his icy breath, his cold touch, until he lost his terrors; and I do earnestly believe that without one mortal pang she ceased to breathe. In compliance with her entreaties, the secret of the tenure on which she held existence from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute, remained undivulged.

'I am aware that the temporal concerns of the late Mathilde Hardinge are admirably and carefully adjusted for the benefit of your daughter Dorothy; the dear deceased having rejoiced that it was in her power to restore one half of the lost fortune to her who had once expected to inherit the whole.

'I consider it an especial boon that I was permitted to be near her at the moment of her death. A few days previously, she had mentioned to me her desire, that immediately after her dissolution, yourselves should be made acquainted with the event through the medium of my pen. Gervase Hardinge is immersed in deep grief; but the elasticity of youthful spirits and fine health will, with God's blessing, soon, I think, restore him to complacency. Sorrowing, but not shocked or overwhelmed-I not having reckoned on Mathilde Hardinge sojourning among us for even so lengthened a period as she did-I remain your servant to command, EPHRAIM EMSLIE, M.D.'

Dorothy's voice faltered as she read, and bursting into tears she exclaimed: 'O father, how cruelly we have misjudged poor Mathilde; and now she has gone from us, and we can make her no amends!"

The end, indeed, has proved that we have judged her harshly, Dorothy, my dear,' responded Mr Cheyne, greatly agitated; but read that passage again in Doctor Emslie's letter which touches on the fortune.'

Dorothy tearfully complied, sobbing as she read. I parted with this angel in suspicion and coldness, and she death-doomed— expecting momentarily the summons-and yet planning everything for my happiness! O father, would that I could bring her back! How differently would I treat her!' cried Dorothy.

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My dear child,' interrupted Mr Cheyne gravely, 'do not say that again: we may go to her, she cannot come to us; nor would she if she could, depend upon it.' Long and hysterically Dorothy Cheyne wept on her father's shoulder: the old man was composed, though he often repeated in a low voice: 'Poor Doctor Emslie ! poor Doctor Emslie! she was to him as an only daughter.'

'How could we be so blind, father,' whispered Dorothy, when the violence of her emotions began to subside, as not to solve the mystery which, as a halo, enveloped Mathilde? She was so different from all others, that our blindness seems stupidity now.' 'Ah! my dear girl,' replied Mr Cheyne soothingly, 'we always think an enigma easy when it is solved.'

'And do you not remember, father,' continued Dorothy musingly, on parting every night, how invariably poor Mathilde

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bade each of us farewell, as if the night might never, for her at least, break again into day? and once when we were alone, and the hour of retiring arrived, she threw such unusual gravity into so commonplace an occurrence as a daily "good-night," that, jestingly, I inquired her reason for so doing."Our short nights of darkness are typical of our long dreamless night of rest, which we all must enter into. Are we any of us sure of seeing another sunrise. when we seek this short night's repose?" she replied. "No, indeed, not sure, Mathilde," said I carelessly; "but people don't often die in their beds suddenly and unexpectedly."" May God avert such a fate from you!" whispered Mathilde; and the words are engraven on my heart, father-so solemn, sad, and thrilling they were. And yet-yet, foolish creature that I was-a suspicion of the truth never entered my brain—not the remotest idea of the terrible reality.'

Nor did she wish you to entertain a remote idea of the truth,' said Mr Cheyne, endeavouring to lead his daughter's thoughts from the distressing subject. Your deductions were perfectly natural, my dear, though we should always be careful how we judge others. In due course of time we shall receive formal notification of the settlement of the deceased's affairs, no doubt, alluded to by the excellent doctor. Cheer up, my love! happiness is yet in store for you, if I am not mistaken.'

'And all through thy instrumentality, angel Mathilde!' murmured Dorothy, as she sought the solitude of her chamber.

Mr Cheyne was right in his supposition; for when Sir John Capel heard that Mathilde had bequeathed half the fortune to Gervase, and half to Dorothy Cheyne, merely stipulating that they should follow the dictates of their own inclinations as regarded a matrimonial choice, he immediately recalled his son from exile; and as Mr Cheyne and himself had always been on the best terms, thanks,' Sir John said, 'to his diplomacy,' there was no unpleasant apologetical or exculpatory scenes to go through between the heads of the two families-Sir John truly declaring that he had always admired and coveted Dorothy for a daughterin-law, and that he rejoiced 'prudence permitted the realisation of his wishes.'

