Chats on Old Lace and Needlework

Throughout this time, no matter what the subjects, most of which were notably striking scenes from Scripture history, such as "Esther and King Ahasuerus," "Solomon and the Queen of Sheba," "The Judgment of Solomon" (a very favourite subject), and other scenes of Old Testament history, all the kings were Charles I. and all the Queens Henrietta Maria. One and all wore early Stuart costumes. Even Pharaoh's daughter wore the handsome dress of the day, with Point lace falling collar and real pearls round her neck. It is a fashion to jeer at this anachronism; but may it not perhaps be that we take these pictures too literally, and deny the workers their feelings of passionate devotion to the lost cause. Doubtless they worked their loyalty to their beloved monarch into these pretty and pleasing fancies, just as it is said that the fashion of "finger-bowls" was introduced later so that the loyal gentlemen of the day might drink to the King "over the water." I see no cause to deny intelligence to these dear dead women, who were capable of exquisite needlecraft and fine design, and whose devotion was shown in many instances by giving up jewels, houses, and lands for the King!

The fashion of "stump" or stamp work appears to have been derived from Italy. Italian needlework of this time abounds with it, and, it must be admitted, of a superior design, and style to that which was known here as "stump" work. Until the eighteenth century English work was more or less archaic in every branch. Personally, I see no more absurdity in the queer doll-like figures than in contemporary wood-carving. It was a period of tentative effort, and was, of course, beneath criticism. English Art has ever been an effort until its one bright burst of genius in the eighteenth century, while the continental nations appear to have breathed artistic perception with life itself.

The prototype of our stump work pictures, the Italian raised work, are gracious, graceful figures perfectly proportioned, and set in lovely elegant arabesques, with no exaggeration of style or period. Some specimens of this work must have been brought from Italy, through France, and the English workers quickly adopted and adapted them to their own heavier intelligence. Some of the little figures are certainly very grotesque. Frequently the tiny little hands are larger than the heads, but the stitchery is exquisite.

No time seems to have been too long to have been spent in perfecting the petals of a rose, the loose wing of a butterfly, or to make a realistic curtain in fine Point lace stitches to hang from the King's canopy. Some of the King's dresses are said to have been made of tiny treasured pieces of his garments. There is no doubt that much devoted sentiment was worked into these little figures, and these touches of nature add a pathetic interest to them.

In the illustration of "King Solomon receiving the Queen of Sheba" from the South Kensington Collection Solomon is obviously King Charles I., while the Queen of Sheba is equally recognisable as Queen Henrietta Maria. The picture is perhaps the finest in the Kensington Collection, the colours being fresh and the work intact. The little faces are worked over a padding of soft frayed silk or wool, the features being drawn in fine back-stitch. Natural hair is worked on the King's and Queen's heads, and the crowns are real gold thread set with pearls. The canopy is worked solidly in silk and gold thread, and from it hang loose curtains in old brocade, worked over and over with gold and silken thread.

The King's mantle and that of the Lord Chamberlain are worked in Point lace stitches, afterwards applied to the bodies and hanging loosely. The Queen's dress is brocade, worked over with gold and silver, while strings of real pearls decorate the necks and wrists of the ladies, and real white lace of the Venetian variety trims the neck and sleeves of these fairy people. The Stuart castle we see perched up among the trees and touching the sun's beams is more like an English farmhouse than Whitehall. Yet either this or Windsor Castle is always supposed to be represented.

The British lion and the leopard, again, make the identity of these little people more certain. The quaint little trees bear most disproportionate fruits, the acorn and pears being about the same size, but all beautifully worked in Point-lace stitches over wooden moulds. The hound and the hare, the butterfly and the grub, and the strange birds make up one of the most typical Stuart pictures.

The next illustration shows another development of picture-making. Here the grounding is of white satin, as in the previous illustration, but the figures are worked on canvas separately, in fine petit-point stitch, afterwards being cut away and placed on the white satin ground with a few silk stitches and the whole outlined with a fine black silk cord. The subject is "The Finding of Moses," and is as full of anachronisms as the last, only that here again Pharaoh's daughter is worked in memory of Queen Henrietta Maria, and the tiny boy in the corner is Charles II., and Moses the infant Duke of York. The four-winged cherubs are the guardian angels who are watching over the lost fortunes of the Stuart family, and the rose of England and the lilies of France which form the border are emblematical of the royal lineage of their lost King's family. The hound and hare still chase each other gaily round the border, and in the picture the hare is seen emerging, like the Stuarts, from exile and obscurity.

