EARLY DAYS

Introductory -- Parentage -- Flight from Paris -- Childhood and Youth at Charton -- Early days in London -- Art Castings from Natural Objects -- Copper-coated Medallions -- Acquaintance with Dr. Ure -- Lost Wax Castings -- Dies for Stamping Cardboard

For many years past my most intimate friends have urged on me the desirability of giving to the world an authentic account of the origin and progress of the several inventions which together constitute what has, by common consent, been called the "Bessemer Steel Process;" thus tracing back to their earliest inception the various ideas and incidents which have led, by almost imperceptible degrees, to the development and practical working of that great steel industry, which, in so short a period, has spread itself over the whole of the continents of Europe and North America.

If we contemplate the rise and progress of almost all the great industries of the world, we find their origins lost in the mist of ages, with but few indications remaining of their gradual progress and development, or even of the names of those persons to whom we are indebted for their discovery.

This difficulty in tracing the origin of inventions is not less marked at the present day, when the increased rate of progress in all things brings about, in a few short years, a succession of changes, which, in olden times, centuries were required to effect; for the inventor of to-day is to-morrow overshadowed by the accumulated mass of improvements that follow in the wake of every new discovery.

I well remember how the world was startled by the great discovery of Daguerre;*[1] how few minds could, at the first moment of its announcement, realise the wondrous fact that by the aid of chemistry combined with knowledge, he had seized upon and trapped the fleeting shadow on his silver plate and held it there immovable for ever.

The mind had scarce time to grasp the importance of this marvellous discovery before there commenced that ceaseless flow of inventive talent which, growing with years, has wholly submerged the original invention of Daguerre. Process succeeded process with immense rapidity. At every step new ground was covered; more beautiful and more permanent effects were almost daily produced by scientific investigators whose name was legion; until at last the glorious orb of day has taken over the business of the engraver, and daily produces its hundreds of deeply-etched blocks from which our common printing machines throw off their thousands of printed sheets with the same facility with which they print a page of common type. In the midst of these marvels of modern invention we look around and exclaim, "Where is now Daguerre?" and echo answers "Where?" Simply buried beneath the huge monument which, instead of being raised to his fame, has placed him out of sight and out of memory.

I have referred thus prominently to this great discovery of Daguerre and its subsequent marvellous developments, not only because it made a deep impression on my youthful imagination at the time, but because I purpose making a somewhat extensive use of photography in illustrating the following pages, where its absolute truthfulness will afford indisputable evidence of some facts which would otherwise have been altogether omitted, rather than allow them to rest on the uncorroborated testimony of the writer. At the same time this beautiful art will serve to illustrate many existing objects, an equally realistic idea of which the most elaborate description would fail to impart.

It is to the rapid passing into oblivion of great inventions like that of Daguerre that I attribute the pressure of my kind friends who ask me to give them some account of my early life and its relation to the more immediate past, while yet the process which bears my name remains an existing fact among us, and has not been engulfed in that ever-advancing tide of scientific knowledge and commercial enterprise which sweeps away the past and leaves us face to face only with the present.

So energetic in this matter was my friend, Mr. Price Williams, that some years ago he called on me with Mr. Samuel Smiles, LL.D., whose well-known talent as a biographer had all but tempted me to commit this task to him. We had a long consultation on the subject, but I could not feel that my life and its labours were a theme which could be treated in such a way as to make them interesting to the general reader, even when clothed in the beautiful language and charming style of that eminent writer. There were none of the exciting incidents of travel to relate: no hairbreadth escapes, no dangers by land and sea, to seize upon and captivate the imagination. Indeed, I could not help feeling that my daily pursuits were of too technical a character to supply the necessary materials to form an interesting book; and if the narrative were simply treated in the plain matter-of-fact style of which alone I was capable, I felt it would have inevitably failed to be of sufficient interest, either to the general reader or to the man of science. Thus the proposed biography was for the time abandoned.

