is darned entirely in gold. A star is first done at each side of the lines forming the increase or decrease, and the remainder is worked from the engraving. The pattern, which occupies 15 stitches, is repeated four times at each end. A simple zig-zag pattern, done on each side of the opening, strengthens as well as ornaments it. In darning netting, always work in one GENTLEMAN'S LONG PURSE, IN NETTING, BY MRS. PULLAN. direction, if the pattern inclines so; but where (as in the present case), there is a centre to each design, the darning must radiate from it in opposite directions, the right side being to the right, and the other being reversed. This purse would look well in cerise, blue, or green, and might be darned with silver instead of gold, in which case the garniture must correspond with it. The silk is the finest made in Paris, and resembles that used for Maltese netting. The beauty of the purse depends greatly on the extreme fineness of the silk em ployed for it. Materials 10s. 6d., post free. EMINENT FEMALE WRITERS. ANNA SEWARD ANNA SEWARD, daughter of the Rev. Thomas Seward, of Lichfield, was born in the year 1747. In her very early childhood, she showed a great passion for poetry; but her mother, who had no taste for it, and who had a dread lest her daughter should be a "literary lady," persuaded her husband to forbid Anna from pursuing the natural bent of her genius. Poetry, therefore, was prohibited; and, to her praise, she sacrificed her own strong and decided tastes to the inclination of her parents. At the age of seventeen, she lost her only sister,—a bereavement which she felt most keenly, and which she subsequently made the subject of an elegy. The blank in her domestic society was, however, in a degree, supplied by the attachment of Miss Honora Sneyd, then residing in her father's family, whom she often mentions in her poetry. When of age to select her own studies, she became a professed votary of the Muse, and she was known by the name of the "Swan of Lichfield." Among her first publications was" An Elegy to the Memory of Captain Cook," and "A Monody on the Death of Major André." From the nature of the subjects, they enjoyed great popularity for the time, but are now very little read, though Sir Walter Scottf says, * She was the object of Major André's attachment, and afterwards became Mrs. Edgeworth. See the Biographical Preface of Sir Walter Scott, to his edition of Miss Seward's Poetical Works, 3 vols., Edinburgh, 1840. that " they convey a high impression of the original powers of their author." In "Collection of 1799, she published a Original Sonnets," which contain some beautiful examples of that species of composition. After this she did not publish any large poem; yet she continued to pour forth her poetical effusions upon such occasions as interested her feelings, or excited her imagination. She died on the 23rd of March, 1809, having bequeathed, by will, to Sir Walter Scott, with whom for many years she had corresponded, the copyright of her poems and letters, with a request that he would superintend their publication. Of her character and her poetry, a distinguished critic thus speaks: "She was endowed with considerable genius, and with an ample portion of that fine enthusiasm which sometimes may be mistaken for it; but her taste was far from good, and her numerous productions (a few excepted), are disfigured by florid ornament and elaborate magnificence." We have selected as a specimen of Miss Seward's poems, the following: THE GRAVE OF YOUTH. WHEN life is hurried to untimely close, And the year's blossom'd April; - bounding |
