To form netting in points was long considered almost impossible, although specimens of this sort of trimming were to be found in many of the ancient specimens of Flanders and Portuguese guipure. Like most other things, it is very easy to do when you know how it is to be done, and as it forms the most appropriate border for all sorts of articles in square netting, we hope to make our readers perfectly au fait at it with a very little trouble to themselves.

Begin on one stitch, in which net two. Turn the work, net one in the first, and two in the second of them. Turn the work, and in the following rows net one in each stitch except the last, in which always do two, until one side is as deep as you may wish the heading of your vandyke to be. Then begin the point, by increasing at one edge, and not at the other, until you have the required depth to form one side of the point. To make the other, in netting the

row without increase, leave at the end as many stitches as will form the point. You will then have one point completely done, and as much of the heading of the next as will be wanted before you begin the next point. Repeat from the cross. The lines of thread in this netting appear perpendicular and horizontal, as in square netting.

To form the last point for the length of border, you will have to net two stitches together, instead of doing two in one at the straight edge. The number of times must of course depend on the depth of the point. As we shall give immediately some very novel designs in netting, it is desirable that our friends should become adepts in working the foundations before they attempt the more elaborate parts, for which reason we now give these general instructions.

AIGUILLETTE.

The first object which arrests the attention of the traveller on his approach to the old city of Antwerp, is the high tower of the Cathedral, or Church of Nôtre Dame; which, rising to a height of more than four hundred feet, and covered with stone-work, the delicate tracery of which seems to rival the finest lace, rears almost to the clouds a gigantic iron cross, of workmanship and dimensions suited to the magnificent pile of architecture which it surmounts.

The inhabitants of Antwerp are justly proud of their ancient Cathedral; but time and space do not permit of our entering here into a description of its many beauties-of the portico, with its marble statues-the five naves, which form a very labyrinth of stone-work-the clusters of delicate pillars-the pulpit-the richlycarved confessionals-the altars, glittering with gold and precious stones-the marble crucifixthe stained windows - the time-worn monuments—and the noble works of Reubens which decorate the interior: we shall only direct the attention of the traveller to the outer court, which, in its Gothic simplicity, bears the distinctive marks of a by-gone age; and there, close by the tomb of Quentin Metzys*-" that

Quentin Metzys, a smith, and a native of Antwerp, fell in love with the daughter of a painter of

Vulcan," as his epitaph says, “of whom Love made an Apelles"-he will perceive, amidst the dark flat stones which form the pavement, a single blue slab, inlaid with several small pieces of metal. These fragments, which appear to have been scattered, without any attempt at regularity, on the deep blue stone, shine like gems when the setting sun sheds its rays on the court of the Cathedral: and the singular appearance of the slab, thus placed, without apparent purpose, in the centre of the pavement, seldom fails to elicit an inquiry from the chance visitor.

But this monument, as it may well be called, although without meaning in the eyes of the stranger, is to the citizens of Antwerp the memento, ever present, of a sad though unpretending history.

The 22nd of October, 1520, was a day of fes

bestowing her hand only on one of his own profes that city; but her father, having determined on sion, Quentin Metzys repaired to Italy for the purpose of studying the art, and returned, after some years, to Antwerp, with such proofs of bis success, that the old artist at length consented to reward him with his daughter's hand. Many of his works are preserved at Antwerp; and near the entrance of the Cathedral may be seen his tomb, which bears the following epitaph

"Connubialis amor de Mulcibre fecit Apellem."

