amongst the amusements of fashionable life, that the homely joys
and destiny obscure of those who toil for a livelihood in this
department of the useful arts acquire a new interest. In the group of
Staffordshire 'pottery towns,' as they are called, which lie within a
mile or two of each other, and are connected by the somewhat exclusive
system of the North Staffordshire Railway, not far from the beautifully
wooded conical hill of Cocknage, and at an easy walking distance from
Trentham Hall, the magnificent seat of the 'Leveson-Gowers,' in one of
the most charming silvan districts of England, is Longton, formerly
called _Lane-end_, with its picturesque and quiet suburb of Dresden.
In 'Burslem,' Hanley, Stoke, and Longton itself, the atmosphere may
not be quite so pure as one could wish; but to find a bright and
translucent atmosphere requires but a slight exertion. From Stoke to
Newcastle-under-Lyme, and thence to Woolstanton, or to Chesterton and
Silverdale, or to Trentham--by Longton pool, shining like a mirror
in front of the handsome Hall, or by cool sequestered Blurton, with
its quaint churchyard and umbrageous trees--the wayfarer passes along
lanes of unrivalled beauty: in summer by rose-clustered cottages, and
meadows where the youthful _Archie Lovel_ may have gathered kingcups
and daisies; and in the clear cold days of winter, by hedges jewelled
with red berries.
Although in back slums of these towns, and amongst the dissipated,
the pallid father, wan mother, and emaciated child may, as elsewhere,
be occasionally seen creeping home; amongst the thrifty and orderly,
no such lugubrious picture is presented; but as a rule one sees
healthy-looking men and women, and rosy-cheeked urchins of the
true English type. Indeed the beauty of delicate features and
intelligence of expression, combined with physical vigour, are marked
characteristics of the whole district, and such as a stranger would not
be led to expect. While my metaphorical tent was pitched near a pretty
little rivulet at Dresden, my visits to the neighbouring towns and
places of beauty or interest were frequent, both in winter and summer;
and I had consequently the best opportunities of inspecting these
busy hives of industry, which have so marvellously sprung up from the
original germ-thought of one man, Josiah Wedgwood, whose brain-labour
has set all these hands in motion.
It would be out of place to enter into a fully detailed account of the
manufacture of the various wares known by the generic name of _china_;
but a few particulars may not be unnecessary, as an introduction to
the special process of embellishment. Most of us are familiar with
the earlier difficulties in the plastic processes--from the potter's
wheel to the mould--with which Wedgwood had to contend. We know the
components of the superior wares, and have at length discovered the
Chinese secret--that it is the ingredient of _bone_-dust which imparts
the semi-transparent quality; while the properties of the shining
surface are well understood; therefore it is with the _bisque_, or
unglazed ware that we shall commence, after it has been withdrawn from
the _bottle_-shaped oven to the _dripping_-house.
In this latter department, the fresh-baked ware is immersed in a
silicious solution, and thence conveyed, in bandbox-shaped _seggars_,
to the 'glost' (glaze) oven to be fired. But should it be desired to
ornament it with _printed_ paper patterns laid upon the surface, this
is effected before it is dipped. The ware is now _fired_ until the
glaze becomes transparent; after which it is removed to the 'glost'
warehouse, where the various articles are assorted by classification,
and then transferred to female artists skilled in the 'stencilled
ground-laying,' as the process is locally termed, of the metallic
colours, each of which is brought to a perfectly uniform tint with a
'boss' or pad.
Passing from their hands to the kiln, the ware is again fired, after
which it is transferred to the fair 'paintresses' (a local word), whose
superior intelligence, or taste, qualifies them to embellish it with
what they call 'enamel' paintings of birds, flowers, and other familiar
objects. It is then fired for eight hours; and finally transferred to
the gilders and burnishers, who, with their agate implements, bring the
process of ornamentation to its last stage.
But before this has been arrived at, many busy heads have been at work
in the selection of materials and in their manipulation; for in the
work of ordinary painters and 'paintresses,' rapidity of execution, as
well as artistic dexterity, is required in order to earn a livelihood.
On an average, one penny is the price allowed for the central floral
pattern of an ordinary plate--such as a pink-rose with buds and leaves,
a convolvulus, or any other simple flower. Each colour must be laid on
with firmness and precision; and where the light is to fall, as on the
convex petal of a rose, the effect must be produced by a rapid touch
of the finger removing the colour. With a convolvulus, however, it may
be remarked, the colour is dashed on rapidly, and with each dash the
hair-pencil is swept to a point, more or less fine, according to the
style of flower; and with _blue_ flowers especially, the rule well
known to watercolourists in painting an azure sky is never departed
from.
