s called in as an influence
in the composition. One must, however, expect to forego these effects
except in daylight, but as artificial light has its own subtleties of
effect, the one can be balanced against the other. In my own
country-house I have used the two strongest colours--red and blue--in
this doubled way, with delightful effect. The blue, which is the face
colour, presenting long, pure folds of blue, with warmed reddish shadows
between, while at sunset, when the rays of light are level, the
variations are like a sunset sky.

It will be seen by these suggestions that careful selection, and some
knowledge of the qualities of different dyes, will go far toward
modifying the want of permanence of colour and lack of reflection in
cottons; the other quality of stiffness, or want of flexibility, is
occasionally overcome by methods of weaving. Indeed, if the manufacturer
or weaver had a clear idea of excellence in this respect, undoubtedly
the natural inflexibility of fibre could be greatly overcome.

There is a place waiting in the world of art and decoration for what in
my own mind I call "the missing textile." This is by no means a fabric
of cost, for among its other virtues it must possess that of cheapness.
To meet an almost universal want it should combine inexpensiveness,
durability, softness, and absolute fidelity of colour, and these four
qualities are not to be found in any existing textile. Three of
them--cheapness, strength, and colour--were possessed by the
old-fashioned true indigo-blue denim--the delightful blue which faded
into something as near the colour of the flower of grass, as dead
vegetable material can approach that which is full of living juices--the
possession of these three qualities doubled and trebled the amount of
its manufacture until it lost one of them by masquerading in aniline
indigo.

Many of our ordinary cotton manufactures are strong and inexpensive, and
a few of them have the flexibility which denim lacks. It was possessed
in an almost perfect degree by the Canton, or fleeced, flannels,
manufactured so largely a few years ago, and called art-drapery. It
lacked colour, however, for the various dyes given to it during its
brief period of favouritism were not colour; they were merely _tint_.
That strong, good word, colour, could not be applied to the mixed and
evanescent dyes with which this soft and estimable material clothed
itself withal. It was, so to speak, invertebrate--it