sorrow, or disappointment. Mamma always | trouble Aunt Mary to make out an old lady's stooped much more. Just then, Josephine and crabbed handwriting. "It was not very long, I discerned the square case standing on the shelf to be sure." And then she straightened herself of the cabinet. We both saw it at the same to listen, holding a little Chinese screen to shade time; and even papa's eyes wandered curiously her eyes from the fire, while Aunt Mary read, in that direction. He certainly had the best "The Temptation of Alice Gray." right to solve the mystery. It contained his Christmas present from grandmother-a picture in a bright gilt frame, which he brought forward, at her request, and placed in an excellent light. I never saw my father more affected than when he had the first glimpse of that picture. He did not say one word; but the tears rose to his eyes, and he went directly to grandmother, and, stooping down, kissed her forehead, putting back the silvery hair as he would have done to one of us, and holding his hand there a moment, as if he said, "God bless you!" in his heart. It was the only affectionate caress I ever saw him give her, for he was usually self-composed, almost stern in manner, which was her own way. "But what is it about, grandmother-the story?" asked Josephine.

"What a funny little baby!" commented Charlie. "Not half so pretty as ours. And such an ugly old gentleman! What is he doing with that eye-glass, mamma? It isn't double, like grandmother's."

Maude and Elizabeth seemed interested to know whether it was to be hung in the parlour, and said the frame was very handsome. For myself, I saw in the picture a dark room, not at all like any in our house, with an old gentleman, whose long-pointed beard reminded me of the Jewish doctors in the Temple-one of the prints in grandmother's large bible. He seemed to be examining a ring through an eyeglass, and before him stood a lady with a very sad, anxious face. She wore a dark robe, of a quaint, though graceful fashion, and held a little child in her arms. I thought it was as pretty a picture as any in the annual Chester Adams had given Maude that morning; though I felt almost inclined to cry-the lady's face was so very sorrowful.

"Who will read my story for me?" said grandmother, by-and-bye, when papa had moved away from the back of her chair, and stood looking at the picture again with his hand over his eyes, to get a better light, I daresay. "I have written it, because there are some of these little people who would forget if it was only told them, and I should like to have it remembered as long as the picture is kept in the family-when you do not come to pass your Christmas evenings in grandmother's room," she added, after a little pause.

It was the first time I heard her allude to her going from us; not that I think she dreaded death-no one was ever better prepared to meet it--but she was naturally reserved. I wondered papa did not offer to take the manuscript she held out: but he did not change his position; and Aunt Mary, always kind and thoughtful, volunteered her services.

Grandmother said she was afraid the children would not be interested, and that it might

"It was a long time ago," said my grandmother's story, "that Alice Gray left her English country-home, to follow the fortunes of her husband a generous, kind-hearted sailor. It was hard parting with the old place, though her parents were dead, and she was an only child. She was going to foreign countries, where even the language was strange to her, with no one to turn to but Richard Gray, and, though he was very kind and noblehearted, she knew there would be hours of loneliness when her heart would travel back to the old haunts of her childhood, yearning for the household faces that were familiar in her cradle. Injustice had made her poor, as well as an orphan, though she had never yet felt the lack of abundant means; nor did she know, until she had been long a wife, what a painful dependence the love and protection of Richard Gray had saved her from. The frankhearted sailor loved her the better that she needed his care; she tried in turn to be cheerful and brave, in looking forward to their long separations, and to welcome him home with a new happiness and trust. For a time, these partings, which shorten the life of every sailor's wife, were not necessary. She had a bold heart, and went with him to many strange countries, seeing more wonderful things than she had ever dreamed of in her old home in Devon. So their first parting was very hard; and while she could scarcely close her eyes to rest, for fear of the hour that was to take him from her, he stole away from her side as she lay asleep. He never trembled at the wildest gale; but he could not bear the agony of parting with one he loved better than life. You can imagine how weary and desolate that waking was to Alice Gray, and how she tried to shut out the daylight, and put away for a time all comfort that was offered to her. It was not as now, when letters can come from those in distant lands almost with the swiftness of a loving thought-it was months, and sometimes years, before any tidings could arrive. The dangers of the sea were little understood, but greatly dreaded, and loss and shipwreck far more frequent. So Alice Gray shut up her sorrows in her own heart, from the strangers around her, and listened to the sobbing wind and moaning sea through the long dreary nights, until her child, her first-born son, was given to her arms. There was pain even in that new happiness; for there was no father's blessing for her little one, and no kiss of tenderness for herself, as she pressed her child to her heart.

the outer room, and fell through the casement, by which all visitors were reconnoitred. A heavy curtain of velvet, a little faded, but once the hangings of a palace-like mansion, concealed the rough wall on one side, as she stood there noting all these things with a strange minute interest she did not feel, and wondered at even then. It seemed as if he would never name the value of the ring. She could not bear to see him handle it so carelessly, when it was so dear to her.

