410 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
FES.46 
If the decorator be Indifferent to the continuance 
of early Ideas in. art, any brilliant colors may be 
added by transferring pictures of foliage and 
flowers to Its sides. Patterns traced upon plain 
paper may be selected from laces, frescoes, or 
anything that Is pretty and graceful, and then 
cut Into shape before the paste brush Is applied. 
Tins vase Is sometimes chosen of very large 
size, and decorated and finished In any agreeable 
colors and placed In the hall to receive dripping 
umbrellas. Of course, the furnishing of the halt 
will be consulted when Its tints are selected. 
Sometimes a monogram of the resident of the 
house Is arranged In black upon a gold medallion, 
or the letters In gold or other color are placed 
upon a black medallion at the side, when the 
same two colors are chosen as borderlngs. 
If the vase Is painted In pale hues, the orna¬ 
mentation Is pretty In black or all-white, In sil¬ 
houettes, la traceries ol' foliage, or lo the forms 
which are called arabesques and used by the 
Arabs and Moors. The latter people were forbid¬ 
den by their religion to picture anything that 
bad life, and hence their Ingenuity Is highly de¬ 
veloped In pretty shapes and fanciful outlines. 
Fiouhe No. 3.—Here Is an article decidedly 
French in Us form, and Its ornament at Ion is sug¬ 
gestive of both the Egyptian and Gothic. The 
style of decoration Is bot h pleasing and fashions 
ble, hut it Is not of necessity confined to this 
shape, nor is the v ase limited to the Illustrated 
method of hctDg beaut Hi d. It. is one of those 
outlines that are adaptable to the fancy of every 
ornanienter of pottery. 
A plain band of gold at the top and bottom, 
with bouquets, a medallion with a face.upou it, a 
monogram, a picture of a favorite dog or cat, 
birds or indeed anything that, pleases the fancy, 
may be placed upon this ornamental article of 
pottery, It is called a flower-pot.or a jardiniere, 
because It Is oftener used for the growth of plants 
than for a simple decoration. 
Figures Nos 4 amd 5.—These are both antique 
forms, lately reproduced, because we are passing 
through an era of admiration for the old without 
regard to whether It has or has not sufficient 
claims to our devotion. They are restorations of 
forms from Pompeii and from the ancient Greek. 
Other nations of the same date as Pompeii also 
possessed them, although their origin was most 
likely In Italy. TUey are torms that are seldom 
ornamented lu flowers, but they are handsome 
with grotesque figures in black or dull gold, and 
also In lapis lazuli on a dull red ground. For the 
growlugof flowers, or for dried grass's, pressed 
roliage and wax flowers, they serve the part of 
vase or jardiniere with agreeable effect. No. 5 is 
especially handsome when suppoiting the roots 
of a growing vine, such as German ivy, Japanese 
fern or siu llax. 
Plates, modernly styled plaques, are among the 
decalcotnanle favorites. Flowers, photographs 
of friendly or admired faces, pictures or domes¬ 
tic animals, etc , are placed In the centler, and the 
edges are bordered or painted to suit the taste. 
Sometimes the edges are left plain with fine ef¬ 
fect. 
To use a photograph upon pottery, provided 
the picture has been mounted upon a card, lay It 
face downward In a bowl of clean water and per¬ 
mit it to remain all night, or even longer If need¬ 
ful. When it his been soaked long enough, it 
can be shaken off the card Into the water. If It 
Is removed with effort, It Is likely to be Injured. 
The water will separate It, if time enough be 
given to Its dissolving power. Dry the photo¬ 
graph and then brush the back of It with mucil¬ 
age, and let It dry again, being carerul not to al¬ 
low It to wrinkle during the drylug, after which 
It Is ready to be trimmed and pasted to the plate 
or vase. 
Tables, fire-screens, etc., are finished in decalco- 
m mtc style, with pretty effect. It la a pleasant 
method of mounting ramlly groups of pictures, 
audit' applied for, photographs will be furnished 
unmounted at the photographers. When wood Is 
used, coats of paint are required before the pic¬ 
tures are added to it. Varnish in two coats should 
suffice as a finish. 
Catalogue of Illustrations here given of the 
Albert ware. 
15 represents an Egyptian Ampbora. 
24 a candlestick with snuffer and match-safe. 
32 a Greek vase. 
5T an Egyptian vase. 
101 an Etruscan card receiver. 