Sufficient has perhaps been said to cause those who possibly may have misunderstood these pictures to give them another glance, and allow imagination to carry them back to the times of the exiled Royal Family and their brave adherents, whose women allowed not their memories to slumber nor their labours to flag. These pictures must have been made during the Commonwealth and the reign of Charles II. In no case, to my knowledge, has King Charles II. been depicted in stitchery, nor yet Catherine of Braganza. James II. is equally ignored, and with him their mission seemed to have been accomplished. Possibly the people had had by this time sufficient of the Stuarts, and the memory of King Charles the martyr had waxed dim. Certain it is that with James II. Stuart needlework pictures suddenly ceased.

Stump work Symbols.

The symbolism of the various animals, birds, insects, and flowers which are, apparently without rhyme or reason, placed in one great disarray in the Stuart pictures is said to have been heraldic and symbolic. The sunbeam coming from a cloud, the white falchion, and the chained hart are heraldic devices belonging to Edward III.

The buck and the strawberry, which are so often seen, belong to the Frazer Clan of Scotland, and may have been worked by ladies who were kith and kin of this clan.

The unicorn was the device of James I. and the siren or mermaid of Lady Frazer, who is said to have worked her own golden hair in the heart of a Tudor rose on a book cover for James I.

The hart was also a device of Richard II. and the "broom pod" of the Plantagenets. The caterpillar and butterfly were specially badges of Charles I., while the oak-tree and acorn were invariably worked into every picture in memory of Charles II.'s escape in an oak tree.

IX

SAMPLERS

IX

SAMPLERS

A "sampler" is an example or a sample of the worker's skill and cleverness in design and stitching. When they first appeared, as far as we know about the middle of the seventeenth century, they were merely a collection of embroidery, lace, cut and drawn work stitches, and had little affinity to the samplers of a later date, which seemed especially ordained to show various patterns of cross stitches, the alphabet, and the numerals.

The early samplers were real works of art; they were frequently over a yard long, not more than a quarter of a yard wide, and were adorned with as many as thirty different patterns of lace and cut and drawn work. This extreme narrowness was to enable the sampler to be rolled on a little ivory stick, like the Japanese kakemonas.

The foundation of all the early samplers was a coarse linen, and to this fact we owe the preservation of many of them. Those made two hundred years later, on a coarse, loose canvas, even now show signs of decay, while these ancient ones on linen are as perfect as when made, only being gently mellowed by Time to the colour of old ivory.

The earliest sampler known is dated 1643, and was worked by Elizabeth Hinde. It is only 6 inches by 6½ inches, and is entirely lacework, and apparently has been intended for part of a sampler. The worker perhaps changed her mind and considered rightfully that she had accomplished her chef d'œuvre, or as so often explains these unfinished specimens, the Reaper gathered the flower, and only this dainty piece of stitching was left to perpetuate the memory of Elizabeth Hinde.

The sampler in question is just one row of cut and drawn work and another of fine Venetian lacework, worked in "punto in aria." A lady in Court dress holds a rose to shield herself from Cupid, a dear little fellow with wings, who is shooting his dart at her heart. Perhaps poor Elizabeth Hinde died of it and this is her "swan song."

The earliest samplers appeared to have been worked only on white cotton or silk. A favourite design, apart from the lacework samplers, was the "damask pattern" sampler, a specimen of which may be noted, commencing with the fifth row, on the sampler illustrated. Sometimes the sampler was entirely composed of it, and although ineffective, remains as a marvel of skill. It was worked entirely in flat satin stitch and eyelet holes, known as the "bird's eye" pattern. In the illustration four rows of cutwork will be noted, followed by five rows of drawn threadwork, and above are patterns worked in floral and geometric designs in coloured silks. The alphabet and the date 1643 complete this monument of skill, which may be seen in the South Kensington Museum.

