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ly, leaving about five or six inches of

Embroidery Designs from the Royal School of Art NeedleWork.

IG. 1 on this page of designs from

margin all round, which thus forms a

self-border. As a rule the use of very heavy and

dark materials should be avoided in

the South Kensington School is very conventional in style. Mantel borders do not easily lend themselves to naturalistic treatment, which would be too conspicuous, for to see the same spray of natural flowers always would be very monotonous. The accompanying design is on Indian red cloth; the running pattern of leaves is solidly worked in self-colored silk of a lighter shade, outlined with fine gold thread. The sprays are also worked solidly in silk, the leaves shaded in greens, and the flowers in delicate pinks. With regard to designs for borders in general, there is a decided leaning toward old English and Italian patterns in preference to those which are more modern in style. The sketch Fig. 2 shows one of the pretty and ornamental fire


side wall-pockets which the Royal School has made such a specialty. The front part, on which the design is worked in gold-colored silk, is of dull red Roman satin, and the back of plush the same color. The whole is neatly finished off with red silk cord. The designs Figs. 3 and 4 are intended for

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counterpane should have a distinct individuality of its own in point of color and pattern, which need not necessarily match anything else so long as it will go with it. The material of the counterpane in the sketch is linen of a pale greenish-blue tint, and the design is worked in white flourishing thread, partly in outline; as, for instance, some of the leaves may be in feather, or long and short stitch, whilst the small patterns on other leaves should be worked solid; so also may the seeds or inner parts of the flowers; and it would be well to work the long pattern between the wavy lines of the falling flowers solidly, or they will not look sufficiently important. The border lines are worked with the same thread rather thick

the decoration of a bedroom, as having a tendency to stuffiness, while at the same time they should not be so --so light as to create a glare, and so be32 - W", come unrestful to the eye.

The Poet.

&c. OTHING,” says the critic, “that is told of Orpheus or Amphion is more wonderful than the miracle of Spencer transforming a surgeon’s apprentice into a great poet;” and quite ... possibly, if we were initiated into the inner history of many a poet's early life, we should find that it was some accident which revealed his powers to him, and turned him. from less congenial pursuits to follow the Muse; while, on the other hand, there may be “mute, inglorious Miltons” still plodding in count


ing-houses and shops who are pretty certain to “die with all their music in them,” since some one has wisely said that life does not exhaust all that is in one; and yet another insists that those who do not write their poetry somehow live it, and so make the balance good. Perhaps he who appreciates a poem is as truly

cushions or chair covers. Fig. 3 may be worked on

a poet as he who writes it, but lacks, expression

a soft lustreless silk material, such as tussore, and the design being all worked in outline, the whole of the background is intended to be darned with thin strands of filoselle or embroidery silk, so as to throw up the pattern in relief. This effect may be heightened by working up the leaves a little with a darker shade of the silk, and making the dots solid. Not more than three, or at most four, shades of silk should be used. Thus, if a ground of yellow silk is selected, the design might be outlined in a tawny brown, the dots and slight filling of the leaves worked with a gold-color, and for the darning of the background a darker shade of the tussore ground might be used so as to modify its tone; or, by using a greenish shade, a bronze effect may be produced in the ground. An infinite number of effects may be produced in this darned work. In some cases the ground may be made dark and the design outlined with a silk almost the shade of the material on which the embroidery ls to be worked, putting the dots in with a much lighter shade, or some color which would form a good contrast. The design Fig. 4 is too full and elaborate for darning. It would look best worked in outline in shades of gold-color or of china blues. Care should be taken to balance the tones well, getting the darkest in the centre, and using the lightest shades for the stalks and flowers that are obviously in relief. A design of this | kind may be much en

and recognition. Many a one has the poetical idea, but fails of harmony and metrical skill, while another has plenty of music in his verses, but is short of ideas; the tinkling of the rhymes and the tread of the metre seem to him quite enough to crown him poet, or at least in listening to them he quite forgets that they are only sounds and not sense; and even his audience is often deceived: indeed, the world is quite ready to believe that which it cannot interpret, that which overwhelms it with grand and mysterious rhetoric, and seems to conceal the wisdom of the ages under a veil of misty phraseology, must of necessity be something great and magnificent, and, not quite satisfied to confess its own limitations of understanding, joins in a chorus of approval: the melody is gratifying, if nothing else offers, and rhyme is an ancient and honorable servant of the Muse. The oldest Irish, Welsh, Arabian, Chinese, and Indian poetry was rhymed, and it has lost nothing of its popularity. The poet, we are reminded, is born, not made. But do we not often find that this is not quite exact? A man makes up his mind that he will belong to the guild, and straightway falls into rhyme and rhythm; to be sure, it is better to be born to it, but some very tolerable verses have been turned out by amateurs, no doubt, and although Tennyson swears that the poet in a golden clime was born, we have often questioned if the

riched by the judicious use of a color which is in

golden clime would not impair his statue, and the

harmony with the others, IF-II but is also a contrast to them in the working up of the flowers. It would



gleam of the golden stars above blind his eyes to the poetry of every-day




See illustration on front page.

