Read Ebook: The Girl's Own Paper Vol. VIII: No. 356 October 23 1886. by Various

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In order to make a contrast between the design and the background, you can dot or line over the slab upon which the design is lying, so as to make the surface rough in texture. When the clay is quite dry, which will take some week or more to effect, you can put any further work into the design with the steel tool, which must be used to scrape the clay; for if you exert any pressure upon the dry clay it very soon chips, and it is almost impossible to repair such damage, and for this reason: that if you stick on a piece of wet clay to the dry clay, the moisture of the wet clay is soon absorbed by the dry, and the piece stuck on immediately falls off. The only chance is to keep damping the part damaged until the clay all round gets quite moist again, and you must then model another piece on to the broken part. Dry your work very slowly at first, to prevent it cracking or warping, and when it seems quite hard put it into a warmer place, for, though clay may appear hard on the surface, there is sure to be a good deal of moisture inside, especially if the clay be thick, and should it be put into a kiln before the moisture is entirely evaporated, the modelled clay will fly into minute fragments, and cause incalculable damage to other work in the kiln. I recommend my readers to put their work into a hot oven two or three times after it has been drying for two or three weeks, so as to insure the clay being quite hard. I lost several works through firing them before they were dry enough.

The heat that china is put to fix the colours is not sufficient for baking clay, and it must be sent to some place where underglaze pottery is fired. This first firing turns the clay into "biscuit," and if any painting is to be done on it, now is the time to do it. Underglaze or Barbotine colours should be used, and they should be put on in thin washes. The whole work must then be glazed and fired. But I shall not touch further on this part of the subject here, for I must say something about modelled decoration applied to vases and plaques.

The plaque or vase to receive modelled decoration must be of the same degree of dampness, or nearly the same degree of dampness, as the clay used in modelling, for reasons already stated. You cannot put modelled decoration on to clay that is dry, or ware that has been fired. To make a plaque, it is almost necessary to have a plaster mould. You might make this for yourself by buying a china plaque the shape and size you require, and filling this plaque with plaster-of-Paris, being careful to let the plaster come to edge of plaque all round. When the plaster is dry, trim the edge round, and take it out of plaque. You must now roll out a flat sheet of clay sufficiently large to cover this plaster mould, and, by pressing the clay evenly all over the mould, and trimming round the edges with a knife, you will get a clay plaque sufficiently good to answer your purpose. Don't attempt to remove the clay immediately from the plaster, but let it remain on a few hours, to enable the clay to set. The surface of this plaque may be kept moist by keeping a damp flannel over it. When the modelling has been started, the damp cloth must not press upon the modelled portions, but be supported on a wicker frame.

In the case of flowers like chrysanthemums, it is necessary to build up the most prominent flower solidly in clay, putting on the outer petals separately. The back flower can have the near petals modelled, while the distant ones can be just indicated on plaque with incised lines. Don't attempt to copy every petal in clay, which is an impossibility, but try and get the general effect of the flower in your modelling. Take the prominent petals first, and put them on in their proper positions, and the less important petals can then be filled in in the intervening spaces. This is the plan to adopt in all intricate work. Put down your principal forms first of all, and you will have little difficulty in getting in the less important ones, for the principal forms act as measuring points to the rest of the work, and enable you to preserve that proportion between the various parts of the design which is essential in all good designs. It is necessary in modelling to simplify nature somewhat, for we cannot imitate nature in clay. What we have to do is to seize upon the principal points, the curves of the stems, the position, form, and characteristics of the flowers and leaves, and put them down intelligently and in as telling a manner as possible. Let the work dry carefully before having it fired, and you can either finish it up in colours, and have it glazed, or let it remain as it is. I often used to use my Barbotine colours for colouring modelled work and glazed it with my soft glaze. I have also sent some work to the potteries, and had a coloured glaze put over the whole work. I may here say that much may be learnt by studying good modelled work, and even copying some stone or wood carving in clay. The pottery of Della Robbia and Palissy should be studied whenever the student has the opportunity of so doing.

