In Turkish embroideries we find occasionally half a leaf, or the centre of a figure, worked in a shade of silk that occurs nowhere else in the design, and often a pattern abruptly broken off where other parts of the work have led us to expect a particular termination. This disregard of uniformity is not a peculiarity of Chinese or of Hindoo work, but is confined to the Japanese, Persian, and Turkish embroideries, though occasionally we find it in Cretan work, which, however, must be considered Turkish. Fig. 5 is a specimen of Cretan embroidery on coarse linen, executed in a kind of Irish stitch, in various shades of crimson silk, with pale blue centres. It is impossible in black and white to suggest the arbitrary disposition of the different shades, a deep maroon being here and there worked in for a dozen stitches, as if other material had run short. One would conIclude that this was the case were it not for the rich effect produced by such accidental treatment, which charmingly varies the monotony of the set geometric figure. Fig. 6 is the corner of a large linen spread of Turkish work exe cuted in the same stitch in pale pink and green silk, but in this the treatment is uniform throughout, the only accidental effect being achieved by the di-. rection of the stitches, which sometimes run in one direction of the fabric and sometimes in the other at right angles, causing an apparent change of depth or saturation in the colors as the direction of the light is changed. This is an effect that demands no great skill to attain, and only requires a little thought to determine which portions of the work should undergo the same changes, and place those stitches in the same direction. Instances of this effect are familiar to most ladies in damask and brocade dress goods, and in linen damask, where the pattern is only plainly visible when the light falls at an angle, and the difference in the texture becomes apparent. Very beautiful embroideries have been made by working the woven pattern in a damask with colors in silk or crewels, crewels being more in keeping with linen damask, and silk with satins or brocades. Fig. 7 is an old piece of amber-colored brocade, upon which some Italian lady of the sixteenth century worked a very charming fancy in color. The pattern existed, but we feel certain, in examining the delicate shades of her floss, that she must have designed many patterns to exercise this subtle discrimination upon. In the accompanying sketch the black and white retains very little of the charm of her work. There is another kind of Turkish "low" embroidery-almost all Turkish embroid floss, the former being usually scarlet or blue, of a tone that the French would call vif, while the floss is usually of one color-white or of very pale tint--though I have seen table-covers of this work executed in as many as a dozen strong colors. In such cases, however, the cloth is of a pale tint, and is almost entirely covered with embroidery, the margin only acting as a sort of frame for a profusion of palm leaves, lotus, etc. Embroidery in crewels upon linen is now a revival of an old occupation of our grandmothers. About one hundred years ago a lady in Connecticut embroidered the valance shown in Fig. 9, in crewels upon linen ery is of the "low" description-which | woven by the slaves on her husband's is very beautiful, and whose difficulties consist mainly in procuring suitable designs, that is, forms that can be effectively displayed without great variety of outline. Some specimens of East Indian embroideries bear a strong resemblance to Turkish work. I refer to the floss embroideries on cloth, of which Fig. 8 is a specimen. This is not a very durable class of work, as the floss is used in heavy strands and long stitches, any sense of relief being gained by the strong contrast between the color of the cloth and the plantation, and we find, on examination, that she was an adept in South Kensington stitches, as in many more that are not taught nowadays. Where she procured her design it would be hard to say; it is neither so beautiful nor so ugly that she might not have conceived it in her primitive soul, but there is such a curious combination of Eastern symbolism and native products that her inspiration must have been derived in part from her family's connection with the East India trade, though no record exists of any such. FIG. 11. "Raised" embroidery is the term employed for all filled work of any kind, whether the filling is merely a few strands of yarn, as in the embroideries on the borders of white flannel garments, or whether bunches of cotton are used, as in Fig. 10, which is a specimen of "low," raised," and "laid" work all together, worked by a lady in New York, and purchased by the Boston Art Museum, where it now hangs. The "low" work consists in all the stitching for the various purposes of fastening the leaves to the cloth ground, in making the veins on the leaves, and in making the finer tendrils and stems; for these purposes the button-hole, chain, and overcast stitches are used, and sometimes one over the other. The "raised" work consists in the stuffed seed-vessels and buds, and the "laid" work is, as the term implies, the leaves, the stems, and the covering of the seed-vessels ; this last is most effectively managed by a prodigal use of silk laid in long heavy strands over the body of the seed-vessels, the ends of the strands being twisted into cords, laid in their natural positions, and caught here and there to the cloth by a stitch of the same color. The leaves are of maroon satin, the ground of maroon silk rep, whose corded surface has an especial value in contrast with the satin leaves, while the pale pink seed-vessels suggest more than one connecting link in the chain of reds with the shadows from their high relief. Most effective results are obtained in "laid" work by merely laying strands