Mesh, No. 7.

two together at the end of every row on the eleven, until two only are left. Net them into one, and fasten off. Join on where you should have continued after the eleven stitches, and work backwards and forwards, netting two together at the end of every other row-the row that ends at the right side, and increasing at the end of the other row, until the extreme length of the narrow part was done; then a plain row,

after which decrease at the end of every row till complete. Wash, stiffen, pin it out in the proper shape, and darn it according to the pattern.

If done in crochet, begin at the widest end. The ends are to be trimmed with fringe. direction in which the netting is done. The diagonal lines in the engraving show the

AIGUILLETTE.

GERTRUDE LENOX.

(A Story for Young Ladies.)

BY MARIA NORRIS.

Author of "Philip Lancaster," &c., &c. "Mais comment, Mademoiselle? Again you cannot repeat your lesson. Ah, fi-done!"

'Oh, Monsieur Laval, I shall never be able to learn French. I dislike it, and therefore it is useless to try. It is merely time wasted."

"But, Mees Lenox, your mamma speak so well-parfaitement-and she wish you to learn. And if you not learn, you can never read Corneille, and Racine, and Molière. Look at the books of Milady Lenox! There is Molière. You can see the pictures, and the fine reliure the binding-but you cannot comprehend the words-the words of Molière, which make to laugh all the world."

"It is possible to laugh at Frenchmen without understanding Molière," replied the little lady, with a saucy smile.

Monsieur Laval sighed. Like all his compatriots, he was proud of his country-of her language and literature; and the habitual behaviour of Miss Lenox proved her contempt for these things. This contempt wounded him even more than the personal insult involved in the young lady's impertinent smiles and tones. Monsieur Laval sighed, shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and took a quiet pinch of snuff. Then looking at his watch, he found that Miss Lenox's hour was gone. Gravely taking up his well-worn hat, he bowed to his little tormentor, and went out.

Gertrude's cousin Herbert-a fine lad of fourteen, just home from Eton-sat in the room during the lesson; and Monsieur Laval had scarcely closed the door of the apartment, when a merry laugh burst from the children. The poor Frenchman heard the laugh, and must have known that it was enjoyed at his expense. "Oh Gertrude," cried Herbert, "what a capital mimic you are! How you stood, bowing and scraping to that Frenchman! You mocked every gesture. Upon my word you deserved to be a boy!"

"Look here, then," cried Gertrude, animated by Herbert's evident amusement. "Is this how

he walks? Is this his cough? Does he press his hand on his side, so, when he bids me good morning? Does he back out of the room like

an old courtier, thus?" "Exact, I declare! 'Tis as good as a pantomine."

The next few hours were spent in exercise and amusement. It was a bitterly cold February day, and Gertude and Herbert thoroughly enjoyed a ride in the park, attended by an old servant who was attached to both of them-to Miss Lenox especially, because he had taught her to ride, and had found her an excellent pupil. Gertrude was courageous and spirited; she managed her pony with grace, and the fine clear frosty weather had raised his mettle so that he displayed all his fire. The happy girl glowed with health and exercise, and people turned to observe how firmly and well she rode. Herbert could scarcely keep pace with her, and the prudent old groom begged her not to go too fast. As they left the park, a little shivering child begged a trifle. Herbert threw him a sixpence, and remarked to his cousin, who was now riding at a more moderate pace, how very cold the child appeared.

"Yes," replied Gertrude; "but did you not hear Lord Amesbury the other evening say what impostors these beggars are? how they hire children, and go about with them as though they were their own? He described, too, how merrily these people live. I mistrust beggars."

"Not that little boy, Gertrude. Even if he were hired to beg, he must be wretched; and I am sure he looked innocent, poor little fellow! Oh Gertrude, don't get cold-hearted. I hate cold-hearted women!"

Gertrude laughed, and tossed her head as though Herbert's sentiments were of little consequence to her. "I am not cold-hearted," she said. "I love my father and mother; and in default of sisters and brothers, my very impressible cousin Herbert. But I am not going to love every dirty child who begs of me in the street."

At that very moment, as if some angel whispered in her ear, Gertrude felt her frivolous speech interrupted. The words rang through her heart-" Lord, when saw we thee hungry,

X

and fed thee?... Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me." There was something in the sentence which clung to Gertrude's memory. It haunted her all day.

