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 had no backbone.  Besides this lack of colour stanchness, it had another fault which helped to overbalance its many virtues.  It was fatally attractive to fire.  Its soft, fluffy surface seemed to reach out toward flame, and the contact once made, there ensued one flash of instantaneous blaze, and the whole surface, no matter if it were a table-cover, a hanging, or the wall covering a room, was totally destroyed.  Yet as one must have had or heard of such a disastrous experience to fear and avoid it, this proclivity alone would not have ended its popularity.  It was probably the evanescent character of what was called its “art-colour” which ended the career of an estimable material, and if the manufacturers had known how to eliminate its faults and adapt its virtues, it might still have been a flourishing textile.

In truth, we do not often stop to analyse the reasons of prolonged popular favour; yet nothing is more certain than that there is reason, and good reason, for fidelity in public taste.  Popular liking, if continued, is always founded upon certain incontrovertible virtues.  If a manufacture cannot hold its own for ever in public favour, it is because it fails in some important particular to be what it should be.  Products of the loom must have lasting virtues if they would secure lasting esteem.  Blue denim had its hold upon public use principally for the reason that it possessed a colour superior to all the chances and accidents of its varied life.  It is true it was a colour which commended itself to general liking, yet if as stanch and steadfast a green or red could be imparted to an equally cheap and durable fabric, it would find as lasting a place in public favour.