115, ill, 2, 555, coi, vessels discovered by Prof. 
Sehffeman on the supposed site of Troy. 
Thanks are due Messrs A. H. Hews and Co., 
North Cambridge, Mass., for cuts of the Albert 
ware which are published, and also 8, W. Tilton 
and Co , Boston M iss., for their Book of Designs 
and Illustrations for Decorating Pottery from 
which I have extracted largely lathis article. 
It will give me great pleasure to answer any 
questions on subject of the history, uses, er meth¬ 
ods ot decorating pottery that Rural readers may 
feel disposed to ask. Faith Ripleyi 
-♦♦♦- 
TALKS ON TIMELY TOPICS.-No. 4. 
BOSE GERANIUM. 
Willow Baskets. 
We want to tell the Rural readers how these 
conveniences are made. WU1 the one who bo 
gracefully presides over our circle permit It ? 
Very dear they have been to our heart, with 
tuelr graceful white curves, their smooth, glossy 
polish, and subtle, dainty fragrance. Their very 
Blgbt recalls to memory spring-days shining away 
back .over little girlhood, when we pressed the 
faint green meadow-grass with fitful steps, and 
hunted blue-eyed violets and tawny willow- 
waste together! In those days we carried our 
treasures to a dear, peaceful little log cabin, and 
left them for transformation. And If we loved 
willow baskets for no other reason, we would still 
cherish them as a reminiscence of that tiny pal¬ 
ace of logs. Can we admit that It was only such, 
and yet show It to your vision as It dwells in our 
own? * * • So cleanly were Its ragged brown 
walls, over which red honeysuckles and pink 
“ multifloras'’ clambered ! So guileless of cob¬ 
webs were those eaves where the brown wren 
bullded! So green, oh! so velvety, grew the 
short grass over the door-yard, and along one 
side; Just within the brown rail-fence rippled a 
tiny brook which in all the wcrld, my dears, lias 
no count er-part. Have we not tested the mat¬ 
ter? Did we not forsake full oftvn, the shadow 
of the porch, and the weaver plying her art, to 
run under the flying snow of apple blossoms, and 
quench rom intlc thirst with water which the 
brown gourd dipped from Its fountain-head ? 
Behold the College ot our learning! Now for 
the learning; for, In rather ungratelul disregard 
of her life-long self-sacrifice we overlook our gen¬ 
tle teacher. (Heaven round and took her long 
ago!) 
Come with me, In fancy, atd we will pull the 
willows for ourselves. You see how daintily the 
slender last year's growths soapaud are off, as 
though falling Into your hands were a genuine 
pleasure. We must carry home a generous bun¬ 
dle tor two or tnree baskets seem to naturally 
grow from one attempt—a sort or Inevitable ten¬ 
dency to cluster. If willows ever do bear baskets 
you may expect them In bunches of from three 
to hAlf a dozen. 
Tbe porch is the place to sit Just now. While 
the ground Is Btlll damp we should have a floor 
beneath. Yet, with a skj so bright, we need but 
little roof above. And it is welt we delayed our 
gathering no later. If the leaf buds are allowed 
to progress too fur, our wands will be brittle and 
there will bo consequent annoyance. We must 
assort, them—choslng the most slender lor bottom 
wpavtogand those which are longer and stronger 
for the the braids. 
We must curl them in a kettle, cover them with 
water, and boll them-sufilclently. We deter¬ 
mine thlspolntby and by. lr someone will agree 
to tend the fire we can have time to whittle the 
hickory pincers necessary to the “ peeling ” pro¬ 
cess, and afterwards Bake a little nap, or try two 
or three bits ot new music. 
Now, we seize a willow and place Its base be¬ 
tween the Jaws of our pincers. 
“ What are they like ?” 
Oh, nothing very formidable. Only a hickory 
peg a few Inches long, smoothed off and split half 
way op. We compress the J iws of this unrque 
agent, and draw the willow through. If the bark 
peels readily, the bolUng may be discontinued. 
