The Indians excel in variety of embroidery. They embroider with cotton on muslin, but they employ on gauze, rushes, skins of insects, nails and claws of animals, of walnuts, and dry fruits, and above all, the feathers of birds. They mingle their colours without harmony as without taste; it is only a species of wild mosaic, which announces no plan, and represents no object. The women of the wandering tribes of Persia weave those rich carpets which are called Turkey carpets, from the place of their immediate importation. But this country was formerly celebrated for magnificent embroideries, and also for tapestries composed of silk and wool embellished with gold. This latter beautiful art, though not entirely lost, is nearly so for want of encouragement. But of all eastern nations the Moguls were the most celebrated for their splendid embroideries; walls, couches, and even floors were covered with silk or cotton fabrics richly worked with gold, and often, as in ancient times, with gems inwrought. But this empire has ever been proverbial for its splendour; at one time the throne of the Mogul was estimated at 4,000,000_l._ sterling, made up by diamonds and other jewels, received in gifts during a long succession of ages. We have, in a former chapter, alluded to the custom of embroidery in imitation of feathers, and also for using real feathers for ornamental work. This is much the custom in many countries. Some of the inhabitants of New Holland make artificial flowers with feathers, with consummate skill; and they are not uncommon, though vastly inferior, here. Various articles of dress are frequently seen made of them, as feather muffs, feather tippets, &c.; and we have seen within the last few months a bonnet covered with _peacock's_ feathers. This, however, is certainly the _extreme_ of fancy. The celebrated Mrs. Montague had hangings ornamented with feathers: the hangings doubtless are gone: the name of the accomplished lady who displayed them in her fashionable halls is sinking into oblivion, but the poet, who perchance merely glanced at them, lives for ever. ON MRS. MONTAGUE'S FEATHER HANGINGS. "The birds put off their ev'ry hue, To dress a room for Montague. The peacock sends his heavenly dyes, His _rainbows_ and his _starry eyes_; The pheasant plumes, which round infold His mantling neck with downy gold; The cock his arch'd tail's azure shew; And, river blanch'd, the swan his snow. All tribes beside of Indian name, That glossy shine, or vivid flame, Where rises, and where sets the day, Whate'er they boast of rich and gay, Contribute to the gorgeous plan, Proud to advance it all they can. This plumage, neither dashing shower, Nor blasts that shape the dripping bow'r, Shall drench again or discompose-- But screen'd from ev'ry storm that blows It boasts a splendour ever new, Safe with protecting Montague."