gasping prayer; and a figure in black, interposing between you and the sky (as figures in black are very apt to do), and looking down, before it grew too hot to look and live, upon the Heretic in his edifying agony-I say, I suspect" (says the plate) "that some such fancy was pretty strong upon you when you went out into the air and blessed God for the bright spring day and the degenerate times."

The china-ware when taken out of the kilns, after the first firing, is of a beautiful transparent white, suggestive of a ghostly nature rather than a nature of earthy clay. The "biscuit" warehouse is always well stocked, it being easy for intending patrons to select from the pure white forms the shapes they require, and from the decorated pieces the designs they most appreciate; one or two pieces in each style of decoration is always at hand. It would be obviously unwise to advance farther than the "biscuit" state with a large proportion of the stock, prior to sale, inasmuch as fashion in art, as elsewhere, quickly changes, and hand-decorated work of a high order is necessarily expensive. We should have observed that before the "biscuit" is carried to the "biscuit" store-room it is scoured. The object of the scouring is to get rid of the superfluous flint from the "bed." This scouring is done by women, who, standing before fans, use small strong brushes. The Factory Act requires the workers to wear respirators while at the work, in order to protect the lungs from dust.

In pieces where the decorative work is done "under glaze," that is to say, when the painting and printing are accomplished before the glazing or enamelling, the "biscuit," in its Parian fairness, is handed over to the artists of the brush, who work out upon the clear "body" their innate conceptions of beauty.

Technical knowledge is requisite on the part of the artist, as well as artis tic skill and design. A painter on por celain must know the precise nature and extent of the change that the fir

ing will effect upon his pigments. The artist must clearly be a bit of a chemist. He should know which colors to apply first, namely those which require the "greatest degree of heat, in order that they may be well fused before he applies the delicate and tender tints in finishing his painting, as those would be, if not destroyed, seriously injured if submitted to the same high temperature required for those colors which he uses in the early stage of his work."

are

Brande says upon this subject. "When several colors are used they often require various temperatures; in which case, those which bear the highest temperature are first applied, and subsequently those which brought out at a lower temperature." It would seem that all the colors are metallic oxides; the rose-colors and purples are made from gold; greens from cromium and copper; yellows from lead, antimony, and tin; red from iron; blue from cobalt. Combinations of different oxides produce a variety of colors. The famous Derby blue-a regal purple-is obtained from pure oxide of cobalt. Cobalt ores are found in Bohemia, Saxony, and France, but more abundantly in Germany, Sweden, and Norway. And here we cannot forbear quoting the following from the "History of Inventions," which is at once instructive, suggestive, and amusing: "The word cobalt seems to be derived from cobalus, which was the name of a spirit that, according to the superstitious notions of the times, haunted mines, destroyed the labors of the miners, and often gave them a great deal of un necessary trouble. The miners probably gave the name to the mineral out of joke, because it thwarted them as much as the supposed spirit, by excit ing false hopes and rendering their labors often fruitless; for as it was not known at first to what use the mineral could be applied, it was thrown aside as useless. It was once customary in Germany to introduce into the Church service a prayer that God would preserve miners and their works

from kobalts and spirits." Miners now eagerly search for the ore and gladly welcome its appearance.

Opening the closed door of one of the studios our guide invites us to enter. We do so, and find ourselves in a veritable school of art. The tables are bright with young faces, all intent upon the work beloved and revered by them beyond any other. Some are painting and others are burnishing.

In another studio every facility is allowed to first attempts, by way of encouragement of original work. It is instructive to watch the young designers portraying the forms and lines of beauty that represent the æsthetic world of the ideal. The ease with which the circles and many-sided figures are described with the skilfully managed brush, stencil and compasses, is not the least pleasing part of the work executed in this interesting department.