Nevertheless, several of my friends have from time to time tried to induce me to write a concise account of my steel invention in my own quiet way. More especially was this view commended to my notice by my old friend Alexander Hollingsworth and his colleagues, the able editors of Engineering, William H. Maw and James Dredge. Thus it was in the year 1884 I found myself busily engaged in preparing large coloured drawings of the converting and other apparatus, and in the course of two or three months at least a dozen drawings were completed, from which photographic copies on a reduced scale were made on wood-blocks to illustrate the work I had just begun. At this time I was also engaged designing the whole of the machinery about to be erected by my grand son, William Bessemer Wright, at the new diamond mills in Clerkenwell; and I became so deeply engrossed in working out the details of several experimental diamond-cutting machines which were in course of construction on my own premises at Denmark Hill, that by degrees my attention was gradually more and more drawn from the book I had commenced, and I became at last wholly absorbed in the more congenial work of construction going on every day in my workshop. Again the long-contemplated autobiography was laid aside, and I must confess that there always was in my mind an undercurrent of feeling averse to the task. I have at all times keenly experienced the difficulty, which must necessarily confront an author when speaking of himself, and of what he has accomplished, of setting forth what I have done and what credit I am entitled to, without appearing to be self-assertive, and displaying a personal bias in relation to certain controversial matters into which I am obliged to enter. From this difficulty I see no way of escape without abandoning the work laid upon me by the importunity of my friends. I have, therefore, resolved to follow out rigidly the unenviable task of self-assertion, and not to shrink from fearlessly and truthfully claiming what is due to me, just as though I were speaking of some other person, whose advocate for the time I had constituted myself. And I shall, with equal candour, point out the persistent opposition and obstructive tactics to which my invention has been subjected in a few prominent cases; while, on the other hand, I shall with pleasure place on record my grateful acknowledgments to those in the world of science who have honoured me by their kind appreciation: a gratitude which is also due from me to the many iron and steel manufacturers who have unreservedly acknowledged my patent-rights, and with rigid and scrupulous honour have fulfilled to the letter all their engagements with me.

Having thus entered upon a task so long deferred, I shall endeavour to make assured accuracy of historical detail take the place of literary ability, which I know but too well will be only conspicuous by its absence in these pages. Fortunately, I am in a position to review the past wholly uninfluenced by any mercantile considerations, having long ceased to possess pecuniary interests in the iron or steel manufacture; and having arrived at that late period of life when there is no desire for new worlds to conquer, and there are no strong ambitions to bias the mind and obscure the judgment.

The name of Bessemer does not sound like an English one, and has often given rise to doubts as to my nationality. I may therefore mention a few facts in relation to my father. He was born at No. 6, Old Broad Street, in the City of London, and at the age of eleven years was taken to Holland by his parents, who settled there. In due time he was articled to a mechanical engineer, and during his apprenticeship assisted in erecting the first steam-engine in Holland, this engine being employed in draining the turf pits near Haarlem.

After arriving at the age of twenty-one, my father went to Paris, and there commenced a career which did him much honour. At the early age of twenty-six he was made a member of the Academy of Sciences, as a reward for a great improvement he had effected in the microscope. He was at that period engaged in the Paris Mint, and while there invented that very simple and beautiful machine now known as the Portrait Lathe, by means of which medallion dies of any desired size can be engraved in steel from an enlarged model.

He was still residing in Paris at the time of the great French Revolution, and, as an active member of the Commissariat Department, he had to distribute a certain dole of bread and rice to the starving thousands, who formed a long queue for many hours every morning before the municipal bakery was opened. Everyone in Paris at that time felt the pinch for food. My father had a small estate some twenty miles out of town, and when he saw the probability of a famine, he had a few sacks of wheat taken to his house in Paris, and there secretly stowed away; for a knowledge of their presence would have brought the hungry mob upon him. It was my mother's task at night, when the household had retired to rest, to grind some of this wheat in a coffee mill, so that cakes might be made for the morrow's breakfast; and thus in secret my parents enjoyed the luxury of whole-meal bread of their own manufacture.

