Here most certainly was a useful impulse of benevolence and cultivated instinct come to life; a new possibility among all the impossible things which are in the world. No one noticed us as we came in. The stitches went on falling into their places. I could have imagined some such scene in the days when a Raphael himself might have come walking in with a design for tapestry, or when a Botticelli did not disdain to trace a pattern for the petticoat of a goddess. The two châtelaines, whose special interest lies among these workers, were standing in the midst directing. The work-mistress was going her rounds, the secretary was bringing her report, the workers were silently progressing. As Lady A went by, some of them looked up to smile at a familiar face. Patterns were flowing in a prim and measured cadence upon moon-lit and sun-lit stuffs. Here is a honeysuckle border starting from its suave satin ground, crisp and stately and harmonious. When the lady for whom these honeysuckles were made went to Court in her raiment of fine needlework, no wonder that the people looking on admired as she passed. Most of them said it was rare old brocade -an heirloom in the great family to which she belongs; but our ladies have shown that they can do as well as the workers who lived in the most golden age of art. Some of the appliqué work is so well restored, that it is impossible to tell the difference between that of our ladies and their century-ago ancestresses. I saw a noble crimson flood of damask embroidered with a stately pattern which Titian himself might have liked to paint; and then again came great sun-flowers turning their faces to the sun, upon brown and upon velvet. One beautiful screen was shown us of pearl-green satin, blooming into a garden for a royal princess. Pink delicate hollyhocks rearing their full and stately heads, birds suddenly flying into a silken existence, corn heads, lilies uprearing on their stems. Surely the fairy princesses must have come to Sloane Street for their magic court robes, sunlight and moonlight stuffs and starry mantles. It remains to be seen whether the school will be able to stamp the mark of its work upon this Manchester age. That the work is charming is beyond a doubt, as also that it rises to the dignity of art, being kindled with that something beyond mere mechanism which should belong to all manual labour, of whatever kind it may be. The ladies are in some measure artists; their stitches are set with a certain intelligence and cultivation which tells even in a pattern traced upon a sampler. "The colour of that bird's wings kept me awake last night," I heard the work-mistress saying. No wonder that the bird plumes in harmonious tints upon its satin. As I think of the place, numberless pleasant, handsome things occur to me. There was a peacock dazzling upon a sunset blaze of gold, there were gentle little daisies flowering upon a melodious green ground. The Report says that the School was started, first of all to revive a beautiful and practically lost art; secondly, to provide private and suitable employment for gentlewomen wishing to earn a living. The story of the rise of the School I heard from a lady connected with the place. The original foundress, she told me, had always been interested in the art, and had herself designed and worked some embroidery for her own house. One day an upholsterer, who was at work for her, happened to say, "If this kind of thing were for sale, I could always command a price for as much of it as I could get." These words struck the lady, who began to think of the possibility of using her gift to some useful end, as she remembered some girls to whom she had given her patterns and instruction at different times. Some of these were young ladies to whom a suitable employment would be of all boons the most welcome. She spoke to them on the subject, and established a little class in her own drawing-room. Then she went to a friend, another kind châtelaine, who listened to her scheme for a while, and then suddenly held out her hand and said, "Let us be partners," and so the thing was done. The proposed scheme was to open a workroom, where ornamental work should be produced with some intention and harmony of colour and charm of design, and at the same time to employ those ladies whose cultivated instincts would be valuable in such an occupation. The little enterprise was started, but struggled with many difficulties. The first manager, Mrs. Dolby, whose experience and special gifts had seemed to be the mainspring of the whole enterprise, fell ill and died at a time when one of the two ladies so much interested in the success of the venture was herself ill and confined to her bed. The staff of workers was organised, but everything else had to be found out day by day. Mrs. Dolby's loss was irreparable: nobody else had any knowledge of the practical working of such a scheme. "Fortunately at this crisis Princess Christian, who had become interested in the scheme, came forward, and 'her unfailing encouragement and unselfish personal exertions' in a measure helped to carry the undertaking through at a time when it was in the greatest danger of collapse." I cannot help further quoting an interesting passage from the Report: Up to that time the School had profited by Mrs. Dolby's large experience and exceptional knowledge of the highest branches of needlework, and her rare powers of tuition. But since her death, as no really efficient substitute could be found, it has been forced painfully to work out every detail, and to solve each problem as it arose by the slow and expensive process of many failures, crowned at last by success-a success, perhaps, the more complete because carned by experience. This, however, was not the only obstacle. There was the difficulty-a very real one-of training in regular, careful, and accurate habits of work, ladies accustomed to easy leisure rather than professional work; the difficulty of admitting all without distinction of creed (which, without great and patient care, might have led to painful discord); the difficulty of organizing a staff among the