the gay scene passing without, he suffered his thoughts to wander over the few years of his past life. The visions which his memory conjured up were simple and common-place; for his had been an every-day history of humble life, of humble sorrow, of labour in vain, and of disappointed hopes. He saw once more the happy hearth, around which four merry children had played in the time of his gladsome youth. He looked again on the smiling countenance of his honest and industrious father, and listened to the pious teaching of his gentle mother. And through all the years of his childhood and youth, one fair vision was ever by his side-the young Elizabeth; the companion of his youthful sports, the valued friend of his maturer years. He saw himself striving hard to win a name and position in that stronghold of Flemish industry, which might one day entitle him to demand, from her money-loving father, the hand of the fairest maiden in Antwerp. He waited but the expiration of his term of apprenticeship to declare his yet unspoken love. But suddenly the scene changed. Death entered into that hitherto happy dwelling, borne on the wings of the slow, wasting fever of the country. Four coffins passed, in sad succession, over their threshold; and, on recovering from the disease which had made such fearful havoc in their home, he found himself the sole stay of his widowed mother, who, although spared by the fever, had become the victim of a paralytic affection. Still did he hope even against hope: his strength once restored, he would be well able to support her, and brighter days might yet dawn for them both. But time passed on, and left him still weak and languid. He had been serving his apprenticeship to his father, a master blacksmith; and, as his time had not yet quite expired, the companion smiths of the city refused to grant him the maîtrise, or freedom, which alone would entitle him to work on his own account; and while meditating, on the morning of the festival, on the measures which he should take in order to obtain, if possible, the muchdesired maitrise, he heard from a neighbour, who had come in to see his mother, that the hand of his Elizabeth-of her whose love had been the end and aim of all his aspirings-was about to be bestowed by her father on the wealthy goldsmith of Zierich Straet. Her joining the procession in company with Master Verachter had confirmed his worst fears; and he now sat in a sort of stupor, heedless of the passing time, until startled from his reverie by a terrific sound. He raised his head to listen, and soon recognised the voice of the hurricane of the North Sea, which occasionally visits these otherwise favoured districts, laying waste the entire country, swelling the waters of its mighty rivers, and sometimes overthrowing houses and even villages in its devastating course. Yvon approached the window. The night had far advanced, and every lamp and torch being extinguished by the rushing of that mighty wind, he could discern no objects in the dark streets; but he heard the rain falling in torrents-the

roaring of the Scheldt, which, having overflowed its banks, was forming a track for itself through the lower quarter of the city-and the fearful howl of the tempest, as it swept through the deserted streets. During the whole of that long October night, the fearful hurricane continued; but at length it lulled, and the morning dawned, bright and clear, on the scene of its fury-on the flooded streets, and the terrified faces of their panic-stricken inhabitants. But although, in the surrounding country, hamlets and homesteads had been swept away by the mighty torrent, little injury, comparatively speaking, had been done in the town; and the citizens, after a few words of commiseration for the sufferers, repaired as usual to their daily avocations.

Those, however, who first passed through the open space in front of the Cathedral, noticed that the iron cross on the summit of its high steeple had been bent by the hurricane, and now diverged considerably from its former upright position. The intelligence was soon spread through the town, and a crowd assembled quickly in front of the old church, for the citizens of Antwerp were justly proud of their magnificent steeple, and of the gigantic cross which crowned its summit. In those days, when the love of art reigned supreme, every considerable Flemish city boasted of some monument peculiarly its own; and while Ghent displayed its gigantic belfry, surmounted by the Byzantine Dragon taken during the Crusades, Louvain its Gothic town-hall, and Bruges its magnificent market-places, Antwerp justly gloried in its Cathedral, the pre-eminence of which, as a work of art, none had ever ventured to dis

pute.

While the citizens assembled in the square, and on the Groen Kerckhof, gazed mournfully which stood the bended cross, and asked each on the arrow-like steeple, on the summit of other how it could be righted-who would be found daring enough to venture on that narrow pinnacle, which seemed as if no human art could reach it-while hardy sailors, whose lives had been spent in perils, and to whom storm and sunshine had seemed alike, while engaged in the arduous duties of their calling, shuddered as they looked up, and thought of the danger of such an enterprise-the sound of a trumpet was heard, and two mounted heralds appeared at the entrance of the square. Silence having been obtained, they spurred their horses on to the front of the church, and one of them, reverently uncovering his head, read, in a loud and sonorous voice, the following proclamation :—

"To the good citizens, tradesmen, and inhabitants of the City of Antwerp, we, the burgomasters and eschevins of the same, make known, by this present proclamation, that we have resolved on giving a reward of five hundred golden crowns to whomsoever, citizen or otherwise, shall restore to its former position the iron cross on the Cathedral tower. Fiet hundred golden crowns! Citizens and inhabitants! should any among you wish to strive for this mag nificent reward, let him present himself now before the eschevins assembled in the town-hall!"