HE life and character of Queen Victoria are as well known as any woman’s can be. Her own writings reveal her tastes, modes of thought, and also her prejudices. Mrs. Oliphant's sympathetic Life gives the chief events that have marked her career from the days “of her sad childhood”— to quote the Queen's own words —to her sadder widowhood. Born in 1819, she attained her majority as heir to the throne on her eighteenth birthday, May 24, 1837. On the 20th of June following King William died. His death took place at two o'clock in the morning, and at five o'clock the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham aroused the inmates of Kensington Palace, and demanded to see the Queen. She came down at once, in her night dress and dressing-gown, with slippers on her bare feet. Lord Conyngham began, “Your Majesty—” when she stopped him, and held out her hand for him to kiss. He knelt and kissed it, and then told the news. The same day, at eleven in the morning, the Privy Council assembled. The death of the King was officially announced, and the two Archbishops, the Chancellor and Prime-Minister, and the two royal Dukes, were sent to inform the new sovereign. They returned to the council-room, then the doors were flung open, and the Queen entered alone. She bowed, took her seat, and read her speech in a clear, distinct, and audible voice, without fear or embarrassment. The only sign of emotion she displayed was when her uncles did her homage, and then, as these two old men knelt before her, she blushed up to her eyes. She spoke to no one, and made no distinction in manner toward age, rank, or party. She was dressed plainly in black, and surprised all those who were present by her dignity, calmness, and self-possession. “Her stature,” says the cynical Greville, “was quite forgotten in the majesty and gracefulness of her demeanor.” Peel expressed himself as amazed at her manner and behavior, her deep sense of her situation, her modesty and firmness. The Duke of Wellington frankly exclaimed, “If she had been my own daughter, she could not have done better " The next day she presided at a council as if she had been doing nothing else all her life. In those days she was a short, slim girl, her light hair brought down in bandeaux on her temples, and then coiled back over the ears,

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as she is represented in the portrait by Sir William Hayter. In another portrait of the same period she is pictured with a huge coal-scuttle bonnet on her head and a black silk scarf over her shoulders. Her first, best friend was the last man in the world one would have picked out for an adviser to a young and inexperienced girl—the skeptical, profligate, careless Melbourne. Yet when he resigned his office as PrimeMinister his value was felt even by his opponents, and the Duke of Wellington, who formed the next ministry, remarked: “I do not know what we can do with her. Peel has no manner, and I have no small-talk.” The Queen perhaps may compare the manners and small-talk of today with those of 1837, with some regret for the old time. She has, however, seen greater changes than those of either mannér or dress. Her reign is pre-eminently the reign of the development of practical inventions. In 1837 there was no railroad to Brighton, and Sir Vincent Cotter drove one of the coaches. There was no railway between London and Birmingham, and an engineer on the Manchester and Birmingham line was dismissed because he had run at the rate of fortyfive miles an hour. In 1836 the learned Dr. Dion. Lardner had demonstrated that no steam-ship could possibly cross the Atlantic; the keel of the Royal Sovereign was not laid down till 1838, and songs of triumph were sung when she made the passage in fourteen days and six hours. It was not till 1839 that any start was made in photography. Daguerre had stated that it required eight hours to take a landscape, while a single object, strongly lighted, might be taken in three hours, and when the time of exposure was reduced to half an hour, perfection was thought to be obtained. The telegraph of 1837 was still the old semaphore, that looked like a centipede in convulsions standing on its head. Petroleum was a quack medicine, called “American oil.” John Doyle, whose signature was H. B., was the leading caricaturist, and Punch was unknown. The population of the United Kingdom was about twenty-six millions: now it is thirty-seven millions. Keats, Byron, Shelley, were dead, Wordsworth silent; Scott had worked himself to death, and the Pickwick Papers were just begun. The Victorian poets were still unfledged, and no one could have foretold the schools of philosophy and history or the immense development of science which her reign has witnessed.

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