My father was most anxious to return to England, but it was very difficult to get away. He could obtain nothing from his bankers but the paper money then well known as Assignats, which were issued for amounts as low as fifty sous, or about two shillings in English value.

Fortunately a short lull occurred in those stormy times, and, taking advantage of the opportunity, my parents escaped to England, bringing with them about £6,000 in nominal value in Assignats, and only a very small sum in cash.

Arrived in London, my father had to begin the world over again; so availing himself of his intimate knowledge of the use of the stamping-press and dies, and the working of gold, he commenced the manufacture of gold chains of a novel and beautiful description. By using gold of a high standard of quality, and with the assistance of finely-executed steel dies for stamping each link, a splendid chain was produced, which appeared very massive while in reality it was very light. These chains were bought by the retail jewellers as rapidly as they could be made.

While this new branch of trade was going on satisfactorily, a great panic was created in London by a report that Napoleon was about to invade England in flat-bottomed boats, which were said to be then at Boulogne, prepared for the expedition. My father, who had lost all in Paris, was determined at this juncture to secure some solid property in his own country, and at once dispatched his traveller to collect all the money he could from his various customers. With this money he purchased a small landed estate in the village of Charlton, near Hitchen in Hertfordshire, to which he shortly afterwards retired, and where I was born on the 19th January, 1813.

My father's active business habits did not permit him to lead a life of idleness, and, after a year or two of quiet retirement, he commenced to cut letter-punches for Mr. Henry Caslon, the proprietor of the well-known Caslon type-foundry of London. The eminence my father had acquired in this art, while in the Paris Mint, enabled him to produce specimens of typography far more beautiful than any others that could be met with at that time. An immense accession of trade to the Caslon foundry resulted, and Mr. Henry Caslon became a frequent visitor at my father's house at Charlton; where, on one of these occasions, he acted as my godfather, and gave me the name of Henry.

Some years later, my father was joined in business by a former partner of Mr. Caslon's, and a type-foundry was built on our estate at Charlton. The knowledge of metal work which I acquired in this foundry, assisted, I doubt not, in fostering and developing that taste for casting and other metallurgical works in which, as an amateur, I took so deep and abiding an interest.

After leaving school, I begged my father to let me remain at home, and learn something of practical engineering. This he acceded to, and as a preliminary step he bought me one of those beautiful small slide-rest lathes, made by Messrs. Holtzapffel of London, and which are still produced in all their original excellence by that eminent firm.

After a year or two at the vice and lathe, and other practical mechanical work, my father allowed me to employ myself in making working models of any of the too-numerous schemes which the vivid imagination of youth suggested. Among these, I well remember, was a machine for making bricks, which was one of the most successful of my early attempts, producing pretty little model bricks in white pipeclay. I always had access to molten type-metal, which I used for casting wheels, pulleys, and other parts of mechanical models where strength was not much required. Hence arose various devices for moulding different forms, a matter that caused me very little trouble, for by some intuitive instinct modelling came to me unsought and unstudied. Often during my evening walks round the fields, with a favourite dog, I would take a small lump of yellow clay from the roadside, and fashion it into some grotesque head or natural object, from which I would afterwards make a mould and cast it in type-metal.

In this quiet village life there was a break every two months, when the large melting-furnace was used to make type-metal, in which proceeding a great secret was involved. In spite of injunctions to the contrary, I would, by some means or other, find my way into the melting-house, where large masses of antimony were broken up to form the alloy with lead. The dust arising from the powdered antimony, on more that one occasion, caused me severe sickness, and betrayed my clandestine visits to the melting-house, where I discovered that the addition of tin and copper, in small quantities, to the ordinary alloy, was the secret by which my father's type lasted so much longer than that produced by other typefounders.