The bisque or unglazed ware is now but seldom embellished with
painting, for colours are found to have little brilliancy on its porous
surface; consequently, this kind of ware is chiefly used where _form_
alone is the paramount consideration.
In the manipulation of metallic colours, the superior porcelain-painter
has to calculate the ultimate effect with the same care as the fresco
or destemper painter; and yet it is surprising how limited is the fame
of those who decorate our drawing-room and dessert ware with their
artistic work, in which a few masterly touches in birds and flowers,
figures and landscapes, give life to the cold clay; for with certain
exceptions these artists are not allowed even to add their initials to
their work.
Considerable nicety, only to be acquired by practice, is requisite in
mixing the metallic colours; and for this purpose spirit of turpentine,
combined with a thick oil obtained from exposure to the air for a
certain length of time, of ordinary turpentine (called _fat_), is used;
but should more _body_ be required, tar is added. The mixed colour
is then applied to the porcelain in the same manner as in ordinary
oil-painting, but with one marked and important difference, namely,
that in porcelain painting the colour must never be _worked_, but must
be applied with a _full_ brush, carried with a clean and precise sweep
to lighter gradations of tint. Thus, the greatest depth of colour
indicates the first impact of the full charged brush. Inattention to
this dominating rule would be productive of clogginess and opacity.
Lastly, the brush or hair-pencil does not seem to be regarded as of
such importance as one would imagine by the ordinary artists of our
'pot-banks;'[1] and it is not a little surprising, even to one long
accustomed to the use of the pencil, to observe with what dexterity
the most apparently intractable tuft of hair on the end of a quill can
be brought into subjection by those who can get no better, and whose
living depends upon their ingenuity.
Various kinds of brushes are used. Fine lines are expressed with a
very long-haired thin camel-hair; while ordinary subjects are readily
mastered with a medium size. But for more careful and minute work, such
as heraldic-painting--as less liable to clog--the mounted sable (No. 1,
2, or 3) is the best.
Having satisfied myself that to a certain extent the art of painting
on porcelain may be readily acquired by any one of ordinary
intelligence; its _niceties_, like those of wood-engraving or any
similar accomplishment, are nevertheless to be learned only by long
practice. The mere application of colour within prepared outlines is
often supposed to constitute 'the art of painting,' and there can be
no doubt that, according to dictionary definition, it is _painting_;
but as there is no _art_ in it, so is there no credit due to the
purely mechanical action of the painter's hand. As an amusement, where
practised on artistic principles, porcelain-painting might, amongst
amateurs, lead to pleasing results; but to 'take it up' merely as a
fashion of the day is scarcely worth the trouble, and would be of
comparatively little benefit to those who contribute materials.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] China and earthenware manufactories in Staffordshire are invariably
called _Banks_.
THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.--CHAPTER I.
'Do you mean to go to the Woman's Rights affair, Earle?' asked one
young man of another from out a cloud of smoke. The two were sitting
one evening in December in the smoking-room of Wilfred Earle, a rising
young artist of the modern school of figure-painters.
'Yes, I do,' replied the one addressed, a fine-looking man of some
five-and-thirty years, with thoughtful dark-blue eyes, a good forehead,
from which the curly brown locks were departing fast, and a fine tawny
beard and moustache. 'I shall go out of mere curiosity though, for of
all offensive articles, to my taste a strong-minded woman is the worst.
Just imagine the horrible bore of being tied for life to a woman who
travelled about the country spouting on woman's rights! As if all
women were not tyrants by nature, without developing the art into a
system. Ugh!' and Earle shuddered.
'I should like to see your ideal woman, Earle,' said his companion.
'You are such a fastidious fellow.'
'Well, I suppose every man _has_ some sort of ideal; mine is a very
vague one. I should not like a heroine of romance, but a comfortable
everyday wife.'
'To darn your stockings, let you smoke all over the house, give you
good dinners; eh?'