However, don't lift the wands from the water, 
but keep them covered, and throw the peeled 
ones Into a tub ot clean water, 
Select, from thrifty, unboiled wands eight uni¬ 
form pieces nine Inches long, and when scraped 
white, as thick as a turkey-feather quill. With* 
Bharp knife trim four along an inch of the middle, 
until they are slightly flat, in a corresponding 
part of the others cut silts. (Look In the bottom 
of any basket, my dear, for a pattern ) It Is best, 
after you have prepared your frame, to wrap a 
bltof flue, strong t.wloe securely around it to give 
additional strength berore the weaving Is com¬ 
menced. When the bottom is complete, select 
two strong willows for each end of the rib, shave 
the ends, press them firmly in. Your structure 
Is, at this point, somewhat spidery In appearance 
and rather hard to compose. However, It won't 
bite; so, slcze bravely hold, and bend the ribs to¬ 
gether 3 Bind a strip of cloth arouod to keep 
them In place. Oh, of course you can use a string, 
but of course It. will slip off ! 
Now, weave a strip about two I oches liJgh. Do 
not separate the pairs of ribs 3 When your work 
Is complete, you are ready for the braid. Choose 
from six to ten willows for each cluster. 
And now—if you have ever seen a willow bas¬ 
ket, you will perceive how to twine the clusters, 
In and out, and out and In, until the tops all point 
downward ; you will understand how to work 
them up again and down once more, and cut them 
off for the last touch. If you have no pat tern, In¬ 
stinct may teach you. If she falls, you will have 
to throw the whole affair away! our pen utterly 
falls us further In the way of description. 
Should the baskets ripen, set In one a shallow 
dish, and all summer long eDjoy the little bless¬ 
edness of a rustic basket of flowers. Devote one 
to yellow peaches and red apples, and another to 
your grandmother’s knitting. This last will be 
the sweetest work of all! 
-- 
BEAUTIFUL WOMEN. 
One thing may be particularly noticed In En¬ 
glish women. The mouth, when beautiful, Is ab 
solutely statuesque. The curves are decided, and 
at the Junction of the red of tho Ups with the 
white, theie Is a delicately raised outline which 
marks t he form of the feature In a very noble 
way. This may also bo Bald of the nostril. It 
gives a chiseled effect to those features, which Is 
not so often found elsewhere; but.the nose Itself, 
the brow, and the set and carriage of the hoad 
are generally finer among Americans. 
In both countries, however, the head la apt to 
be too large for perfect proportion. This' Ir a 
Character! ullO defter, of the English typeot beau¬ 
ty. Then, again, the articulations are heavy, 
ltcally rt no arms are rare; but flno wrists are still 
rarer. Such wrists as the Vlennotac women have 
are almost unknown among women of Eugllsn 
race lu either country, ltlsorteu said, even In 
England, that American women have more beau- 
ilrul feet than English women have. This may 
be doubled. The feet may be smaller, but they 
generally look smaller because English women 
wear larger and heavier shoes. 
“LET THE DEAD BURY THE DEAD.” 
Tis gone, with its joys and sorrows, 
Its eutishins and storms of rain : 
Look not away in the distance, 
On relies of grief and pain : 
Look up, dear frieuds, iustead : 
Let the dead year bury its dead! 
Wbat if our pride have suffered. 
What if the hour of need 
Have shown that the friend we trusted 
Was woi se than a broken reed ? 
Look up, though our hearts have bled : 
Let the dead year bury its dead. 
Let us count the abundant mercies 
Our one great Friend has Bent; 
The days of our light and darknese— 
All gifts of one sweet intent. 
No matter the. tears we shed • 
Let the dead year bury its dead. 
Ah. youth has been taught stern lessons, 
And we of inaturer years 
Have If ai ned a yet keener knowledge 
Of life's vain hopes and fears. 
How surely God’s hand hath led! 
Lot the dead year bury its dead. 
And the new-born year shall find us 
Courageous, alert, snd strong ; 
Girt up for Ihe strife before us. 
Though sharp the trial and long. 
On, on, with a firmer tread. 
While the dead year buries its dead. 
-» • » 
CORA. 
CHAPTER 1. 
"Now, Ilal, do be amiable for once, and accede 
to my very simple request ?” 
“ For once, you ungrateful puss ! When do I 
refuse any reasonable request of yours ? 
And Harold Sinclair turned away from his easel 
and faced his sister (is she ntood behind him), 
brush a^l pallette In hand, and a complete ex- 
presslonof mingled severity and gentleness on 
his face. 
“When?" she answered laughingly. “Never, 
of course, so do not begin now, but like the. self- 
sacrificing brother yon always are, put away that 
horrid painting, and take me up to town to see the 
illuminations.” 