There was, however, one other attraction in the village, which played a not-unimportant part in moulding my ideas at this very early period. I was very fond of machinery, and of watching it when in motion; and if ever I was absent from meals, I could probably have been found at the flour mill at the other end of the village, where I passed many hours, gazing with pleasure upon the broad sheet of water falling into the ever-receding buckets of the great overshot water-wheel; or, perhaps, I might have been watching, with a feeling almost of awe, the huge wooden spur-wheel which brought up the speed, and was one of the wonders of the millwright's craft in those days. Its massive oak shaft and polished horn-beam cogs have long since passed away, and yielded to their successor, cast iron, which in its turn is now being rapidly replaced by the stronger metal, steel, thus keeping up that ever-changing cycle of advancement in the arts which is carrying us forward to discoveries that may change every phase of civilised life, if the exhaustion of our coal does not land us again into a state of barbarism.

I had now arrived at my seventeenth year, and had attained my full height, a fraction over six feet. I was well endowed with youthful energy, and was of an extremely sanguine temperament. At this period of life all things seem possible if you have once made up your mind to conquer, and not to allow any temporary disappointments to weaken your resolution. The opportunity to put this beautiful theory to the proof was about to be afforded to me, for my father had resolved to remove his business to London, when I should have to change my solitary country life, which had so many irresistible charms, for a totally different one. I should see for the first time the great metropolis, about which I had heard so much but knew so little.

On March 4th, 1830, I arrived in London, where a new world seemed opened to me. I was overwhelmed with wonder and astonishment; all the ideal scenes in the "Arabian Nights," which had held me spellbound in my native village, were as nothing to the ceaseless panorama which London presented, with its thousands of vehicles and pedestrians, its gorgeous shops and stately buildings, and its endless miles of streets and numerous squares. I was never tired of walking about, for every turn presented some new object to rivet my attention; and in this way I passed my first week's residence in London. I usually returned home in the evening, greatly tired and worn out, only to go forth on the morrow to make new explorations and again lose myself in those endless labyrinths of streets; and yet, with all the delight inspired by the novelty of the scene, there was one thing strange to me, and sadly wanting. I felt that I was alone; no one knew me. I never met, in all this excited rush, one human countenance that I could recognise, or a friendly face to smile and give a passing salutation as in my old home: where the little children on their way to school would drop a curtsy and leave me the best side of the path, while the farm-labourer at his cottage door would give me Good morning, Master Henry!"

All this had passed away for ever, and here amidst the countless thousands I stood alone, as much uncared for as the lamp-post beside me. How often I thought, in those early days in London, "Shall I ever be known here? Shall I ever have the pleasure of seeing a smile of recognition light up the face of any person in these ceaseless streams of unsympathetic strangers?" The thought made me very sad, and at times sigh for the old home; but it has been truly said that "hope springs eternal in the human breast," and so I found the advantage of my sanguine temperament. "Why," I asked myself, "instead of pining after the old associations of my native village, should I not strive to make a name for myself even in this mighty London? It is not impossible, for many others have done it, and I at least will make the effort." Such reflections as these enabled me to settle down again, and resume my old home occupations.

I knew full well that I laboured under the great disadvantage of not having been brought up to any regular trade or profession, but, on the other hand, I felt a consciousness that Nature had endowed me with an inventive turn of mind, and perhaps more than the usual amount of persistent perseverance, which I thought I might be able to use to advantage.

In the course of my ramblings I had met with an Italian, who had shown me several boxes full of plaster casts of the most beautiful medallions; real gems of art at one penny a-piece. I selected a number of them with the intention of casting them in metal, an occupation in which I took a deep interest at that time. But the moulding and casting of more intricate objects had even a much greater charm, and I began to try my hand on the reproduction in metal of natural objects, both vegetable and animal. For this purpose the article to be cast was immersed in a semi-fluid composition, of which plaster-of-Paris formed the base. The mould was gradually dried and then made red-hot, and the object was thus destroyed. An opening into the mould on one side allowed the ashes to be removed, and gave entrance for the metal of which the object was to be formed. In this way a rosebud or other flower, with its stalk and leaves, could be produced; but, alas! the whole of those thin, delicate leaves were destroyed in attempting to break away the mould. Some of the fragments were exquisitely beautiful, but no entire cast could be obtained.