'That's rather a low standard, my good fellow. If that were everything,
why not take a good-tempered domestic servant? No, I should like my
wife to be intelligent at least; if not intensely intellectual, well
read, graceful, feminine. I don't mind so much about beauty. I can get
paid models when I want them. One thing she must have--some sense of
humour. That's what I complain of in these spouting females--they are
so grimly in earnest! In short I want a jolly, unaffected, sensible
girl, who will believe in me, make my friends welcome, my house
comfortable, and be a pleasant companion to me after hard work. That's
what my ideal comes to, Jack--not a very lofty one after all.'
'I don't know but that the clever women make the best housewives after
all,' remarked Roberts, puffing thoughtfully away. 'My brother now--he
married a girl just because she was a sweet, soft, amiable little
thing; thinking that after knocking about the world a good deal, he
should like a quiet comfortable home. He was not violently in love
with Amy, but had a notion of settling down to domestic life. Well,
she turned out the most incapable idiot; is given over to nerves,
hysterics, all sorts of fancies; cries when he's out after ten, faints
if he finds fault with her. It isn't her fault--there's no vice in her;
she hasn't the _stuff_ in her, that's all. My sister Maude, again--you
remember her, Earle?'
'Yes. A fine girl; lots of go in her.'
'Rather too much, we thought. She was a bit of a flirt--but as clever
as she could be. Well, she married a quiet, steady-going fellow we all
said she would henpeck. I tell you, Will, they are a model couple!
Maude makes a splendid wife, and it's the pleasantest house to stay
in that I know. The husband always says the "clever women" are the
cleverest all round.'
'Well, it's time we were off. Let's postpone the discussion _sine die_.'
* * * * *
Shortly after the foregoing dialogue, Wilfred Earle and his friend
found themselves in the midst of a pretty considerable number of people
entering the doors of a certain Literary Institute in one of the Surrey
suburbs of London. The audience was mostly composed of well-dressed
people; but there was also a tolerable gathering of trades-people and
artisans in the back of the room. Earle and Roberts took their seat in
a corner of one of the windows, intending to be unobserved; but they
soon perceived a little lady, of a lively appearance, with bobbing gray
curls and very small hands, which she kept in perpetual motion. One of
these hands--incased in an exquisite glove--was waving and beckoning
to them in an agitated manner. Simply bowing in return was no avail,
the waving got more energetic, and Earle perceived he would have to
obey the summons. The little lady was not going to lose the chance of
catching even an incipient lion; and Earle was a rising man, and was
beginning to be talked about.
'Bother it!' he murmured; 'there's that bore, Mrs De Lacy! I shall have
to go to her. She is the most persistent woman I know, and the most
crotchety. I believe woman's rights and wrongs are her latest craze.
Come along, Roberts, and protect me.'
So the two men made their way to the front row, where sat Mrs De Lacy
and her satellites. As for Mr De Lacy, no one ever thought about him.
He was Mrs De Lacy's husband, and did very well at the foot of the
table at dinner-parties, offering good wine to his guests. This, by the
way, was the sole point where he dared act independently.
Mrs De Lacy was a rigid teetotaler, as well as a spiritualist,
mesmerist, anti-vaccinationist, phrenologist, all the rest of it--a
woman of theories; worked upon by every novelty, and the easy prey of
any plausible adventurer. She had her virtues, shallow, conceited,
egotistical as she was. She was kind-hearted and benevolent, only,
unfortunately, her benefactions were generally wrongly directed.
'Here you are at last, naughty man!' she cried, giving Earle both her
hands at once, to his no small embarrassment, as he did not know what
to do with them, and would gladly have passed one on to Roberts, who
was trying to hide a smile. 'What have you to say for yourself? I am
very, very angry with you!'
'Indeed! I am deeply grieved! What have I done now, Mrs De Lacy?'
'Need you ask? Pray, how long is it since you were in Pembroke Terrace,
sir?'
'You must really forgive me. I have been very much pushed with
finishing a commission picture.'
'Well I will on two conditions, grant you pardon.'
'Pray name them.'
'One is that you dine with us to-morrow; to meet--but I won't tell you
whom.'
'Is that a punishment? It is a very merciful one.'
'Ah, you have not heard the second condition. Mr De Lacy is foolish
enough to want to have a portrait of my poor faded face, and I only
agreed on condition that _you_ painted it.'
It was as much as Earle could do to keep up an expression of
complacency. He could not refuse; but it was no light penance to
him--who disliked mere portrait-painting at the best--to be condemned
to make a picture of Mrs De Lacy's little foolish face. However, he
consented, as he could not well get out of it.