"Outside the gusty wind was sweeping the narrow streets, and coarse songs and jests, hard trampling feet went by, and she had yet to go out and encounter these perils of darkness and storm-she who had been so tenderly reared as a child, and so closely sheltered as a wife. She had removed the brown braided tress that filled the centre of the ring; but it was of virgin gold, massive and antique in design, as suited the sailor's fancy, with a circlet of precious stones. She knew little of its real value; to her it was beyond all price as the first love-token from her husband, who was gone for ever. The careful dealer saw this, and noted the indifference of her manner as she stood before him in her dark robes and linen coif, for she had thrown down the coarse mantle that had wrapped herself and child at the entrance of the outer apartment. He did not anticipate much wrangling as he slowly drew forth the key of his treasury, and as slowly counted out the price at which he valued the token. He was right; for the sacrifice had cost her too much for words, and she went out slowly from his presence with that same fixed, hopeless expression. When that small sum was exhausted, she had no other earthly resource.

passed through many trials, sickness, loss, and at last poverty, still among strangers, though not where her husband had left her. She could not stay so far from the sea, where it would be many days after he landed before he could reach her. So she came to the little seaport from which his vessel had sailed for the far-off Indian Ocean, and there watched for the first glimpse of its white sails. Months passed on in sickening, harassing anxiety; and then caine news of disaster, shipwreck, death; an awful certainty for the fear that had haunted her day and night. She and her child were doubly orphaned. "Midwinter, and death, and pressing poverty! She could not give up all hope at once, but through the long autumn paced the rocky line of coast day after day, her child cradled warmly in her arms, and looking out with straining eyes towards the horizon. She thought she must go mad, and almost prayed for it, if forgetfulness came too; but, then there was her child-there would be no one to care for him, and she could not abandon him with the new mother-love growing up in her heart. Many pitied the 'poor English lady,' as they saw the chill sea-breeze tossing her thin garments, she standing on the very verge of the bleak rocks, with the cold, black waves breaking sullenly beneath her. There was one who did more than pity. She welcomed him as a friend first, for he came with sympathizing looks and kind words, and would have relieved the pressure of her poverty. But Alice Gray was still too proud for that, and she parted one by one with the few treasures, costly toys, her husband had gathered in foreign lands, to keep away starvation. She had no idea of toiling for a subsistence, as the poor creatures around her did, and was too much wrapt up in her grief to think or plan any lighter task. He saw it all, rich and prosperous as he was, and patiently waited his time. It came at last, when, with a shudder, she drew off her ring of betrothal, scarcely dearer or more sacred than the wedding-ring itself, and offered it in exchange for gold, to buy bread for herself and child. Heaven help her when that was exhausted! It was all she had. It was very late when she hurried through the narrow street, to offer it, where all her trinkets had gone before. They were celebrating Christmas night in her own land, with its blazing fires, and tables spread with plenty. She hurried as if to put aside such goading memories, past low wine-shops, and groups of fishermen and common sailors, until she came to the house of the Israelite, who exchanged whatever was brought to him, without questions, "He, too, was a stranger; and, wandering so that he could get it at half its worth. The on the cliffs, had first noted the pale, unquiet dingy shop was closed, but she was admitted woman that haunted them. When he had learned for the first time into the inner apartment, which her story from the fishermen, his pity grew to the broker had fitted up with the spoils of his sympathy and ended in love. He was rich and hard trade. Pictures, goblets, and vases, mu-free; and that night as she clung gratefully to sical instruments, and embroidered cushions, and antique carved chairs, gave it a novel but curious air this cold wintry night. There was no light save the broad glare of the brands on the hearth, and of the lamp that burned still in

"Still pressing his child to her bosom, Alice Gray passed along the dingy street to her miserable home, though it was no home, with its blank walls and fireless hearth; but it served to shelter her when night came, as she was driven from her lonely watch on the beach. But, before she reached it, a roving band of sailors, landed that day from a ship she had seen enter the harbour, filled up the narrow path, shouting | and rolling with the wine they had quaffed, and singing a wild bacchanalian song. She shrank aside to let them pass; but the foremost seized her with an oath and rude grasp, and would have torn the mantle from her face in another instant, had not a blow struck him breathless against the wall. The strong arm of her deliverer set aside the assailants, and conducted her safely on her way. It was the one friend who seemed always to mark her movements, and to whom she was indebted for many kindnesses.

his arm, it was offered to her with the protection from all care and want and contact with the world. He had come out to seek her, he said, and that very night stood ready to make her his. The priest awaited them; his arms

THE MANUFACTURE OF ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS.

BY C. T. HINCKLEY.

is placed a mattress of straw to deaden the blows; and upon this mattress a thick smooth piece of lead, forming a square table. In some cases a solid block of timber is used, a portion of the trunk of a tree taken near the root; and on this the mattress and the leaden table are placed. The hammers used at this work are short and heavy; one is especially adapted for smoothing the surface of the lead when it becomes indented all over by the blows of the workman.