All sorts of schemes were tried, and tried in vain, until, when on the eve of abandoning the whole affair as impossible, I hit upon the happy idea of using unburned blue-lias limestone ground to a fine powder. This, and the dust of Flanders brick, with a small quantity of plaster-of-Paris, formed the mould; the destruction of the succulent vegetable, by making the mould red-hot, had also the effect of burning the limestone portion of the composition, while the brickdust served to destroy much of the cohesive strength of the plaster-of-Paris, the hardness of which had proved so great an obstacle in extricating the casting. When the mould had cooled down, all that was required to get out the casting was to apply cold water to it, when the burnt lime slaked, became hot, and fell away from the cast. A sharp jet of water from a tap on the main service sufficed to wash out all the small particles from the deep recesses, and liberate the casting perfect and unbroken. I prepared for this purpose an alloy of antimony, iron, bismuth, and tin, and in all cases made the mould with a very tall gate or runner, keeping it red-hot for half an hour after the metal was poured into it. In this way the static pressure of the metal which remained fluid forced the air slowly but surely through the pores of the mould, and occupied every minute cavity; so that the fine pile on the back of a leaf and the tiny prickles on the stem of a rose were all produced as sharp as needle-points.

The love of improvement, however, knows no bounds or finality. Beautiful as these representations of nature were, there was one great drawback which I still desired to surmount. They were only white metal, and were sometimes looked upon as merely "lead castings."*[2] I therefore attempted to cast them in brass or yellow metal, but this I found was impossible. I then conceived the idea of coating them with a deposit of copper from an acid solution of that metal. Many were the trials and failures in these attempts, but after a time I made more suitable solutions, and found out how to cleanse the surfaces of the delicate objects without injuring them; and finally I succeeded in getting a beautiful thin coating of copper on every part of the surface. The castings were simply laid on the bottom of a shallow zinc tray, and a saturated solution of sulphate and of nitrate of copper, in certain proportions, was poured into the bath, which resulted in producing a thin coating of bright metallic copper over the entire surface of the castings, so that no suspicion could be entertained as to the metal of which they were really formed. In the case of medallions I sometimes put into the solution some crystals of distilled verdigris, which produced a good imitation of antique bronze. Several specimens of these bronzed medals and copper-coated castings of natural objects were exhibited by me at Topliss' Museum of Arts and Manufactures, which at that time occupied the present site of the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. Among the things I exhibited there were a basso-relievo of one of the cartoons of Raphael, a large medallion head of St. Peter, and several smaller casts of medals. I also exhibited a group of three prawns lying on a large grape-vine leaf, a moss-rose bud with leaves, and a beautiful piece of Scotch kale, the intricate convolutions of which appeared to all who saw it a thing impossible either to mould or cast, but which was nevertheless a comparatively easy one, because this vegetable leaf is very thick and succulent, and consequently leaves scarcely any ash in the mould when burned.

I may mention that various devices were tried to get rid of the fine ash resulting from the burned vegetable matter.

Sometimes small passages open to the outer air were left in the mould, and into these a blast of air was blown to assist the combustion and destruction of the vegetable matter while still in a red-hot state. At other times the mould, when cooled down, was filled with a strong solution of nitre, which saturated the dried vegetable matter. The remainder of the fluid was then poured out and the mould again made red-hot, when the nitre, causing complete combustion, reduced the contents to a fine white ash. When the mould had again cooled down, the ash so formed was floated out of it, by pouring mercury in and well shaking it.

In fact, the treatment resorted to for cleansing the mould had to be adapted, in each case, to the nature of the object to be destroyed and got rid of.