of silk in parallel lines, shorter or longer, so that the differences of length shall describe the pattern previously marked on the material. These strands are caught down as often as desirable to insure their remaining in position. In this simple way every conceivable gradation of color may be indulged, and every effect can be tested before the worker is committed to a combination. Many varieties of this work may be easily invented, such as twisting the strands into cords, spreading them so that each individual thread must be caught, and in this way the necessary stitches may be made a feature in describing a subsidiary design. Fig. 11 is a piece of Turkish work of this description, except the line of stitching dividing the border from the main field. This line is done in what the South Kensington School would call feather stitch, if they were only a little closer, as a whole, and not in collections of three at intervals. The Japanese have, on the whole, carried " raised" and "laid" work to the greatest perfection, though it is difficult to find good specimens where the result is not due as much to the combination of all three kinds of embroidery as to the skillful application of any one. The manner of embroidering a feather, for instance, in one piece of Japanese work is no criterion for that of another. Each undertaking seems to be governed by its own requirements, and if a certain realism is aimed at, their success is perfect. In Persian work, on the other hand, according to the kind of embroidery, we shall invariably find the same things done in the same way. Fig. 12 is an embroidered ery material in fabric or thread has its Persian napkin, in which the stems of special advantages; that while it is indisthe flowers are "raised," and this ef- pensable to acquire skill in the various fected in a way peculiar to Persia; the processes, this alone can never atone for lines of the stems are laid with a few an ill-devised scheme in form or color. strands of thread, and this filling is over- The embroidery for a robe that is to cast with a flat strip of gold about one-hang in folds, or for a curtain, must be of sixteenth of an inch wide, drawn through the stuff without regard to consequences, and leaving such openings in the fabric that the stems appear like brides in lace, | attached to the work only at intervals. In "laid and raised" work, nothing can be more effective than the simple manner adopted in the Chinese and Japanese robes, where the background is composed of gold threads laid close together in waving lines following every variation of outline in the pattern, which is executed in "low and raised" work, but all in one simple long stitch, veins and tendrils of the leaves and flowers being used also to catch the long stitches. The les sons we may learn from the best examples of embroidery of all kinds are not so much the particular manner of executing this or that stitch for a particular purpose, as that the art is relative; that ev such a design and of such color combinations that its use may enhance its value both as a matter of effect and durability. A screen has the advantage, on the other hand, of appearing as it should and is to be while stretched to work upon. In sofa cushions and the like, the convex form, when the work is made up, must affect the design, and even the colors, and this should be made a virtue of. We are gradually getting out of the habit of walking about in the house with a bunch of flowers, fearfully wrought, on each toe of our slippers, just as we are substituting Eastern rugs for our former extraordinary floral carpets. If our missionaries are half as successful in converting the heathen to Christianity as the heathen have been in converting us to a belief in and appreciation of real art, the millennium can not be long delayed. "W AN ARTIST'S REMINISCENCES. I. GEORGE. HERE'S George?" Many years ago, while travelling in a foreign land, I heard this interrogatory, under circumstances that sent a peculiar thrill through my nerves, and caused my memory, in a moment's time, to travel back over a space of nearly thirty years, when I, in the early dawn of life, had made that same inquiry in an agony of soul to which my young heart was hitherto a stranger. I was seated in the corridor of the interior court of an old Swiss inn, in an outof-the-way town amid the mountains, listening with surprise and interest to the singing of what I had only known as a negro melody, which came from the kitchen below. Astonished at the sound of those familiar notes so far away, and puzzled to account for their recurrence there, I had finally settled upon what was probably the true solution-that the air was still at home: originally Swiss, it had been stolen and adapted to the negro words—and had relapsed into that peculiar sense of loneliness and retrospection so often experienced by travellers in a strange country, when some sight or sound awakens memories of home and early days. I was not aware that any being speaking or understanding my mother-tongue was within miles of me, when the above question, in broad English, from the servants' quarters below, smote upon my ear. "Where's George?" I was but a babe, and can just remember when my little playfellow George left my native village. The evening before the family were to leave, my mother told me that George was going away in the morning before I would be awake, and that I had better go over then and bid him good-by. An unutterable dread came over me, and I could not be persuaded then, but said I would go in the morning. In vain I was told it would be too late, that I would not be up until long after they were gone, etc. I could not believe or understand that my George would not be found as usual in his old home. How well I recall, but can not describe, the various feelings that made up the load of sorrow too great for my young heart, al |