ladies themselves, ignorant of business, and with only a few months' experience of art-work, while there was none to lead them but an amateur with only an amateur's experience, and a complete stranger to commercial affairs. Then there were the further difficulties of valuing and classing work; of having materials specially made and dyed (sometimes dyed at the School) to reproduce the rich harmony of ancient colour; of forming a code of regulations; in short, of initiating nothing less than a thorough business system for which there was no precedent. Many of these hindrances being much increased by the humble size of the School's original quarters (a small room over a bonnet shop), it was decided by H.R.H. the President and Council last May that the first thing to do was to find a suitable house. The house was found (31 Sloane Street), fortunately well adapted for the purpose, and the School was settled there in July, 1873. From this time the history of the School may be said properly to begin. Though only known to a circle of private friends, orders have been sent in to a large extentin many cases of such a value as to require large sums to be expended in executing them; and one of the most satisfactory proofs of the confidence which has been so quickly earned is the quantity of ancient needlework of the utmost value and rarity which has been confided to the School to be transferred, repaired, added to, or copied, &c. Forty-three ladies are now (Oct. 1873) on the regular books, and their numbers are being added to from time to time. Each lady pays an entrance fee of 51., and she must reside in London, and practically devote her life to the work, as in any other profession. Work is not paid for by time, but by the piece, so that the most skilful and rapid worker earns the largest sums. Some of the ladies live in the house, and a dinner is provided for them at a certain hour. Where it is possible, they take the work away. The secretary, Miss Turner, told me that in some cases she was able to look after younger girls, or absentees from sickness. There is a natural and kindly esprit de corps which I need not dwell upon, but which seemed to me not the least of the advantages to be gained by such cooperation. It is no use-so Miss Turner told us-for persons to come who have not already worked with some natural aptitude-"with fingers instead of thumbs," as she said, laughing; and it is no use for ladies not living in London to apply; many of those we saw were married and living in homes of their own; one or two were young girls. There had been but few cases of incompetence and incompatibility; for by long experience, Miss Turner, who is deeply interested in her work, can now tell who is likely to do well in the School, and she only admits those of whom she has good hope. I think we must all allow the real gratitude which we must feel to those who try to discern, behind the dull contrivance and commonplace of daily toil and life, the secret of an artistic fitness and beauty which certainly exists in most things and most places, but which so many cares and preoccupations combine to choke and to hide away. Those who have means and leisure beyond the actual calls of a daily and laborious existence are doing most practical and useful work when they try to make things more fit and more full of interest and beauty for others. Where cultivated human instincts deal with material things, some true and valuable result must come from the contact. We all have our household gods, whether or not we recognize the fact; and we all pay them homage in a fashion of our own-gods of association, of harmony, of fancy, of long-expected realisation. These super natural visitors hide unsuspected in many a shabby place and corner. Some are visible only to certain people and at certain times; others, again, disclose their secret to any who have the gift to recognise their divinity; and I, for my part, honestly believe that nothing exists which may not be made more worthy by their touch, and none of us that may not benefit by recognising their existence in our daily life. What god from Parnassus has laid his hand upon those shabby garret walls-upon the torn curtain hanging from the pole-the broken jar standing in the sunshine, with its sprouting balsaam plant? The curtain is weatherseamed and stained by wet; the jar is cracked, the wall is smoked; but the blue serenity of the sky outside shows beyond the balsaam pot and the ragged curtain; some mysterious harmony in those shabby russet tones is melting to tranquillity upon the gray; the faded blue of the drapery is falling into shadow, the bright culminating flash of the flower flames a life into it all. Art seems to be a sort of soul to life that reaches us and uplifts with a strange yet gentle might of inspiration. I could imagine that a real and mighty work of art might even share in that same life which belongs to natural things-brightening and changing from day to day; fading and dimming sometimes, and then again behold it re-created for us, and standing as in a shrine, supreme and triumphant and revealed. So, not long ago, was she of Milo revealed. Suddenly, and for one instant, she seemed to thrill with a divine and mighty life; not life such as ours, struggling for something-it knows not what-or clinging to definite things, passionately apprehending for one moment and forgetting the next. This was something beyond-absolute, dominant and selfsufficing-that seemed to thrill with the sound of some faint Olympian music, stirring, not to effort, but to an existence more complete and more supreme. And it is no small thing to learn from others to like that which is to be liked to see the golden radiance of the gods where it falls, upon the the head of a goddess or the fringe of a garment; nor shall we live our own lives the less completely for such warmth and revivification. To a Friend Leaving England in September. DEAR FRIEND, you leave our chary northern clime, Of melancholy winter; while you fly Great cities-greater in decay and death- The mighty names and memories of those Your happy pilgrimage; and you shall learn, |