Mr Cheyne-simple-hearted, amiable, and benevolent-joyfully gave his dutiful and beloved daughter to Frank Capel, who, with gratitude unspeakable, received the priceless treasure of her hand. Gervase entered the army, and in process of time attained both rank and laurels. He often visited Deepdean when his military avocations permitted; but espousing a rich heiress, and his martial fire cooling down, he eventually settled at Hardinge Hall, which it had been Mathilde's wish her brother should retain. quaint old garden at Deepdean flourished for many years in pristine splendour, Frank declaring there was not another like it in the three kingdoms. A fair troop of children in after-times enlivened the trim green-sward alleys, and sported like water

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nymphs beside the sparkling fountains; nor was the venerable squire ever heard to complain that his meditations were disturbed. On the contrary, Evelyn's heavy folios were unwontedly neglected, and the fairy creatures became so obstreperous in their mirth in his presence, and with his assistance, that their staid nurse declared Squire Cheyne encouraged them in rebellion.' His capacious pockets were always stored with sugar-plums, besides being perfect reservoirs for all descriptions of juvenile property-torn pictures, battered balls, headless dolls, and tailless horses. But grandpapa's especial favourite and chum was a gentle little girl, who best liked to saunter slowly hand-in-hand with the old man, sagely inquiring the names of flowers and shrubs, and whose name was Mathilde. Dr Emslie did not long survive his beloved ward, bequeathing the bulk of his moderate fortune to charitable institutions. On the site where Hardinge Hall formerly frowned, a gay modern villa smiles in the sunshine; and few persons would notice with any unusual degree of interest a plain marble tablet in Hardinge church, which simply records the name and age of Mathilde Hardinge, who sleeps beneath. Requiescat in pace!

T is but a tribute due to that spirit of untiring research which characterises the age in which we live, to acknowledge that there remain comparatively few branches of art and manufacture every mystery of which has not been made plain to us. The origins of curious inventions have been so perseveringly traced, that in most instances we may not only sympathise in the triumph of the projector at the practical realisation of some cherished idea, but follow the workings of his mind through that chaos of fancies, doubts, hopes, and fears, which preceded the clear light of discovery. Then we may trace, step by step, the history of the idea on its gradual advance to perfection; may rejoice as we see it clothed in forms of increasing beauty and practical utility; and, finally, recognise the great results which may spring from the careful

No. 52.

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development of one man's thought and ingenuity. But although we possess such abundant means of enlightenment as a general principle, there yet remain some few subjects concerning which we vainly seek for this plenitude of information; they must be either so closely enveloped in mystery as to disappoint inquiry, or not of sufficient general interest to awaken it. To both these causes may probably be referred, in some measure, the doubt and uncertainty which attach to the earlier annals of the art of Lacemaking.

Although we possess no positive clue to the date of this invention, and have only conjecture to rely upon, there seems reasonable ground for attributing it to the most remote ages. The love of distinction in attire doubtless gave rise, at a very early period, to some attempts at adornment with the needle; as the power of execution advanced, the style and manner of the designs necessarily improved, and the various branches of embroidery are known to have attained among the civilised and luxurious Greeks to a remarkable degree of perfection. So skilled were the Phrygian women especially in the use of the needle, that opus Phrygianum was the general Latin term for curious and fine needle-work of every description, whilst Phrygiones was the common name given to the class following the occupation of embroiderers. It has been suggested by more than one author, that the delicate ornamental work introduced by the Phrygians to other parts of the civilised world, included the manufacture of lace; but it has been more generally inferred, from passages in Pliny and Plautus, to have consisted of embroidery merely. The most ancient description of lace, however, being worked entirely with the needle, was, after all, but a finer specimen of the older art; and there is probability, if not proof, that its existence dates from about the same period. It is certain that neither labour nor ingenuity was spared in the production of the magnificent borderings for robes, often worked in gold and silver and various colours, which are associated in our minds with the ancients on better grounds than mere tradition. What, then, is more probable than that, in the search for novelty and variety-as much an object of desire, no doubt, in that age as in our own-the idea should have presented itself to some tasteful eye of relieving the pattern of the fabric with occasional spaces, either left wholly vacant, or filled up with a web-like groundwork? This would, in reality, constitute lace, however much it might differ from the delicate material known by that name in the present day. Whether the introduction of lace is referrible to the classic ages or not, certain it is that a very respectable degree of antiquity may be claimed for it.

It must be borne in mind that real or hand-made lace is divided into two distinct classes: first, that worked with the needle, which has for ages been known by the name of point, and is but transparent embroidery; and secondly, that made on a hard cushion or pillow, by the interweaving of numerous fine threads wound on