"You

"Time goes," says our guide. had better come now into the 'glazingroom.'" We hasten to obey, but the obedience costs us an effort; the studios being highly attractive. As we pass the gilding-room on our way to the glazing-room we look in for a moment. "Laying on the gold" calls for the most minute care. To each gilder a tiny "tot" of gold, equal in value to five shillings, and appearing as a mere dab on the palette, is allowed at one time. It is expected that a certain amount of work will be accomplished with this allowance; nor do the artists disappoint expectations. Gold, before firing, appears black, and after baking of a dull yellow. It is the work of the burnisher to "bring up the gold," by rubbing the gilded Surface with a bloodstone and agate. But are in the "glazing" shop. We have already given the constituents of the china-glaze, and as we peer into the wooden tub or vat containing the mixture we observe that it resembles, so far as its appearance goes, ordinary whitewash. Before the tub stauds a man in white apparel, and to his right a pile of ghostly plates, waiting for immersion. Fixing on the thumb of

now We

his right hand a hook of some three or four inches, he lifts a "piece" with hook and fingers from the bench to the tub, and dexterously twirls it in the glaze, draws it out, wipes his fingers round the edge to remove any slight marks there may be, and places the plate upon a special support, where it remains until it is taken away to be scoured for the second time before the second firing. Of course it is no longer "biscuit" ware. The dexterous movement of the glazer appears as simplicity itself, but appearances are most unreliable. "I was years," says the glazer, "before I could dip a plate properly. I thought the action looked easy enough as I watched others do it, but I found it more difficult than Ι can tell you."

After glazing and scouring, the plates (other undecorated pieces are dealt with in the same way) are fired for ten, twelve, fourteen, or sixteen hours, as the case may be, in saggers rendered air-tight by clay pressed between each two, and the firing completed, the glazed articles are carried to the "glost" warehouse, and here they are rubbed smooth with sandstone or rubbing-stone, and then distributed to the various studios for decoration. This last applies only to articles decorated "over the glaze."

China printing is also in Vogue at the Derby China Works, but there is less demand for printed articles than for hand-painted goods. To effect a high-class print the selected design is skilfully engraved on copper sheets, and these are filled with color. A sheet of thin tissue paper is damped with size and spread upon each plate, and this again is pressed between flannel rollers. The pressure transfers the pattern from the copper plate to the damped paper which, in its turn, is caused to transfer its design to the vessel it is required to decorate. A fair share of patience and knack are requisite to the successful laying of the damped paper upon the plate or other article. When it has been accurately placed, frequent measure ments having been taken with com

passes, dry tissue paper is rubbed over with a brush, until not a crease is visible. A soapy flannel is passed over the surface, and the reverse end of the brush is freely used to rub the pattern well on. A sponge and water remove the paper. The firing incorporates the color with the glaze. The engraving of the copper plates is a costly undertaking, hence only in the execution of large orders is printing resorted to, it costing less to decorate by hand where a small order is concerned. A separately engraved plate is necessary in each case where the vessel differs in size or form from its predecessors-e.g., the plate used in printing a gravy dish or a meat plate would be useless for printing a vegetable-dish cover, or a gravy tureen.

As we left the ingenious printers, and their careful transfers, we turned in at the "ground-laying" workshop. "This ground-laying is very fashion able just now," observed our instructor. "You see how it is managed. The 'color' is dusted on to the piece, after the latter has been oiled all over. This is followed by a 'firing,' and subsequently by another dusting of 'color' and a second 'firing,' when the selected tint results."

In conclusion, we pass from an imperfect description of many interesting processes to the general statement that the productions of the Royal Crown Derby Porcelain Works are unsurpassed by any in the kingdom; they are at once highly artistic and useful. Among the most beautiful of the chefs-d'œuvre of the plastic art are the exquisite egg-shell like cups and saucers, than which we have seen nothing superior. Professor Jewitt thus writes of them: "The 'body' is of a high degree of transparency, of marvellous thinness and of extreme hardness and tenacity, and on some examples, the raised gold-pattern is in the finest and most delicate of lines, or fault. and yet without flaw In whatever style, indeed, the decoration of these choice cabinet specimens is done, there is a studied delicacy and beauty that are in keeping with the

apparently fragile body of which they are composed."

Amongst the most ardent admirers of Crown Derby ware are the citizens of the United States and Australia. Few of these who are true lovers of art return to their own country after visiting England, without making a run into Derbyshire, and selecting trophies of excellence and beauty from the show-room cabinets.