The succeeding illustration shows a more ambitious attempt, and is considered one of the finest specimens known. It was worked by Elizabeth Mackett, 1696. It is on white linen with ten rows of floral patterns worked with coloured silks in cross, stem, and satin stitches, with some portions worked separately and applied. Five rows of white satin stitch, two rows of alphabet letters in coloured silks, and four rows of exquisite punto in aria lace patterns are followed by the alphabet again in white stitches and the maker's name and date. The sampler is in superb preservation, the colours are particularly rich and well chosen. This sampler is also from the South Kensington Collection. Often the worker's name is followed by a verse or rhyme having a delightfully prosaic tendency. One can imagine the poor girls, in the early days we are writing of, writhing under the infliction of having slowly and painstakingly to work the solemn injunction—

And we can appreciate how little Maggie Tulliver ("The Mill on the Floss ") must have girded at the philosophy she was compelled to work into her sampler—

With the eighteenth century the beauty of the Samplers distinctly declined. They became squarer, and were bordered with a running pattern, and the whole canvas became more or less pictorial. Inevitably the end of this art came. Ugly realistic bowpots with stumpy trees decorated the picture in regular order. The alphabet still appeared, and moral reflection seemed to be the aim of the worker rather than to make the Sampler show beauty of stitchery. Quaint little maps of England are often seen, surrounded with floral borders, but it remained to the early nineteenth century to show how the Sampler became reduced to absurdity. One of the quaintest and most amusing Samplers at South Kensington is a 12-inch by 8-inch example in woollen canvas and embroidered with coloured silk. At the lower end is a soldier, a tiny realistic house, a dovecot, any number of flowering plants, a stag and other animals. Above is a band of worked embroidery enclosing the words, "This is my dear Father." The remaining spaces are filled in with angels blowing trumpets, double-headed eagle, peacocks and other birds, and baskets of fruit. In spite of its absurdity, this little piece is far more pleasant than the tombstone inscriptions which abound, and is, after all, delightfully suggestive of home and affection.

Another quaint piece at South Kensington is a sampler worked by poor Harriet Taylor, aged seven! At the top are four flying angels, two in clouds flanking a crown beneath the letters "G. R." In the middle stands a flower-wreathed arch, with columns holding vases of flowering plants; above are the words, "The Temple of Fancy," and within an enclosed space the following homily:

Then follows a house called "The Queen's Palace," standing in an enclosed flower-garden. This masterpiece of moral philosophy from the hands of a child of seven years is dated 1813.

An exaggerated conception of the value of old Samplers is very widely spread. Only the seventeenth-century Samplers are really of consequence, and these fetch fancy prices. In the sale-rooms a long narrow Sampler of lace stitches and drawn-thread work would bring as much as a handsome piece of lace. They are practically unattainable, and in this case the law of supply and demand does not obtain. It is beyond the needlewomen of the present day to imitate these old Samplers. Life is too short, and demands upon time are so many and varied, that a lifetime of work would result in making only one. Therefore, the fortunate owners of these seventeenth-century Samplers may cherish their possessions, and those less lucky possess their souls in patience, and hoard their golden guineas in the hope of securing one. Twenty years ago a few pounds would have been ample to secure a fine specimen, but £30 will now secure only a short fragment.

During the last three years I have not seen a good Sampler at any London Curio or lace shop, and none appear in the sale-rooms. The eighteenth-century Samplers are comparatively common, the map variety especially so, and can be purchased for a pound or so, but these are not desirable to the collector.

X

THE WILLIAM
AND MARY
EMBROIDERIES

X

THE WILLIAM AND MARY EMBROIDERIES

One of the most convincing facts in arguments that there is a revival in the gentle art of needlecraft is that it has become the fashion to drape our windows, cover our furniture, and panel our walls with printed copies of the Old Jacobean needlework. Many people, knowing nothing whatever about the history of needlework, wonder where the designs for the printed linens which line the windows of Messrs. Liberty, Goodall and Burnett's colossal frontages in Regent Street have been found. In time amazement gives way to admiration for these quaint blues and greens, roses and pale yellows, worked in great scrolls with exotic flowers and still more exotic birds, and the funny little hillocks with delightful little pagoda-like cottages nestling amongst them, and many and various little animals which seem to keep perpetual holiday under the everlasting blooms. The designs are taken bodily from the historical hangings of the later seventeenth century. After the abdication and flight of James II. to St. Germains, his daughter Mary came over with her Dutch husband, William the Stadtholder—or, rather, William came over and brought his wife, the daughter of the late king, for William had no intention of assuming the style and life of Prince Consort, but came well to the front, and kept there. It was not "Victoria and Albert" in those days, but William and Mary, who ruled England, and ruled it well. William III. must have been a man of strong personality, and he managed to quell all the rebellions of his reign, and during the time he ruled over us the country settled down to a peaceful state that has remained to the present time.