I need not say much as to modelled work or vases. You must have some shapes sent up from the potteries in the "green" state, for it is almost impossible for amateurs to "throw" their own vases on a wheel. Space forbids me to describe the potter's wheel, but visitors to the Health Exhibition two years ago had the opportunity of seeing a potter at work, which is much better than reading about one. Those adventurous spirits who wish to try "throwing" vases, should get a small wheel from the potteries , and have a few lessons from a practical potter. In the meantime, get some firm to procure for you a few unbaked vases, and when you receive them it will be necessary to wrap them up in damp flannel for a day or two, so that the modelled work will stick on the vase. Let the shape of the vases be very plain and simple, with a good broad surface to receive the modelled decoration. I have chosen as the illustration the blackberry, as it is a very ornamental plant and one familiar to all readers. Throw on your stalk first of all, letting it wrap round the vase, and so place it that the leaves, flowers, and fruit can spring from it so as to be seen to the best advantage. The stalks might be placed in such a way as to form handles. Get a certain quaintness into the modelling, and don't be too intent upon imitating nature, for, do what you will, you will find it impossible to accomplish this. Therefore, be content to decorate your vase with a graceful spray of bramble, with all essential characteristics of the plant indicated, and the general "swing" of the plant expressed in your work. Model each part separately, either by pressing the leaves into clay and marking them round, or by modelling pure and simple, and then fasten the various parts on to the vase with diluted clay. Don't let any part of the work stand out too prominently; for not only will the shape of the vase be destroyed, but there is always much more liability to damage if the design be very prominent than when it just lies, as it were, closely to the surface of the vase. And yet it is not necessary to put everything perfectly flat on the vase. The stems, for instance, can be raised in places, so that there is a space between the stem and vase; and so with leaves, flowers, and other details.

It will be seen that I make the stems form an ornamental rim round the vase and also round the neck. Dry the vase very slowly, and in sending it to be fired, wrap plenty of cotton wool around it so that no pressure can be exerted upon any portion of the modelling. This applies with equal force to all modelled work. Red terra-cotta vases decorated with modelling, and merely baked, are most effective. Terra-cotta vases should not be too small; the larger they are the more effective is appearance in a room. I have some more than two feet high, and when filled with dried rushes, etc., they fill up a corner charmingly.

As a general rule let your modelled work be drawn to a natural size, and let it be rather over than under the natural size, for if modelled work is smaller than nature, the effect is apt to be petty and insignificant. Birds and insects can often be introduced with advantage.

I have recently been modelling some large works, using clay employed in making drain tiles, and having them fired in an ordinary brick kiln. In fact, I started some of my work with large size drain tiles, which I obtained when they were quite wet, and by pulling up the top and spreading it out a little, and putting a slab of clay on the bottom, I obtained cylindrical vases, upon which I modelled some decoration; but as the subject is one of peculiar interest, and is somewhat new to my readers, I must just reserve a few remarks upon this subject for another occasion, when I will give sketches of some of the vases I have recently been modelling. This work is within the reach of everyone, especially my country readers, for there are few villages of any size that have not a brick kiln in their vicinity, and for large work, such as ornamental flower-pots, vases for holding bulrushes, and garden vases, this is most admirably adapted.

FOOTNOTE:

LOVE ON, LOVE EVER.

BY RUTH LAMB.

"Love not, love not, ye hapless sons of earth."

How world-worn must have been the weary heart When this sad strain belied its noblest part! What! Bid us cease to love! Why life were pain If this best attribute were given in vain.

Cease not to love. O, wherefore shouldst thou scorn The flowers thy path beside, to cull the thorn? Or heed the man who, all unblest with sight, Counsels his fellow-man to shun the light?

Gazing around, 'tis ever hard to trace The Maker's image in the Creature's face. Seek it not there. That image wouldst thou prove, Know the Divine gleams through our works of love.

If cruel Death a dear one rend away, Let thy love follow; do not with the clay Bury thy heart. Soar higher. and hollow, as if with thought and toil; his eyes were deep and tranquil, often full of a dreamy brilliance, which bespoke a mind far away. His features, if not beautiful in themselves, were redeemed by a wonderful sweetness and depth of expression. He looked like one whose "conversation is in heaven," and the dying woman's eyes sought his with quiet confidence and joy.

"The shadow truly is there--but the rod and the staff are with all the servants of the Lord who can trust in Him--and the brightness of the eternal city is beyond. Truly the enemy's power is but brief. He can but cast a shadow betwixt us and our Saviour, and we who have the staff of His consolation in our grasp need not fear. To depart and be with Christ is a blessed thing. It is through the grave and gate of death that we pass to our joyful resurrection. There is no fear, no darkness, no shadow that can come between us and that glorious promise, 'I am the Resurrection and the Life.'"

The eyes of the dying woman kindled--filled suddenly with a beautiful triumphant joy. Her lips moved, and she softly repeated the words--

"'I am the Resurrection and the Life'--ah! that is enough--that is all we need to think of when our peace is made."

"Yea, verily--the Lamb of God suffered death for us to reconcile us again to God: and He rose triumphant from the grave--the first-fruits of them that sleep--for us to know that in the appointed day we too may rise again and be glorified together with Him. And meantime we rest in His peace, awaiting the day of our common perfecting. Ah! and when the trump of the Archangel is heard, it is the blessed dead who rise first, whilst in a moment of time the faithful living are caught away with them to meet the Lord in the air. O blessed, blessed hope for living and dead alike--to meet the Lord and be ever with Him! Surely that is the promise that takes the sting from death and robs the grave of victory. We know not the day nor the hour--that is hid in the foreknowledge of the Divine Father; but we have the everlasting promise--the promise which robs death of its sting, even for those who are left behind--who are parted from our loved ones. For at any moment the wondrous shout of the Lord may be heard as He descends from heaven to awaken the dead and call 'those that are His at His coming,' and we may be one with them in the blessed and holy first resurrection. 'Wherefore comfort one another with these words.'"

