sufficiently large to do this, they became useless, and no doubt were treated accordingly. It would appear, however, that there were exceptions to this rule, for Mr. Bloxam, in his volume on the principles of Gothic Ecclesiastical Architecture, has, in his concluding chapter (4th Edition, p. 226.) the following passage; "The richly embroidered and costly vestments, and antependia, and frontals of a period antecedent to the Reformation, were in some instances converted into coverings for the Altar or Communion Table, or into hangings for the pulpit and reading-desk. In Little Dean Church, Gloucestershire, the covering for the reading-desk is formed out of an ancient sacerdotal vestment, probably a cope, of velvet embroidered with portraits. The cushion of the pulpit of East Langdon Church, near Dover, is made out of either an ancient antependium or vestment; the material consists of very thick crimson silk, embroidered with sprigs, and in the

10

HINTS ON ECCLESIASTICAL NEEDLEWORK.

centre of the hanging are two figures supposed to represent the Salutation of the Virgin, who is kneeling before a fald-stool."

It is believed, however, that English ecclesiastical vestments of a period anterior to the Reformation have been preserved by, and are still in the possession of some of our Roman Catholic nobility; and one or two instances have occurred in which they have been discovered behind pannelling, or in the thickness of a wall, having been hidden there in times when there was less toleration shewn to members of the Romish religion than is the case at present.

F the Church, in former days, gave almost unli

IF

mited scope for the labours of the needle, there was little danger that the supply should not equal the demand, for, in great measure, she held the hearts of the people in her hand, and as she was not backward in encouraging her children to make offerings of this description for the use of the sanctuary, so the habits of society contributed to make such offerings plentiful. It was a privilege and a labour of love to work for the Church, and it fared then as in the days of old, that "all the women that were wise

hearted did spin with their hands, and brought that which they had spun, both of blue, and of purple, and of scarlet, and of fine linen," and "worked all manner of work of the embroiderer."

In the nunneries which spread through the length and breadth of the land, the distaff, the loom, and the needle were plied incessantly; and the baron's lady, when unoccupied with the mysteries of the kitchen and the buttery, instead of, as now, turning to the last new French novel, summoned her maidens round her, and whiled away the hours in working at some elaborate piece of embroidery, which, when completed by the labours of half a life-time, was destined to adorn the high altar of the neighbouring Abbey at Christmas or Easter.

Certainly, to us women of the present day, whose tastes and feelings have been led by modern habits into totally different channels of thought and action, such an existence seems monotonous enough.

Yet as to the amount of labour expended, I doubt whether Queen Matilda herself was more indefatigable than some of the young ladies whom I see hour after hour, and day after day, absorbed in Berlin patterns and German wools; and I cannot help suspecting that some of the more diligent workers of screens and footstools, on fine canvass, have unconsciously, and in various portions, done more crossstitch than would have sufficed to cover the farfamed tapestry of Bayeux, which, though 214 feet in length (and so far, rather formidable,) is in fact, but twenty inches wide.

The life of former times seems monotonous to us; and yet methinks the matrons of those days, with their simple manners, and home-occupations, bending over their tapestry, or joining in the perpetually-recurring services of the Church (I am not excusing the superstition which mingled with their devotion,) "ruling their children and houses well,"