The January of the year 1890 opened brightly for the Derby China Works. By the intervention of his grace the Duke of Devonshire, K.G., lord-lieutenant of the county, and lord high steward of the borough of Derby, the gracious permission of the queen was accorded to the company to use the title of "Royal" in connection with their manufactures. When it is remembered for how many years royalty has patronized the ceramics of this factory, and that the manufacture of china was commenced here a year earlier than at Worcester, which has long since enjoyed the title, the permission accorded to Derby is no more than is befitting.

JAMES CASSIDY.

From Good Words.

A PLEA FOR PRECOCIOUS CHILDREN. "Master Thomas Moore in his youth devised in his father's house in London a goodly hanging of fine painted cloth with nine pageants, and verses over every pageant.

"In the first was painted a boy playing at the top and scourge (whipping top) and over the top was written:

I am called Childhood, in play is all my mind,

To cast a quoit, a cockstele [shuttlecock?] or a ball.

A top can set and drive it in its kind;
But would to God these hateful books all
Were in a fire burnt to powder small,

nen might I lead my life always in play, Which life God send me to my ending day.

If there is a touch of Blake in the simplicity of these charming lines, there is also, in the matter of them, a healthy satisfaction in ignorance, a distaste for instruction that should commend them to those most respectable authorities on all that relates to children, the mothers of fine, large healthy, stupid families. Listening to these kindly dogmatists, one learns that any sign of intelligence in a child under seven is a kind of disease to be regarded with concern if, by a mira cle, it appears in one's own family, and with suspicion and marked disapproval in the household of one's neighbors.

"I have asked eight mothers to let their children join mine in a modest kindergarten class," said a quick-witted young matron the other day, "and they have all refused on the plea that their children's brains are so highly developed that the doctor won't hear of their learning anything. I am driven to the conclusion that mine are the only normally stupid children, or that I am less pervious to flattery than my neighbors."

So, slaves to this new superstition, we deprive our children of the advantage of being able to read story-books in the early years when lessons are short and leisure is ample. We prescribe fairy-tales, and "Alice in Wonderland" for all "natural children," while "Nature" has already strung some little minds to a romantic pitch, that only "Ivanhoe" or the tale of Troy can satisfy. "A child," we dogmatize, "ought to be a child," as if every child had not an indefeasible right to be himself.

Yet more than a hundred years ago a certain wise Scotchwoman, the Countess of Mar, knew better than this. She and her old lord had been left guardians to the first little CountessDuchess of Sutherland, and when her husband showed some distrust of education for the child, Lady Mar had her answer ready, "Hoots, my Lord, ye will never manage a thinking human child into a hedge-sparrow a' the gither."

Now, if even an average human child refuses after all to live the careless, contented life of a fowl of the air, what are we to expect from the extraordinary children?

No one denies that men and women of genius are in the course of nature, are, indeed, the fruit and crown of nature-why, then, should a child of genius be looked on with suspicion, disapproval or dismay? Yet we affect to pity the mother whose child, dreamily imaginative, or original and inquisitive, or high-spirited and enterprising, has upset all our prescriptions of what a child ought to be. A gifted man or woman in the future may possibly not be a comfortable child in the present, he will certainly not be a usual one. Mothers of healthy, stupid children are welcome to point triumphantly to Walter Scott at the bottom of his class in the Edinburgh High School, only when they have explained away the other fact of the marvellous lame child of two years old lying on the bank below Smailholm, watching the thunderstorm and shouting "Bonnie, bonnie" at each flash. They may speak with horror and indignation of that "shocking example" in education, the intellectual precocity of John Stuart Mill: Let them at least remember that the child who could not remember the time when he began Greek, but who had certainly read six Platonic dialogues before he was eight, was yet the most elastic as well as the most reasoning optimist of his time.

And yet, as in many healthy human prejudices, there is something to jus tify this dread of unusual gifts or rather of gifts unduly developed at an early age. Too many wonderful children have been like "the rathe primrose that forsaken dies." Either the flame, burning too brightly, has shattered the frail vessel that held it, or the premature ripening of the powers was itself Nature's protest against foredoomed decay, or-and this is most likely-the promise and graciousness of such gifted children, early dead, have left a clear light of memory, while the green earth has closed silently over unnum