Sir Henry and Lady Lenox were excellent parents, and anxious above all things for the real welfare of their only and darling child. Yet Sir Henry's time was too much occupied with his public duties to admit of his paying Gertrude so much attention as he felt inclined to devote to her. In the country, things were different. When the family went to Lenox Court, Sir Henry rode, walked, and read with his daughter. The year before our sketch opens, he had given her regular lessons in Latin and Italian, which latter language he spoke fluently, having been for some years envoy in one of the Italian states. Gertrude much valued her father's instructions, and took great pains to profit by them. She knew how many people wanted to see Sir Henry, and could calculate the value of the hours he gave up to her-hours when his brother-magistrates, his steward, his tenants, his country pleasures, were all set aside for her. She would not, on any consideration, have wasted one of the precious minutes thus consecrated to her use. The time of Sir Henry Lenox and the time of poor Monsieur Laval were very different things. Gertrude felt no compunction in wasting hours which the poor French gentleman might perhaps have employed to some purpose elsewhere. In London Sir Henry had to attend upon his parliamentary duties, tiresome committees in the morning, and long debates at night; he had to sit as a member of this board and that board, to fulfil the office he held under Government, to visit and receive his friends. Gertrude was always glad when the time came for Lenox Court, because her father had then leisure to cultivate her mind, and to make her his friend and companion. Formerly she and her governess had been left in the country during the season, but this year and the preceding she had been brought to town for the benefit of masters.

Evening came, and Lady Lenox sent for Gertrude to the drawing-room. Lady Lenox did this when she had but few visitors, if they were people whose conversation and acquaintance were likely to benefit a girl of Gertrude's age. Lady Lenox was an affectionate mother, and looked up with a kind smile as Miss Lenox, with her usual grace, entered the room.

An old gentleman, with a sweet gentle expression and hair like snow, was talking with her mamma. They were speaking French, and Lady Lenox was evidently interested and absorbed by what she heard. Gertrude approached her mother, and was introduced to the Count d'Auxerre, of whom she had frequently heard her parents speak. She longed to understand all the Count was saying; but his quick manner of speaking, and the elision of his vowels puzzled her. She only caught here and there a word; yet his intelligent face, clear voice, and graceful manner were all prepossessing, and

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piqued curiosity. He was a man of distinguished character as well as of high rank, Gertrude felt sure. The words "mon fils," mon pauvre enfant," occurred very frequently; and Gertrude thought the Count was speaking of some child who had died.

It was Gertrude's happy privilege to sit in her mother's dressing-room, while Lady Lenox had her hair dressed. Lady Lenox, unwilling to lose time, had accustomed her daughter to read aloud to her during this part of her toilette. The next morning, however, Gertrude felt quite unable to fix her mind upon the subject of her reading; and Lady Lenox, perceiving that the words uttered left no impression on the mind, desired her to close the volume.

"What occupies you this morning, Gertrude?" asked Lady Lenox, at length.

"I am thinking, mamma, of the Count d'Auxerre. What a noble face! What a beautiful brow! Is he not very good?"

"He is, my dear. He is one of the most benevolent of men. He is also a person of rare abilities, and, as you saw, perfectly free from presumption and conceit."

"Oh, mamma, I think people of real ability are seldom conceited and self-occupied. They know they need no t assert their own greatness, and behave with simplicity. It is only little people who walk on stilts. But do tell me more about the Count. How did you first know him?"

"We met him in Italy, my dear, many years ago. You heard him tell the great story of his life last night."

"I am ashamed to say I comprehended scarcely a word-only enough to excite curiosity."

Indeed! I must change your master, Gertrude. I have feared that Monsieur Laval's instructions were not of much use to you. Do you speak French with Annette?"

"No, mamma; her broken English is so amusing. But pray tell me about the Count?" "The Count d'Auxerre," said Lady Lenox, was a young man when the French Revolution broke out and demolished his order. He was a person of great benevolence, and had spent almost his whole life in relieving the necessities and ameliorating the condition of the poor. But in that terrible political storm, good and bad were utterly confused, and the Count d'Auxerre found himself stripped of his whole property, and flung into prison; whence he expected to be taken only to suffer a violent death. The year before the final outbreak, the young Count had married a sweet and interesting person, whose every sympathy aided her husband's efforts to do good. The consciousness that he left Madame d'Auxerre and her little infant unprotected and poor in the midst of cruelty and oppression, was the sharpest sting in the Count's misfortune. It was sad indeed to be snatched from his child of a few weeks old, from his young wife, from home, and from all man holds dear, to be thrown into a dark dungeon, equally removed from heaven's sunshine and human