Queen Mary had quite sufficient employment in settling herself and her household, and generally managing the domestic matters pertaining to the new kingdom she had come into. She apparently had a very free hand in rebuilding Hampton Court, which she particularly made her home, absolutely pulling the interior down, and rebuilding and redecorating it according to her own taste, which was not that of the Stuart persuasion with its gorgeous magnificence, but the more homely and solid Dutch. Very little of the original Hampton Court interior, built and furnished by Cardinal Wolsey, exists. Just here and there we find delightfully dark little dens with the original linen-fold panellings and ceilings that are a ravishment to look upon; but mostly the rooms are high, plain-panelled, and with the quaint ingle-nook fireplaces, with shelves above, upon which Mary placed her lovely "blue and white" porcelain which had been brought to her by the Dutch merchants who at that time were the great traders of the sea.

Queen Mary ought to be regarded as the patron saint of English needlewomen. She was happiest when employed furnishing every bed-covering, every chair and stool, and supplying the hangings for her favourite home. It is said that she spent her days over her embroidery frame, knowing full well that affairs of State were in the capable hands of her husband.

There are few relics left of her handiwork outside Hampton Court. She left no dainty little book-covers, bags, or boxes, as her ideas were fixed on larger pieces of embroidery. Had she lived in the Berlin-wool picture days, she would have filled every nook and cranny with these atrocities, as many humbler devotees to the needle have done to our own knowledge. Needlework can become a passion, and certainly Queen Mary must have possessed it.

After the complete collapse of the Stuart stump pictures, when every vestige of loyalty seems to have been swept away with the hated James II., the ancient Petit Point pictures came back into fashion. Very clever work was put into them, but, alas! their scope was purely to depict religious scenes of the rigorous kind. No dainty fairy-like little people now ruled in pictured story, but actual representations of Bible history.

The illustration of "The Baptism of the Ethiopian Eunuch by St. Philip" is a fair sample of the needlework picture of this time. The picture is a strange mixture of the early Stuart Petit Point, the Jacobean wall-hanging, and the newly revived religious spirit. The duck-pond, the swans and the water-plants might have been copied bodily from James I.'s time. The paroquet and the flying bird, and the immense leaves and blossoms, are direct from the wall-hangings, while the figures only too surely foretell the coming dark days of needlecraft, when a Scripture picture and a coarsely worked sampler were part of every girl's liberal education. The work in this picture is extremely good, and it is excruciatingly funny without intending to be so. The pretty little equipage with its diminutive ponies surely was never intended to carry either St. Philip or the Eunuch! The open book, with Hebraic inscription, is very delightful. It brings to mind the Tables of the Law rather than the light reading that the charming little Cinderella coach should carry.

These pictures are not common, and we scarcely know whether to be thankful for them or not. Unlike the early petit point, they were worked in worsteds, whereas the early pictures were wrought in silk. The moth has a natural affinity for wool, as we all know, and his tribe has cleared off many hundreds of examples. Why so many of the old Jacobean hangings remain is that they were worked for use, and not ornament, and even after they ceased to be fashionable ornaments for sitting and bed rooms, they were either relegated to the servants' quarters, or given to dependants, who used them constantly, shaking and keeping them in repair, as the eighteenth-century housewives liked to keep their homes swept and garnished.

It is strange to see these old Jacobean hangings (perhaps the drapery of the now tabooed four-post bedstead), which might some thirty years ago have been carried off for the asking, sell at Christie's for £800, as happened in the dispersal of the Massey-Mainwaring sale last year. Even a panel of no use except to frame as a picture, say 4 feet by 3 feet, will fetch £30 and a full-sized bed-cover can only be bought for over £100. The reason is not far to seek. The colouring and the drawing of this fine old Crewel-work are exquisite (even though the design savours of the grotesque), and Time has dealt very leniently with the dyes. I endeavoured to match some of these old worsteds a little time ago, and though able to find the colours, could not get the tone. After much tribulation I was advised to hang the skeins of worsted on the trees in the garden and forget all about them, and certainly wind and weather have softened the somewhat garish worsteds to the soft, fade colours of the old work.