I had a strong belief that the mode I have described, of reproducing the most delicate and, at the same time, the most intricate vegetable forms, might be utilised by botanists and other collectors, in remote or solitary places, from whence the transmission of such objects in their natural state would be impossible. It would be perfectly easy for the botanist to take abroad with him a few tin cans filled with the dry powdered materials required for his moulds, ready to be mixed with water at a moment's notice. A number of small cardboard boxes, painted in oil colour so as to render them waterproof, and fitting inside each other, would enable him to choose one suitable in size, for any particular specimen to be moulded in. He would have nothing to do but to mix with water a small quantity of his prepared plaster, place the delicate fungus, lichen, or other specimen, in the bottom of the box, and pour in the semi-fluid mixture, filling the box, and gently tapping its sides and bottom to ensure the penetration of the fluid matter into every interstice of the specimen. In less than a quarter of an hour, he would find in his fragile little box a hard, solid, square mass, in which the specimen would be safely embedded, where it might remain uninjured for any necessary period, and then be burnt out, and the object reproduced in metal. An absolutely perfect copy of nature's most beautiful work, in an indestructible material, would thereby be obtained by a minimum of labour and cost.

I made many attempts to impress the importance of these facts on some of the managers of the British Museum, with whom I had several interviews, but all to no purpose; and so the whole thing dropped, and I had all my trouble in vain.

Returning from this digression, I may state that the site occupied by Topliss' Museum was required for the erection of the present National Gallery.*[3] A museum was, however, erected in Leicester Square, where the Panopticon was subsequently built, and it was to this new home that my specimens of casting were removed.

About the year 1836 I made the acquaintance of Dr. Ure, author of the well-known Dictionary of Arts, Manufactures, and Mining, and of him I can only speak with affectionate regard. I had sought his assistance in some analyses, and after several interesting interviews he furnished me with the information I desired, and seemed to take so much interest in me that I was induced to give him a short sketch of my isolated country life. I described to him my love of experiments in casting, and how I made use of the continued statical pressure of a high column of metal, retained in a fluid state for a considerable time, in a red-hot mould. He was much interested in my founding operations, and generously declined to take any fee for the analysis he had made for me, saying, if I wanted any further analyses he would be happy to do them for me. Needless to say how pleased and grateful I felt for his disinterested kindness, and the encouragement which his appreciation gave me.

With the exception of three or four samples still remaining in my possession, all these beautiful castings have been sold or given away many years ago.

Among those I still have is one of the cartoons of Raphael, representing the "Woman taken in Adultery," a plaster-of-Paris copy of which I bought for a few pence from an itinerant Italian. It was fairly sharp and perfect in detail, and I planed some strips of type-metal into an ornamental moulding, so as to form a frame around it. I then made a mould from it as framed, and took a cast in a white metal alloy, which I afterwards coated with a thin film of copper, in the manner already described.

It is now in much the same condition as it was when cast, with the exception of the loss of the more prominent features, caused by the continued rubbing and dusting of the housemaid -- or rather, I may say, of a succession of housemaids, who during the last sixty-four years have gradually wiped away, not only the copper film from the projecting parts, but a noticeable quantity also of the soft metal of which it is made: as will be at once seen on examining the photographic reproduction, Fig. 1, Plate I. , which is a full-sized representation of it.

I also give, in Fig. 2, Plate II., a copy of an oval medallion, the numerous figures on which were originally very sharp and perfect, but it has suffered somewhat by rubbing and dusting from time to time during these many years.

These medallions were, as Dr. Ure says in his article on Electro-Metallurgy, simply used as "mantel-piece ornaments," and I doubt not that this oval medallion was one of those I had shown to him in 1836, and had made in 1832 when I was about nineteen years of age. This perfect casting was, like the cartoon, coated with a thin film of copper, giving it the appearance of being cast in that metal.

Fig. 3. EXTRACT FROM Dr. URE'S DICTIONARY, "ELECTRO-METALLURGY"