And Cora Slnolalr enforced her pleading by 
kneeling down beside her brother, and bringing 
her face on a le/el with his shoulder, lifted hpr 
beautiful dark eyes, hilt-ontreatlng, half-trium¬ 
phant to his relenting face. 
A more beautirul pair of people could hardly be 
Imagined than riffs brother and stster, although 
no one looking at them would have Imagined that 
any relationship existed between them, and the 
tew Minds au<l clients whom the young artist 
received and Introduced to his sister were always 
surprised when they made Cora's acquaintance. 
Harold Sinclair was one of those to whom one 
would instinctively ascribe pretty sisters, but 
tbe contrast between httnsolf and Cora was re¬ 
markable, and one could not help a feeling of dis¬ 
appointment, and the wish that ho had another 
sister ot the same grand S.ixou typo of beauty as 
himself. About the medium highi, and rather 
slenderly built, his figure had hardly attained the 
massive, stately proportions one ascribes to our 
Haxon ancestors, but his face was one of the pur¬ 
est Saxon typo; hlB eye3, blue and sparkling ; bis 
waving hair of the ralrest golden hue; his com¬ 
plexion, pure and brilliant as a girl’s. 
Cora, on the contrary, was more a brunette 
than a blonde; her hair was of the darkest brown, 
gleaming with a tinge of gold when ths sun 
touched It; her complexion was of that warm, 
clear paleness the Italian masters loved to paint,; 
and If her features were less regularly beautiful 
than Harold's, any Irregularity was fully atoned 
for by the wondrous dark-gray liquid eyes, 
fringed by long black lashes, which cast a shadow 
over the fair cheek. 
“ i wish you would not urge It, Cora," be said, 
with a last feint at resistance. “ You have no 
Idea of the unpleasantness—to use a mild term— 
of a crowd on such an occasion. Why, my child, 
people are often killed, crushed to death." 
“ Oh, don’t be so absurd, Hal,” she replied, pet¬ 
tishly; “one would think you were a maiden 
aunt from the tone of your forebodings. Just 
as If I had never been In a crowd 1 I remember 
quite well being In a huge crowd one night at tho 
Champs Elysees on the Emperor’s fete, and papa 
lost me, and I wa3 only ten, but I enjoyed It very 
much, aud people were quite nice about the push¬ 
ing : I was not Jostled a bit more than was agree¬ 
able." 
“ French and English crowds—” began Harold. 
“Oh, yes, I know all about It,” Interrupted 
Cora, laughing. “ They are very different, and 
English crowds are much tho ntcest. Hal, dear, 
do bo kind and take me. I don't have much fun 
down here.” 
“ 1 know that, dearest child,” said Harold, 
sadly. “ I wish I could make things brighter for 
you.” 
“Hal," she interrupted, Impetuously, “you 
know you are a million times too good to me I 
There, I don't care to go a bit If you do not 
wish.” 
“ I would take you In a minute, Cora,” said her 
brother, after a moment’s pause, during which 
time she had danced a merry pas seul round the 
sitting-room, pausing at bis sld”, and looking up 
laughingly Into his musing face, “but I am really 
arrald of a crowd for you. We might get sepa¬ 
rated—you might faint.” 
A peal of merry laughter rang through tho 
room. 
“ Have I ever fainted In my long life of nineteen 
years and a half ?” srid Cora, scornfully. “ You 
must have a bad opinion of your sister’s nerves. 
You are about as likely to fjint > ourself as I am. 
Are you going to take me, brother mine ?” And 
sheassum'd a pretty altitude of determined wU- 
fulness. “ Or must I go by myself ?” 
The words sounded sell-willed enough, but the 
expression of entreaty and affection lh the sweet 
dark eyes belled them. 
Harold smiled as lie contemplated the graceful 
figure In Its pretty, artistic dress of dark-blue 
serge, enlivened at. the throat by a knot of ruby- 
colored ribbon, which fastened her plain linen 
collar; a dress simple enough, yet not without a 
grace of Its own, besides that which It borrowed 
from its wearer. 
*• Thanks, brother mine,” said Cora, notlog the 
smile. “ I will go and get ready at once.” 
•• Wrap up well, U'tie girl,” said Uitrold, then, 
rising, and beginning to put away his painting 
materials, while his sister ran away to get ready. 
Harold and Cora Sinclair were orphans. Their 
mother had died at Cora’s birth; they had lost 
their father about six years previous to the open¬ 
ing of our story. 