The same class of embroidery was executed during the reign of Queen Anne, though she herself did little of it. Costly silks and brocades and Venetian laces were the dress of the day, and no little dainty accessories appear to have been made.

XI

PICTORIAL
NEEDLEWORK
OF THE
EIGHTEENTH
CENTURY

XI

PICTORIAL NEEDLEWORK OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

An immense number of pictures must have been worked during the eighteenth century. Almost, we might say, no English home is without an example. Much of the work is intensely bad, and only that Time has tenderly softened the colours, and the old-time dresses add an element of quaintness to the pictures, can they be tolerated. Works of art they are not, and, indeed, were never intended to occupy the place their owners now proudly claim for them. Just here and there a picture of the painted face type is a masterpiece of stitchery, as in the example illustrated, where every thread has been worked by an artiste. Looking at this little gem across a room, the effect is that of a charming old colour print, so tenderly are the lines of shading depicted. This is the only picture of this class that I have seen for years as an absolutely perfect specimen of the eighteenth-century silk pictures, though doubtless many exist.

The discrepancy which is usually found is that, although the design and outline is perfect, the faces and hands exquisitely painted, the needlework part of the picture has been executed in a foolish, inartistic manner, and no method of light and shade has been observed. Some little time ago I published an article in one of the popular monthly Magazines illustrating this same picture, and was afterwards inundated with letters from correspondents from far and near sending their pictures for valuation and—admiration! Not one of these pictures was good, though there were varying degrees of badness. But in no instance was the painted face crudely drawn or badly coloured.

The explanation is that just as the modern needlewoman goes to a Needlework Depôt and obtains pieces of embroidery already commenced and the design of the whole drawn ready for completion, so these old needle pictures were sold ready for embroidering, the outline of the trees sketched in fine sepia lines, the distant landscape already painted, the faces and hands of the figures charmingly coloured, in many instances by first-class artists. When we remember that the eighteenth century was par excellence the great period of English portrait painting and colour printing, we can understand that possibly really fine artists were willing to paint these exquisite faces on fine silk and satin, just as good artists of the present day often paint "pot-boilers" while waiting for fame.

Angelica Kauffmann's style was often copied. Is it too much to believe that some of these charming faces may have been from her hands? We know that she painted furniture and china, therefore why not the faces of the needlework pictures so nearly akin to her own work?

The eighteenth-century costume was particularly adapted to this pretty work. We cannot imagine the voluminous robes of Queen Mary or Queen Anne in needle-stitchery, but the soft, silky lawns of the Georgian periods, the high-waisted bodices, the bouffant fichus and the flowing head-dresses, all were specially easy and graceful to work. Many of the pretty children Sir Joshua loved to paint were copied. "Innocence" made a charming picture, and several of the less rustic Morland pictures were copied.

We would imagine that when the beginnings of the picture were so glorious the needlewoman would have made some endeavour to work up to it. But, alas! it was not so. Though often the stitching is neat and small, not an idea of shading seems to have entered the worker's mind, and whole spaces, nay, a complete garment, are often worked solid in one tone of colour! On the whole there is far more artistic sense and feeling in the Stump pictures it is the fashion to deride.

Not always were dainty pastoral and domestic scenes worked. Very ghastly creations are still existent of scriptural subjects. Coarsely worked in wool, instead of silk, or in a mixture of both. The painting is still good, but the work and the subjects are execrable! "Abraham about to sacrifice Isaac," on the pile of faggots already laid, and Isaac bound on it, with a very woolly lamb standing ready as a substitute, was a favourite subject. "Abraham dismissing Hagar and Ishmael," with a malignant-looking Sarah in the distance, vies with the former in popularity. "The Woman of Samaria," and "The Entombment," are another pair of unpleasant pictures which we are often called upon to admire.

The best of these pictures were worked in fine floss silk, not quite like the floss silk of to-day, as it had more twist and body in it, with just a little fine chenille, and very tiny bits of silver thread to heighten the effect. The worst were worked in crewel wools of crude colours. Fortunately, the moth has a special predilection for these pictures, and they are slowly being eaten out of existence, in spite of being cherished as heirlooms and works of art.