The gaze of the clergyman as he spoke these latter words was rather bent on the daughter than the mother, and the dying woman read the thought in his heart and laid her own feeble hand upon her child's head. The girl's tears were dry now. Her lips had parted in a smile of wondrous vividness and hope. She clasped her hands together, and her glance sought her mother's face.

"O mother, my mother--if it might only be soon! O pray for me that I lose not heart--that I may learn to live in the hope in that promise!"

"The Lord will give you help and grace so to live, my child, if you will but trust in Him. Heaven and earth may pass away, but His word will not pass away, and that hope is His most blessed promise. 'We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.' O my child, never think to put off the making of your peace with God till the hour of death, as some do. Remember that 'we shall not all die.' It is the life eternal, not the grave and gate of death, upon which our hearts must be fixed. Although I am called to pass through that gate, ask not, my child, for power to die. Ask rather the gift of the everlasting life which will be given without dying at the coming of the Lord. Ask for that coming and kingdom to be hastened, that He will come down speedily upon this rent and riven earth, and cause His reign of peace to begin. Yea, pray for the outpouring of His Spirit in this time of darkness and perplexity. Pray for that great and glorious day when mortality shall be swallowed up of life!"

The Duchess had half risen upon her pillows as she spoke. A strange light was in her eyes. In spite of her physical weakness, she spoke with a power and strength that had seemed impossible a few moments before. Was it the last expiring spark, flashing out with momentary vividness; or was it some spiritual power within her that gave to her this access of strength?

Those about her knew not, yet they hung upon her words with a sense of strange wonder and awe.

To the Duke and the other clergyman this talk was absolutely inexplicable--like words spoken in a strange language. Deeply as the reserved and stern husband had loved his wife, there were subjects that were never spoken of between them, owing to his resolute reserve and reticence. Dry orthodoxy and an upright walk before men had been characteristic of the Duke through life. The fruits of the Spirit, showing forth in love, joy, and peace, and the yearning for light upon the dealings of God with His children, were absolutely unknown to him; and though he knelt with the rest when Mr. St. Aubyn offered a prayer beside the bed of his dying wife, the words spoken fell meaningless on his ears. He had far more sympathy with the clergyman who had called his wife a saint, and shrunk from striving to speak any words of promise, than with him who was speaking of things so far beyond his ken as to appear to him idle mysticism and folly.

But the peace and joy beaming from those dying eyes told him more eloquently than any words what it meant to her, and he bowed his head and stifled the groan which rose to his lips as he realised that, despite their tender love, they had yet lived so far asunder in spirit that a great gulf already seemed to divide them.

Yet the wife would not suffer herself to be long sundered in spirit from her husband; and when the two clergymen had silently departed, having done all that they could, each in his own way, she summoned him to her bedside by a glance, and brought her mind back to earth again with something of an effort.

"My dear, dear husband," she fondly whispered; and then the groan would have its way, as he took her hand in his and dropped down into the seat beside the bed which had been his for so many long hours during the past days.

The Duchess bent her head softly towards the other side where her daughter knelt, and said in a low voice--

"My child, I would be alone with your father a brief while. Leave me for one short half-hour, then you shall return, and I will send you away no more, my patient darling."

The words of tender endearment brought a rush of tears to the girl's eyes, but she rose without a word, and slipped noiselessly from the room. The mother looked after her with wistful eyes.

"Husband," she said softly, "you will be tender with the child? You will let her take my place with you so far as such a thing is possible. She will try to do her duty by you and by all. You will let that duty be a labour of love?"

"Dear husband, the parting will be the shorter that you are well stricken in years," she answered gently, answering him according to the measure of his understanding and feeling. "It will be but a few short years before we meet again in the place where there is no parting. And now, my husband, before I am taken away from you--before this new strength, which, I believe, God has given me for a purpose, be spent--I have a few things to say to you--a few charges to give to you. Will you let me speak from my very heart, and forgive me if in any sort I pain and grieve you?"

The Duchess pressed his hand affectionately, and lay still for a moment, gathering strength. Her husband gave her some of the cordial which stood at hand, and presently she spoke again--

"My husband, we are living in troubled and anxious days. The world around us is full of striving and upheaval. You and I remember those awful struggles in France now dying out of men's minds, and we have indications, only too plainly written on the face of the earth, that the spirit of lawlessness and anarchy thus let loose is seething and fermenting throughout the world."