Reginald Sinclair was tbe younger son of an old 
and wealthy English family, but he had married 
a young Italian actress, aud hl-> family bad dis¬ 
owned him for the misalliance—If one can give 
such a uauie to such a union. 
Clara Vlscom I had possessed groat beauty and 
talent; her professional career had been very un¬ 
usually brilliant, but she had been quite wllllog 
to give up her laurels and triumphs for the love 
of captain Sinclair, and the quiet home he offered 
her. 
During the few years of happiness she had en¬ 
joyed with her husband, she never odcc regretted 
the luxury and pleasure of the life she had re¬ 
nounced. Her huslyuid’s admiration was enough 
for her; his appreciation of the beautiful voice 
which had made plaudits Issue from a thousand 
throats, sufficed for her ambition ; and when she 
lay dying, with her hand In his, she was able to 
say, with a sirille, truly: 
“I have been so happy with you, caro mio, it 
seems hardly possible„ that I can be happier 
where I am going." 
And the beautiful dark eyes turned toblm with 
one last look of love ero the veined lids closed 
over them for ever. 
Reginald Sinclair never fully recovered his 
wife’s death; all the sunshine and beauty ot his 
life passed away with her lovely face and soft 
voice, and when ho saw her no longer, It seemed 
as If lie had but to lie down and die. But there 
were other uses for his life yet. 
The brave, handsome boy, Harold, was but stx 
years old when his sister was born, and ltegluald 
Sinclair had the child—with her mother’s wistful, 
lustrous eyes—to win him back to brighter things. 
Harold was nineteen, his sister six years younger, 
when they lost their rather; and during the six 
years which had elapsed since his death, Cora 
had had no other guardian but her brother. 
Well and i ruly had he fulfilled bis father's trust, 
aud no father's care-hardly a mother's—could 
have been more tender or moro guarded than 
Harold's. They had rctftlned the preti y, old-fash¬ 
ioned cottage midway between Richmond and 
Kew, where they had lived ever since Captain 
Sinclair’s return from abroad, ami It Is there we 
found them on the loth March, 1S63. 
Harold had adopted the profession of an artist, 
and already, young as he was, was adding sensi¬ 
bly to their small Income by his professional earn¬ 
ings. The Tryst was a happy home for Cora. She 
had few lrlends, and now, since the departure of 
her governess, had but one constant companion, 
an old Italian servant, who had been her moth¬ 
er's nurse as well as her own, and who loved Har¬ 
old and Cora for her dear sake. 
“ Here I am, Hal,” said tils sister’s voice, break¬ 
ing in upon his reverie, as he stood at the bow- 
window of his studio looking out on the dreary 
March landscape. “Remember, we have to got 
to the station to catch the T o'clock train. Marian¬ 
na is shaking her head, and looking like an owl 
In an Ivy-bush at such a rash proceeding. I think 
she Is more surprised at you than at mo.” 
Aud Cora’s eyes daDced under the shade of her 
sealskin cap as she drew on her little fur-llned 
gloves, aud Harold donned his great coat. 
The railway-station was tolerably crowded,and 
Harold had some little difficulty In obtaining 
places In the up train ; but they were off at last, 
and half an hour brought them Into the heart of 
London. 
At first Cora eDjoyed the excitement and novel¬ 
ty ot the crowd, which was not so great as Har¬ 
old feared It would be later. 
•• I want most of all to see Temple Bar, Har¬ 
old,” she. lmd said, and they had gone clty-ward3 
with tho greater mas? or the people. Harold had 
put his arm round Cora, aud the pleasure both 
felt in tho contemplation of the illuminations, 
and the weird effect they had lu their contrast 
with the deep blue of the sky, made both for a 
time insensible to the crush and discomfort of 
the crowd. 
Very slow was the progress made by the mov¬ 
ing mass towards Temple Bar, and Harold felt 
that tho crowd was gathering and Increasing as 
they wont along, borne forward irresistibly by 
tin Immense concourse ot people. Glancing 
down at bis sister’s face he saw that she was 
looking a little pale and startled, aa If but now 
stricken with asense or their helplessness and In¬ 
ability In such a crowd. The people were getting 
more noisy too; more than once words which 
Harold hoped his stster did not hear struck upon 
his ear. Many of the sight-seers were people be¬ 
longing to the groat, middle class, but t he greater 
number were In a station, considerably below It 
I 