Another pretty style which we seldom meet with was some part of the picture covered with the almost obsolete "ærophane," a kind of chiffon or crape which was much in request even up to fifty years ago. A certain part of the draperies was worked on the silk ground, without any attempt at finish. This was covered with ærophane, and outlined so as to attach it to the figure. This again was worked upon with very happy effects, very fine darning stitches making the requisite depth of shading. The illustration shows the use of this, but this cannot be said to be a very good specimen.

These painted face, silk-worked pictures are the only needlework examples the collector need to beware of, as they are being reproduced by the score. The method of working in the poorer specimens is very simple, and it pays the "faker" to sell for £2 or £3 what takes, perhaps, only half a day to produce. When a well-executed picture is produced it is worth money, but so far I have seen none, except at the Royal School of Needlework, where the copying of old pictures of the period is exceedingly well done, and not intended to deceive. The prices, however, are almost prohibitive, as no modern needlework picture is worth from £15 to £30. They are, after all, only copies, and in no sense of the word works of art.

During the eighteenth century, also, a fashion set in of adorning engravings with pieces of cloth, silk, and tinsel. At best it was a stupid fancy, and was responsible for the destruction of many fine old mezzotints and coloured prints. The hands, face, and background of an engraving were cut out, and pasted on a sheet of cardboard, pieces of some favourite brocaded gown, perhaps, were attached to the neck and shoulders, tiny lace tuckers were inserted, and gorgeous jewellery was simulated by wretched bits of tinsel trimming. The realism of the Stuart stump picture was never so atrocious as this baleful invention, which was as meretricious as a waxwork show.

Not so popular, but far better, were the pictures worked on white silk with black silk and hair. There were no artistic aspirations about these—they were copies in black and white of the engravings of the day, just as a pen-and-ink or pencil copy might be made. Very dainty stitchery was put in them, the stronger parts of the lines being in fine black silk, the finer and more distant being worked in human hair of various shades from black to brown. Occasionally golden and even white hair is used, and the effect is often that of a faded engraving. The silk ground on which these little pictures were worked is, however, often cracked with age, and many pretty specimens are ruined. The illustration shows an example of the type of picture, and depicts "Charlotte weeping over the Tomb of Werther."

XII

NEEDLEWORK
PICTURES
OF THE
NINETEENTH
CENTURY

XII

NEEDLEWORK PICTURES OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

It were kindest to ignore 19th century needlework, but in a book treating of English embroidery something must be said to bridge over the time when Needlecraft as an Art was dead. During the earlier part of the century taste was bad, during the middle it was beyond criticism, and from then to the time of the "greenery-yallery" æsthetic revival all and everything made by woman's fingers ought to be buried, burnt, or otherwise destroyed. Indeed, if that drastic process could be carried out from the time good Queen Adelaide reigned to the early "eighties" we might not, now and ever, have to bow our heads in utter abjection.

The originator and moving spirit of this bad period was Miss Linwood, who conceived the idea of copying oil paintings in woolwork. She died in 1845. Would that she had never been born! When we think of the many years which English women have spent over those wickedly hideous Berlin-wool pictures, working their bad drawing and vilely crude colours into those awful canvases, and imagining that they were earning undying fame as notable women for all the succeeding ages, death was too good for Miss Linwood. The usual boiling oil would have been a fitter end! Miss Linwood made a great furore at the time of her invention, and held an exhibition in the rooms now occupied by Messrs. Puttick & Simpson, Leicester Square. Can we not imagine the shade of the great Sir Joshua Reynolds, whose home and studio these rooms had been, revisiting the glimpses of the moon, and while wandering up and down that famous old staircase forsaking his home for ever after one horrified glance at Miss Linwood's invention?