The Duke bent his head in assent. He well knew such to be the case, but hardly expected that to be the subject of his dying wife's meditations. She continued speaking with pauses in between.

"My husband, perhaps you know that ever since those terrible days, when men began to see in that awful Revolution the first outpouring of God's last judgments upon the earth, godly men and women of every shade of opinion have been earnestly and constantly praying for God's guidance and Spirit, that they may read the signs of the times aright, and learn what are His purposes towards mankind, as revealed in His written Word. I will not speak too particularly of all that has been given in answer to this generation of prayer; but it is enough for me to tell you that Light has come, that the long-neglected prophetic writings have been illumined by the light of God's Spirit to many holy men and women, who have made them their study day by day and year by year, and that rays of light from above have come to us, illumining the darkness, and showing us faintly, yet clearly, God's guiding hand in these days of darkness and trouble. Do you follow me so far?"

"I understand your words, and am ready to believe that in these things you have a knowledge that I cannot attain unto; but what then?"

"What I would ask of you, my husband, is patience and trust--patience with many things that will seem strange to you, that will seem like a subversion of all your ideas of wisdom and prudence--and trust in God's power to make all things work together for good, and to bring good out of evil. We know that the latter days are coming fast upon us--that the armies of good and evil are gathering for that last tremendous struggle which precedes the reign of the Lord. We know that the strange upheavals we see in the world about us are the beginnings of these things, and that those who would be found faithful must learn to discern between the evil and the good; for Satan can transform himself into an angel of light, and deceive, if it were possible, the very elect, whilst God has again and again chosen the weak and despised things of this world to confound the strong; and it is human nature to turn away in scorn from all such weak things, and look for strength and salvation from the mighty and approved."

The Duke listened with a sigh. He understood but little of all this. Yet every word from his dying wife was precious, and engraved itself upon his memory in indelible characters.

"There are difficult days coming upon the earth: great wrongs will be righted, much that is pure and good will spring up; and side by side with that much that is evil, lawless, and terrible. Dear husband, what I would ask of you is a patient mind, patience to look at changes without prejudice, and strive prayerfully to discern whether or not they be of God;--also patience to hear what is said by their advocates, and to weigh well what you hear. Let mercy ever temper justice in your dealings with your dependents; and condemn not those who are not at one with you without pausing to understand the nature of all they are striving to accomplish. The evil and the good will and must grow up together till the day of the harvest. The wheat and the tares cannot be sorted out till the reapers are sent forth from God. But let us strive with eyes anointed from above to distinguish in our own path that which is good, and not cast it scornfully aside, nor rush after what is evil because it approves itself to the great ones of the earth. I am sure that God will lead and guide all those who truly turn to Him in these times of darkness and perplexity. My dear, dear husband, if I could feel sure that you would be amongst those who would thus turn to Him now, I should pass away with a sweeter sense of trust and hope--a brighter confidence in that most blessed meeting on the other shore."

The white head of the husband was bowed upon the pillow. He did not weep--the fountain of his tears lay too deep for him to find relief thus--but a few deep breaths, like gasps, bespoke the intensity of his emotion, and when he could articulate, he answered briefly--

"My life, I will try--I will try--so help me God!"

"He will help you, my precious husband," she answered, with quivering tenderness of intonation, "and you know the promise that cannot fail, 'All things are possible to him that believeth.'"

And then from that bowed head there came the earnest cry--

"'Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.'"

After that followed a pause of deep silence. The Duchess, exhausted but content, lay back on her pillow with closed eyes. The Duke held her hand between his, and fought out his battle in silence and alone. He was passing through deeper waters than the dying woman; for her peace was made, and she was going confidently forth to meet Him who had bidden her to come; whilst he was fighting in doubt and helplessness the tempestuous winds and waves, feeling every moment that they must engulf him. And yet never had the two loving hearts beat more in sympathy and unison. Those moments were unspeakably precious to both, although no word passed between them.

The silence was scarcely broken as the door opened softly, and Bride stole back to her mother's side. She had been caught by her old nurse meantime, and had been dosed with soup and wine, while some of the dishevelment of her dress and hair had been removed. Her aching eyes had been bathed, and she looked altogether strengthened and refreshed. The dying eyes turned upon her took in this, and the Duchess smiled with a sense of relief to think that there was one faithful woman beneath the castle roof who would make Bride her first care.

The girl's eyes sought her mother's face with wistful intensity of gaze, and at once noted a change that even that brief half-hour had brought with it. The shadow had deepened; there was a dimness coming over the bright eyes, the hand she touched was icy cold.

"Mother!--mother!--mother!" she cried, and sank down on her knees beside the bed.

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