The cutting out of the leaves and petals is only a preliminary operation to the more perfect imitation of nature; the leaves must next be gauffered to represent the veins, the fold, and

the endless touches and indentations which are

up

found in the natural plant. Gauffering is executed in two ways, the first and simplest being that which merely gives the hollow form to the petals of roses, cherry-blossoms, peach, hawthorn, and numerous other flowers which preserve, until the period of decay, somewhat of the form of a bud, all the petals beautifully curving inwards. To imitate these, the gauffertools are simple polished balls of iron fixed on iron rods, with a wooden handle attached. The balls are of various sizes, from a pin's head wards, to adapt them to the minute blossoms of such flowers as the forget-me-not, which require only the slightest degree of curvature, and to the large flowers of camellia, dahlia, mallow, &c., where the curvature is often very great. These balls are made slightly warm, so as to fix the forms decidedly, without effacing the colours. The petals are placed on a cushion, and the iron is pressed against them. But curvature alone is not sufficient; there is, in many petals, a decided fold or plait up the centre, springing from the point where it is attached to the germen. This fold can be obtained by the use of a prismshaped iron. Conical, cylindrical, and hooked irons are also useful to imitate the various minutiae of the blossoms. A cushion near each artist serves as a rest to the gauffering irons, which must be preserved from the least taint of dust, seeing that they are applied to the most delicately-beautiful portions of the flower. The veins and curves of leaves are given by gauffers composed of two distinct parts, on each of which is severally moulded in copper the upper and under surface of the leaf. Sometimes, one part is of iron, the other of copper. It is necessary to have a very large assortment of these gauffers; in fact, they should correspond in number with the cutting-irons by which the forms of leaves are punched out. The leaf or leaves being inserted in the gauffer, a powerful pressure is given to stamp the desired form. This is accomplished either by means of a heavy iron pressed on the lid, or by two or three smart blows of a hammer, or, better still, by the uniform action of a press. Besides the above articles, the workshop is provided with an abundance of boxes, scissors large and small, for cutting wire, as well as textile fabrics, camelhair pencils, sponges, canvas-bags, &c., that

everything likely to be needed by the workpeople may be immediately at hand.

The material of which flowers are made is, first and best (as already stated), French cambric; but a great quantity of Scotch cambric, jaconet, and even fine calico, are also used. For some descriptions of flowers, clear muslin crape, and gauze, are wanted; and for some very thick petals, satin and velvet are necessary. These materials are provided in various colours, as well as in white, but fresh tints have frequently to be given. These are laid on with a sponge, or a camel-hair pencil, or the petal is dipped in colour; a quantity of green taffeta should always be at hand for leaves. The colouring matters used in dyeing the material for the petals are as follows: For red, in its various shades, Brazil wood is largely used, also carmine, lake, and carthamus. The best way of treating Brazil wood is to macerate it cold in alcohol for several days; a little salt of tartar, potash, or soap, will make this colour pass into purple; a little alum gives it a fine crimson-red, and an acid will make it pass into yellow, of which the shade is deeper according to the quantity employed. Carmine is better in lumps than in powder; diffused in pure water, it gives rosecolour; a little salt of tartar brightens the tint. Carthamus is dissolved cold in alcohol; heat, as well as the alkalies, causes it to pass to orange, while acids render it of a lively and pure red; a very delicate flesh-colour is obtained by rinsing the material, coloured with carthamus, in slightly soapy water. Blue colours are prepared by Sometimes means of indigo, or Prussian blue. balls of common blue are used, steeped in water. Indigo is first dissolved in sulphuric acid. This is then diluted with water, and powdered chalk or whiting is added until effervescence ceases. The liquor is afterwards decanted off, and the sediment, when washed, gives a paler colour. Greater intensity is given to indigo by adding a little potash. Yellow colours are given by turmeric dissolved in spirits of wine, by saffron, chrome-yellow, &c. Green colours are obtained by mixtures of blue and yellow; violets, by mixtures of red and blue, and by archil and a blue bath; lilacs, by archil only.

The method of making a rose will give a good First of all, idea of the manufacture in general. the petals are cut out from the finest and most beautiful cambric. The pattern-shapes must be of different sizes, because in the same rose the petals are never equal; a good assortment of patterns enables the artist the better to imitate the variety of nature. When the petals are thus prepared, they have to be dyed in a bath of carmine in alkaline water. For this purpose, they are held separately by means of pincers, and dipped first in the bath, and then into pure water, to give them that delicacy of tint which But as the colour is characteristic of the rose. of the petal usually deepens towards the centre, a tint is there laid on with the pencil, while a drop of water is laid on the point of insertion of the petal, to make the colour there fade off, as

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