'Now that is settled,' continued the lady, 'sit down here and be
charmed. Stay; I do believe you are one of the unconverted--of the old
school in that respect, though your pictures are of the new. Well then,
prepare to be converted. I shall give you up for ever if you are not
enchanted with my Silvia.'
'Your Silvia! May I ask who she is?'
'Look at your prospectus, sir: "Miss Stirling will address the
meeting."'
'And is Miss Stirling your Silvia?'
'Yes; to be sure. She is staying with me, and---- Oh, I have let
out the secret of whom you are to meet! She is the dearest, most
delightful---- Hush! It is time to begin. The chairman is rising. Now
allow your stubborn soul to yield.'
Earle felt at once amused and annoyed. He savagely determined to detest
Mrs De Lacy's 'Silvia.'
The chairman made a few introductory remarks; then another gentleman,
who persisted in talking of 'females;' then a certain Mrs Leighton, who
spoke well and pleasantly, as even Earle could not but acknowledge.
She did not say anything strikingly new; but her manner was easy and
ladylike, and she was sensible and straightforward.
When she had sat down, the chairman rose and announced that: 'Miss
Stirling will now make some remarks on another aspect of the
question--on the effects that the extension of the franchise to women
might be expected to produce on the community.'
Earle had identified Miss Stirling with a tall slight figure sitting in
the background. 'Now for a display of extraordinary self-possession,'
he thought.
The lady came forward simply, but not with that air of coolness which
he looked for. Miss Stirling might be six or seven and twenty. She
was handsomely and becomingly dressed in rather a picturesque style,
though not in the least _outré_, in black velvet trimmed with gray
fur, made very plainly, and falling in heavy graceful folds round her
slender figure. A black velvet hat and long gray plume suited her
face to perfection; and that face, Earle could not but acknowledge,
was a striking one. It was perhaps not actually beautiful, though the
deep soft brown eyes and the sweet curved mouth were undeniably so;
but full of character, and womanly withal. What struck Earle most, as
being least expected, was the perfect simple unconsciousness of her
manner. She was nervous; that was plain enough; her hands trembled, her
colour was high, and she spoke rather falteringly at first; but there
was a noble directness in her honest open glance that said volumes
for the simplicity of her motive. She evidently spoke not to display
her powers nor to impress herself upon her audience, but because she
had a love for and belief in the cause she was advocating. After
speaking a minute or two, Miss Stirling threw off her nervousness. Her
voice--a singularly pleasant one, with the intonation of a well-bred
lady--strengthened and grew animated; her words were well chosen and
to the purpose. Each one told, and yet there was not the slightest
oratorical display or straining after effect.
'Very well done. Yes; very well,' thought Earle. 'But I should like
to see her at _home_, if such an exploded word forms part of a
strong-minded woman's vocabulary.'
There was a slight good-humoured sarcasm and irony underlying the
seriousness of Miss Stirling's speech, if speech it could be called,
which prevented it from becoming wearisome, and no one was anxious for
her to bring what she had to say to a close. She ended amidst quite a
storm of applause.
Mrs De Lacy turned to Earle in a high state of delight: '_Now_, Mr
Earle, what do you say to her? Surely, surely you are converted now.'
'To what, Mrs De Lacy?'
'Oh! to--to--woman's right to the suffrage.'
'I did not doubt before that she had a right to the suffrage.'
'Did not you? Well, now, I thought you were an enemy to woman's
progress.'
'I assure you, you thought quite wrong.'
'Really! Well, then, what is it you object to?'
'I have an objection--a very decided objection--I own, to women
speaking in public,' said Earle emphatically.
'Hush, hush!' breathed Mrs De Lacy; and turning round, he saw Miss
Stirling close behind him. She must have heard him; and indeed a slight
arch smile told him she had.
'Mrs De Lacy,' she said quietly, 'are you ready? If you are, would you
be so kind as to let me go now? I have such a headache.'
'To be sure, dear one!--Good-night, you bad prejudiced man!' she
whispered to Wilfred. 'Remember to-morrow.'
Earle watched the velvet dress out of the doorway, admiring the
graceful walk of its wearer, and then he and his friend returned
through the cold foggy streets to their respective homes.