There was a pause-for some time no one answered to the appeal; but just as the heralds were about to leave the square, in order to repeat the proclamation in another part of the city, the crowd suddenly divided, and a young man, in a plain working dress, passed through it, and resolutely ascended the steps leading to the town-hall. All eyes were fixed on him with eager curiosity. A coarse woollen cap concealed nothing of his extreme but delicate beauty-the somewhat feminine expression of his features was redeemed by the courage and resolution which beamed in his dark blue eyes. The citizens thronged towards the steps of the townhall, and soon the heralds re-appeared, and read a second proclamation:

"To the good citizens, tradesmen, and inhabitants of the City of Antwerp. We, the burgomasters and eschevins of the same, make known, by this our proclamation, that Yvon Bruggemaur, working black

smith, and free citizen, has bound himself, before ns, this 23rd day of October, 1520, to restore our iron cross to its former position on the Cathedral tower, and has engaged to accomplish the task, with the blessing of God, at noon to-morrow. We therefore do earnestly entreat and command all citizens and others, who may be present at that time, to refrain from troubling the said Yvon Bruggemaur, by cries, charms, or malicious interference of any kind; but, on the contrary, to give him, as far as in them lies, every aid and assistance which he may require in the accomplishment of his work. In the name of God, and of Our Lady!"

When the appointed time drew near, Yvon, having donned his best suit, approached the bed of his mother, and, with more animation in his countenance than she had seen there for many months, besought her blessing. Ignorant of what was going on, she smiled affectionately on her son, and laid her trembling hand on his long

golden hair.

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Whither art thou going, my son? Thou art dressed in thy best, and this is but a weekday."

"I go to seek for work, dearest mother," replied he, endeavouring to conceal his agitation. "I feel my strength returning, and can no longer endure the misery of our situation. We have nothing now left of our little store; but take courage, I feel full of hope, and am certain that a better future is in store for us."

"My child, be careful not to overtax thy strength. Recollect of how little value all the riches of the earth would be to me, if deprived of thee. Thou art now my only treasure."

And you, my mother-are you not all the world to me? I would willingly give my life to ensure your happiness. But time flies, and I will set out with a lighter heart if you will give me your blessing."

May the blessing of God be on thee and on thy projects, now and for ever, amen!" said Monica, laying her hand on the head of her

young son.

With an affectionate farewell he left her, but stopped for an instant on the threshold to offer

a short prayer for her welfare and his own preservation. He then went on, with a firm step. The bitterest trial was over, and he felt his hope and his courage revive. He soon reached the square, now filled with a dense crowd, which opened silently to afford him a passage. Every eye was turned on him with awe and pity; and many a whisper met his ear expressive of hope, of sympathy, of condolence; but steeling himself as far as possible against every emotion, he passed with a steady step through the throng, and entered the Cathedral. It was deserted, for the entire population seemed to have congregated without its walls. Approaching the high altar, he saw that it was decorated as if for a festival; he knelt for a few moments on the step, and poured forth his soul in a short prayer, somewhat to this effect-" Lord of Heaven! I risk my life, not for my own gain, but for the sake of my mother. Preserve me, then, for her, accomplishing the work I have undertaken! O Lord! Or, if I must die, let it not be without Into thy hands, Almighty Father, I commend my spirit !"

He rose, and walked with a firm step towards the winding stair which led up through the tower. At its foot, he was met by one of the civic officers, who had brought him a basket containing the tools which would be necessary for his work. He took it, and began the ascent. As he climbed the apparently interminable winding stair, he saw, through the narrow window, the crowd, now denser than ever, which thronged not only the square, but the surrounding walls, the windows, and roofs of the houses, and every loophole which commanded a view of the high tower. Soon, as he mounted higher, it assumed the appearance of a dark moving mass. And now he reached the top of the tower, and stood in the narrow balcony which encircled the base of the arrowy steeple. From this spot, his eyes travelled over the entire city and the country for leagues round. He saw the swollen river, as it rolled its turbid waters over valley and plain. He saw hills and forests glowing in the red light of an autumn sun; and on, to the

north, he discerned the white sails of vessels

steering their course towards the ocean. But, after one glance around him, his eyes turned again on the city, and rested on the Kamer Straet, where he could distinguish the high lay on her bed of pain and misery. For a mogable end of the Red Lion, in which his mother glanced towards that part of the town in which ment, he looked on it with tearful eyes; he then

stood the house of Elizabeth's father; and nerving himself with the thought that on his present success depended his only chance of her hand, he prepared for the most perilous part of his undertaking.

Where he now stood the stairs ended, and he saw before him a high, pointed steeple, thickly covered with sculpture, on the pinnacle of which stood the bent cross. He fastened the basket he tied round his waist, and, crossing himself, of tools to a strong cord, the other end of which he began the perilous ascent.