gelatine, too, is imported from France in
cakes or sheets, to take part in preparations
for the table.

A well-disposed cow or sheep would not be
niggardly in the bestowal of those gelatinous
treasures. Skin, membrane, tendon, ligament,
bone, hoof, horn, feet—all yield gelatine. In
producing that gelatinous substance which
artisans call by the somewhat unmeaning
name of size, it is customary to use clippings
of hides, hoofs, horns, and feet; and the
refuse from the skins of horses, dogs, and
cats; and the shreddings of parchment,
vellum, and white leather,—all are welcome to
the size-tubs: these are cleaned, and boiled,
and skimmed, and strained, and cooled. But
the making of glue is a yet more curious
affair. Go into one of the glue-factories
between London Bridge station and Greenwich.
You find heaps of flaps, roundings, scrapings,
and cuttings of skins—all sorts of refuse,
indeed, from the tanners' and leather-dressers'
yards. You see how these bits and scraps
are cleansed in lime-water, rinsed in clean
water, dried on hurdles, boiled to a jelly; you
see how this jelly is clarified, cooled in large
masses, cut by a spade into square cakes, and
further cut by brass wires into slices; you
see how these slices are placed upon nets
stretched across wooden frames; how these
frames are piled up in the open air; how
they are roofed over to protect them from
rain; how the slices are turned two or three
times a day to facilitate their drying; how
they are kept in lofts for some months to
harden; and how they then become glue.

There has been a new claimant to
gelatinous honours within the last few years,
under the name of marine glue. Wonders are
told of the adhesiveness of this stranger; that
it makes wood stronger than unglued wood
could be; that it takes twenty tons of pulling
force to remove a glued splinter; that an
oaken cannon-ball will not split in the seams,
cemented with marine glue; with many other
marvels. But this we have little to do with
here; the marine glue is a cement, and a
remarkable one; but it has, we believe, no
animal gelatine in its composition.

Gelatine casts are a pretty example of one
mode in which glue may be made ornamental,
or at least subservient to ornament. They are
not properly casts, but moulds for casts; and
the reason why they are valued is, that the
elasticity of the material removes many of
the objections attending the use of sand, clay,
wax, or plaster for moulds. Pure gelatine,
or gelatine mixed with treacle, will furnish a
very elastic material for moulds. Casts from
anatomical preparations, casts from
calcareous concretions, casts for vegetable
substances, casts from ivory carvings, have been
obtained in great beauty from gelatine
moulds; the material is so elastic, that no
amount of alto-relievo or under-cutting will
baffle it. Gelatine casts for gelatine moulds
can even be produced; and as these casts
are very elastic, we may obtain carved bas-
reliefs from flat or plain originals. The
extraordinary electrotypic arts are not
altogether unindebted to these gelatinous casts
and moulds; for the gelatine may be
impressed upon an electro-coppered work of
art; or the electro-coppering may be effected
upon a gelatine cast, properly coated on the
surface with blacklead or some other material.
In fact, gelatine, or else that peculiar mixture
of glue and treacle whereof printers' inking-
rollers are made, has a degree of elasticity
which bids fair to give it a gradually extending
range of application in the arts.

It may be within the memory of many
who read this, how dazzling and holiday-like
was the display of gelatine sheets in Hyde Park
three years ago. Beautiful they certainly were,
for their thinness, their smoothness, their
glossiness, their transparency, and their rich
colours. The French manufacturer who
exhibited these sheets, and who designates himself
a Gelatineur, tells us, in his trade circular, that,
until recently, the high price of pure gelatine
has rendered this substance available only for
articles of luxury; but now, when it can be
obtained either from bones or from common
glue, it is and ought to be cheaper. He
magnanimously announces: that he does not wish,
by his improved processes, to injure the
trade of his brother gelatineurs; and that
he is quite ready to describe his own processes
to all whom it may concern. By this means,
he thinks, gelatine-making might rise to
the dignity of a science.

The gelatineur enumerates, one by one, the
several purposes to which this really pretty
substance is applied. First, he says, he can
apply it as a layer to the surface of an
engraving or woven material, to which it
serves as a varnish. He can make it into a
thin carton, for address cards, visiting
cards, or images réligeuses, which may be
either coloured or colourless. He can make
it of the same thickness, but yet more
transparent, to assist wood-engravers and
others in transferring or copying their
designs. He can make it as exquisitely thin
as the thinnest paper, as supple as silk, as
transparent as glass. In this state he calls
it paper-crystal, or crystal-paper; and he
sells it to the perfumer as envelopes and
wrappers for his dainty boxes and bottles;
to the fleuriste as a material whence to make
transparent artificial flowers; to the
lithographic printer, as a delicate paper whereon
he may print in gold, silver, or colours. It
was this crystal- paper which shone so
brightly at our Exhibition, in sheets as large
as five feet by four. We suppose the gelatineur
to refer to a sort of tapestry-hangings
or drapery adornments, when he says, that
with these sheets of crystal paper " on pourra
tapisser des salles de bal." He claims for these
thin films a power of resisting all the variations
in the humidity of the atmosphere.

It may be interesting to know in what way