* * * * *
The next evening, when Wilfred entered the De Lacy's drawing-room,
he found a party of about twenty persons assembled. The room was
furnished, as might be expected from the character of its mistress,
in a heterogeneous and peculiar manner--a little of every style,
marking different periods of taste. Mrs De Lacy herself was bobbing
about in the excited way that always reminded Earle of a canary-bird
hopping from perch to perch--a resemblance heightened by the cap
with yellow ribbons and feathers she wore, perched jauntily on one
side. After having paid his addresses to the host and hostess, his
eye involuntarily sought for Miss Stirling; she sat rather behind the
rest, and was well dressed as on the previous evening. Her costume was
of silk, of a cloudy aquamarine colour, with square-cut bodice. Her
hair, coiled up in a large knot, was adorned with natural flowers; the
bracelet and necklet she wore were of plain dead gold.
'She looks uncommonly well in evening dress,' thought Earle; 'not much
of the coat-and-waistcoat style there! What finely formed arms and
shoulders. I should like to paint her.'
Ponderous, stiff-looking Mr De Lacy bore down upon him and whispered
mysteriously: 'You are to take Miss Stirling in to dinner. Come and be
introduced.'
'But isn't she rather formidable?' remonstrated the artist.
'Formidable! Dear no; one of the pleasantest girls I know.'
In another minute Earle found himself part of the procession filing
down to dinner, with a shapely hand upon his arm. After his remark of
last night he felt unaccountably ill at ease, and was racking his brain
for something to say; for 'I daren't talk weather to a strong-minded
woman,' he thought; but when they were seated at table she relieved him
by saying in her straightforward way: 'Are you Mr Earle the artist? Mrs
De Lacy runs on so fast one does not carry away clear ideas from her.'
'Yes, I am. You did not hear then that I am pledged to paint her
portrait?'
As he spoke he made so rueful a face that Miss Stirling laughed
outright, but checked herself, saying with compunction: 'It is not nice
of me to laugh at my hostess! And she really has been very kind to me.'
'O yes, she is good-natured enough! Still--in this instance allow me to
say--the obligation is more on her side than yours.'
'Why? I don't see that.'
'Have you not found out then, yet, that our friend has a weakness for
collecting celebrities at her house?'
'But then I am not one; so that does not apply. I suppose,' she added,
looking up at him with an arch expression, he was quite ashamed of
finding most winning, 'that accounts for _you_ being here!'
'Do you really mean you do not consider yourself a celebrity?' he asked
rather sarcastically.
'I don't say what I don't mean,' she answered coldly. 'You think, I
suppose, whenever a woman "speaks in public" it is to shew herself off?'
'So you bear me a grudge for the unlucky speech you heard last night?'
Miss Stirling coloured. 'It is small of me to be vexed, I know,' she
said, after a moment's pause, in her frank direct way; 'but we get a
good many snubs, you must know, and we--or I, rather--are stupid enough
to feel somewhat sensitive.'
'Well, please to forgive me. I spoke principally out of contradiction
to Mrs De Lacy.'
'But you _did_ disapprove. I saw it in your face. I believe most of
your countrymen share your prejudice.'
'_My_ countrymen? What! are you not my countrywoman?'
'I was born and bred in America. My mother is an Englishwoman; and we
came over seven years ago, when my father died. So you did not detect
the Yankee twang, then?'
Earle was taken aback. This young lady seemed determined to unsettle
his old prejudices. If there were one thing he disliked more even than
a strong-minded woman, it was an American. She was both, and yet he
found it hard to dislike Silvia Stirling.
'An American!' he said.
'Yes;' and she smiled at his expression. 'Isn't that dreadful? Almost
worse than public speaking! I see I am lost in your good opinion.'
'Miss Stirling,' Earle said honestly, 'I won't conceal from you, even
if I could, that I have a prejudice against women taking part in public
affairs; but I am quite willing to have it dispelled. I must tell you
too, that though I came last night to scoff, I ended by admiring.'
'You are not flattering me?'
'Indeed I am not. You are the last woman I should dare to flatter!'
The beautiful clear eyes fell under his earnest gaze, and the colour
rose into her face, which Earle thought at that moment almost a perfect
one.
After a pause she said: 'Now, _I_ think that both men and women
would get on better if they helped each other more on common ground.
The sense of superiority on your side produces aggressiveness and
self-assertion on ours. Why not leave off quarrelling about who is the
best, and agree to be different and yet friends?'
'People say friendship is incompatible between men and women.'