Not only Miss Linwood, but Mrs. Delany and Miss Knowles made themselves famous for Berlin-wool pictures. The kindest thing to say is that the specimens which are supposed to have been worked by their own hands are considerably better than those of the half-dozen generations of their followers. During the middle and succeeding twenty years of the nineteenth century the notable housewife of every class amused herself, at the expense of her mind, by working cross-stitch pictures with crudely coloured wools (royal blue and rose-pink, magenta, emerald-green, and deep crimson were supposed to represent the actual colours of Nature), on very coarse canvas. Landseer's paintings were favourite studies, "Bolton Abbey in the Olden Times" lending itself to a choice range of violent colours and striking incidents. Nothing was too sacred for the Berlin-wool worker to lay hands upon. "The Crucifixion," "The Nativity," "The Flight into Egypt," "The Holy Family" were not only supposed to show the skill of the worker, but also the proper frame of mind the embroideress possessed. Pleasing little horrors such as the "Head of the Saviour in His Agony," and that of the Virgin with all her tortured mother love in her eyes were considered fit ornaments for drawing-room, which by the way were also adorned with wool and cotton crochet antimacassars, waxwork flowers under glass, and often astonishingly good specimens of fine Chelsea, Worcester, and Oriental china.

Never was the questions of how "having eyes and yet seeing not" more fully exemplified. The nation abounded in paintings, prints, fine needlework, and the product of our greatest period of porcelain manufacture. Fine examples were at hand everywhere. Exquisite prints belonging to our only good period, the eighteenth century, were common; yet rather than try their skill in copying these, the needlewomen, who possessed undoubted skill, enthusiasm, and infinite patience, preferred to copy realistic paintings of the Landseer school and the highly coloured prints of the Baxter and Le Blond period.

Unfortunately, the craze is by no means buried. Within the last twelve months I was invited to see the "works" of a wonderful needlewoman in a little Middlesex village. The local clergyman and doctor were sufficiently benighted even in these days of universal culture to admire her work, and her fame had spread. Room after room was filled with 10 by 8-feet canvases; every drawer in the house was crammed with the result of this clever woman's work—for clever she undoubtedly was. After exhausting all the known subjects of Landseer and his school, she had struck out a line for herself, and had copied the Graphic and Illustrated London News Supplements of the stirring scenes from the South African War, such as "The Siege of Ladysmith," "The Death of the Prince Imperial" in all its gruesome local colouring, were worked on gigantic canvases. Her great chef d'œuvre was, however, the memorial statue of Queen Victoria, copied from the Graphic Supplement in tones of black, white, and grey, a most clever piece of work; but—well, she was happy and more than delighted with my perfectly honest remark that I had never seen anything like it!

Ah! if only this dear woman and the many others who are wasting their time and eyesight over fashions which perish could only be reached and aroused by the influence of the lovely old English stitchery of our great period! If only the purblind authorities and custodians of our National collections could awaken to the infinite possibilities which they hold, once again "Opus Anglicum" might rule the world, and the labour of even one woman's life might be of lasting value. It is useless to refer to the many schools of embroidery there are in different parts of the country, where fine work is being done on the best lines. These schools, from the Royal School of Needlework downwards, are "closed corners," and no attempt is made to reach the great public. The Royal School of Needlework is maintained by no subsidy as it ought to be, but by the many ladies of position and taste who liberally support it, both for the instruction and employment of "ladies of reduced circumstances," and for the disposal of its work at very high prices. Other schools in town are simply private adventure institutions, run at a considerable profit to the principals.

The superb collection at South Kensington might as well be buried in the crypt of Westminster Cathedral for all the value it is to the general public. There is not the slightest attempt to allow these unique pieces of "Opus Anglicum" to point a moral or adorn a tale. The magnificent copes and vestments, of which there are some score, are merely tabulated, paragraphed, and photographed, and there is an end of them. During my constant visits to these treasures of English Art I have not once discovered another interested visitor amongst these beautiful vestments; and the officials, when interviewed, though perfectly courteous, apparently resent inquiries; and woe betide the unfortunate inquirers who might have found the required information from the tiny little printed card hidden either too low or too high in the dark recesses of the corridors, and so spared these savants the trouble of an interview!

Why a continuous course of lectures on this and every kindred Art subject is not made compulsory at the Victoria and Albert Museum is one of the burning questions of the hour among the cultured collectors of the day. The custodians are supposed to be men of special insight in the branches over which they preside, yet for all the advantage to the public they might as well be waxwork dummies. What we want as a nation is "culture while we wait," and writ so large that those who run may read, and until this consummation is attained we shall ever remain in the Slough of Despond, and Art for Art's sake will continue dead.

XIII

EMBROIDERY
IN "COSTUME"

XIII

EMBROIDERY IN "COSTUME"