thousand pounds for three sets of “ gold hangings." Archbishop Williams paid him two thousand five hundred pounds for a piece representing the Four Seasons; and the more affluent of the nobility purchased of him, at proportionate prices, various rich hangings "wrought in silk." The civil wars, however, put an end to Crane's flourishing manufacture, the most successful, for a time, that ever existed in England.

Tapestry is to this day one of the principal manufactures of Paris: it is called the Gobelin from a family of that name who were famous as dyers of wool; and their successors added to the dying of wool the weaving of tapestry. Colbert, the celebrated French minister, first placed this art under the protection of Louis XIV.: in 1662, the government purchased the immense building still appropriated to tapestry weaving, and Le Brun, the famous painter, became its director. Here several galleries are embellished with plaster figures, pictures, and ancient and modern tapestry. The manufacture of the latter is better worth inspection than scores of other sights that attract the tourist on the continent. The workrooms are four in number, and contain pieces of tapestry in different stages of forwardness. In one the loom is placed horizontally, like that of the weaver; in another the warp is vertical, and the workman has his frame before him; but, being placed behind the canvass on which he is working, his back is turned toward his model; though occasionally he refers to it, to compare

the colour of his yarn with that part of the picture which he is copying. These workmen express with perfect truth not only the designs of the most celebrated pictures, but also the brightness of their colours, and the counterpart of their light and shade; so that the Gobelin tapestry has the effect of the most exquisite painting. One piece of this tapestry has been known to Occupy six years of labour, and cost eighteen thousand francs, or seven hundred and twenty pounds. At present, the Gobelin tapestries are unrivalled.

In justice to our own ingenious countrywoman, Miss Linwood, it must not, however, be forgotten, that in her elaborate needlework gallery in Leicester-square are several copies of the most celebrated pictures of ancient and modern masters, executed with such skill and beauty as to have elicited the highest eulogiums from two successive presidents of the Royal AcademySir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. West. this needlework collection ranks as high in the branch of art to which it belongs, as do the masterpieces of Reynolds and West in the British school of painting.

Indeed,

The disuse of tapestry may soon be explained. It was costly, and in many respects cumbrous, and, as we see in the Haddon and other specimens, its effect was dingy, heavy, and gloomy. It declined as painting rose; a less extensive scale of building did not admit of its introduction, and in place of tapestry, foreign artists were

employed to cover whole sides of apartments with one colossal picture, as may be seen at Chatsworth and elsewhere. In a room a story was thus often told, and the apotheosis of the heroes and heroines on the ceiling completed the subject. Such was the occasion of the neglect of tapestry in France, as well as in this country. Whoever has walked through the palace of Versailles must remember many superb specimens of this pictorial decoration. The old chapel at Windsor too had a fine example. Paper-hanging, a still less expensive invention. than wall-painting, was introduced early in the seventeenth century, in both countries, and blended lightness and elegance with economy. Leather hangings were of the same date. Paper has attained perfection in classic design and delicacy of finish, so as to group on our walls life-breathing figures in the evergreen freshness of spring, and amidst the sunlit scenes of summer; thus bringing the radiant beauties of the seasons to our very firesides. Leather hangings have shared the fate of tapestry, unless the gilt and embossed strips about the crannies of doors can be considered the remains of this fashion; which indeed, the perfection of modern joinery and cabinet work has rendered no longer requisite, and its comparative clumsiness of contrivance no longer ornamental.

137

THE CURFEW.

THE Curfew was an utensil, named from its use, couvre-feu, to cover or extinguish the fire. It was undoubtedly common in England in the eleventh century, and it may therefore be considered as one of the oldest domestic implements of which we have any accredited record. The

engraving will show its form better than a page of description; but, as its introduction and use in England are connected with a few interesting customs, a brief sketch of its history may be welcome to the reader.

The erroneous notions which long prevailed respecting the origin of the curfew remind us how liable men are to couple with the memory of an oppressor acts of oppression, which are not strictly chargeable to his character, and how ready they are to mistake good for evil intentions, simply because they are the acts of a cruel disposition. This mode of estimating human nature is one of the most unjust prejudices that can take possession of our judgment. The divine lesson," to live in charity with all men" should teach us better; although it should be added, that such an error as we are about to explain away may, rather than be the result of cruelty of disposition, be an inference hastily

drawn, which enlarged information on the subject will teach us to correct.

Few names stand so prominently in the page of history as that of William the Conqueror; and, certainly, no one is more familiar to the reader of English history. The title of "Conqueror" may have delighted our childhood with false notions of glory; but the researches of riper years must have taught us that the triumph of William over England, or the Norman Conquest, was followed by acts of perfidy and cruelty on the part of the Conqueror, and misery on that of the conquered, which would stain the proudest memory that ever graced the annals of war.

Among the oppressive acts of William's government was long numbered the introduction of the curfew, or of covering up fires about sunset in summer, and about eight at night in winter, at the ringing of a bell called the curfew bell. Again, Stow, the historian of London, states, a law was made by William the Conqueror, that all people should put out their fires and lights at the eight o'clock bell, and go to bed. This law was believed to be imposed upon the English as a badge of servitude, and it has been quoted to show with what severity the Conqueror sought to press his cruel government even to the very firesides of our forefathers. Thus, we read of the battle of Hastings becoming a tale of sorrow, which old men narrated by the light of the embers, until warned to silence by the sudden tolling of the curfew.