ELECTRO-METALLURGY. 629

rounded by a cylinder of zinc, and then introduced into another vessel (a wooden tub for instance) containing dilute sulphuric acid. The earthen vessel is intended to contain the solution of gold or silver, and is furnished with a web of copper wire, which is made to communicate with the zinc by means of one or more conducting wires. The objects to be gilt or silvered are placed upon the net-work. The earthen vessel containing a zinc cylinder, and some hydrochloric acid, is introduced into another vessel, containing the solution of gold or silver, placed in the centre of a wire web partition, which communicates with the zinc cylinder by means of a conducting wire. In the first case, the articles which are to receive the thickest coating are placed nearest the outer sides of the apparatus; in the second, nearest to the earthen vessel: in both cases it is advisable to shift their position occasionally. By combining these different arrangements, the deposit obtained is more abundant, and more equally distributed upon the surface to be gilded or to be silvered. For this purpose an opening is made in the centre of the web in which the zinc cylinder is inserted, with connecting wires to the web. When the articles to be operated upon can be easily suspended from a given point, the web of the apparatus may be made with wider meshes, and the articles suspended vertically between them. Dr. Philipp prefers a single galvanic arrangement to a battery, as it affords more solid deposition.

ELECTRO-METALLURGY. By this elegant art perfectly exact copies of any object can be made in copper, silver, gold, and some other metals, through the agency of voltaic electricity. The earliest application of this kind seems to have been practised about 16 years ago, by Mr. Bessemer, of Camden Town, London, who deposited a coating of copper on lead castings, so as to produce antique heads in relief, about 3 or 4 inches in size. He contented himself with forming a few such ornaments for his mantelpiece; and through he made no secret of his purpose, he published nothing upon the subject. A letter of the 22d of May, 1839, written by Mr. J. C. Jordan, which appeared in the Mechanics' Mag. for June 8, following, contains the first printed notice of the manipulation requisite for obtaining electro-metallic casts; and to this gentleman, therefore, the world is indebted for the first discovery of this new and important application of science to the uses of life. It appears that Mr. Jordan had made his experiments in the preceding summer, and having become otherwise busily occupied, did not think of publishing till he observed a vague statement in the Journals, that Professor Jacobi, of St. Petersburg, had done something of the same kind. Mr. Jordan's apparatus consisted

It is quite true, as the Doctor states, that I kept some of these medallions as ornaments on my mantel-piece, where three of them may be found at this very day; but Dr. Ure appears to have forgotten, or possibly was unaware of the existence of, the beautiful specimens of natural objects cast in white metal and coated with copper, which I exhibited in Trafalgar Square, and afterwards in Leicester Square, and which had the effect of bringing me in contact with several large business firms, and in one case resulted in the development of an entirely new and important branch of the Utrecht velvet manufacture, to which I shall have occasion hereafter to refer.

There is yet another description of casting known as the "lost wax" process, which was at that time practised in France; and I was anxious, if possible, to acquire this art, as it seemed to offer greater facility for obtaining white metal casts of busts and statuettes from wax models that were cast in plaster-of-Paris moulds. To the metal casting so obtained, the appearance of real bronze could be imparted by depositing a green copper coating thereon. By doing this the "lost wax" process need not have been confined, as it then was, to the production of original works of art modelled in wax; and the effect would have been to immensely facilitate the multiplication of copies of the highest examples of classic art, by simply obtaining thin wax casts of them, in lieu of the plaster casts sold so cheaply in the streets by itinerant Italians. The loss of the wax model so produced forms only a very small part of the cost of the process.

All persons conversant with the ordinary mode of casting a bust or statuette must be aware that the mould is formed of a great number of small pieces, more or less perfectly fitted together, and that the metal in casting will run into all the minute joints or cracks which lie between the numerous parts of which the mould is composed, forming little ribs or "fins," which cross the face and other portions whereon the talent of the artist who prepares the model is chiefly expended. The removal of these ribs or fins, with chisels or files, must be done by a workman after the cast is made, and this greatly interferes with the delicate touches of the artist, and not unfrequently mars his work. In the "lost wax" process, the artist may put on his finest touches, may "undercut" as much as he pleases, or form intricate hollows to any extent, which he could not do if the mould had to be made in pieces; when the model is complete in wax, a mould can be made over it in one piece, after which the wax original is melted out or "lost." Molten metal is then poured into the space previously occupied by the wax, and a cast is produced, absolutely identical with the model. Every delicate touch of the artist is there, free from the fins and ribs so inseparable from casts made in a mould which is built up in pieces. But here lies the difficulty and great risk of this process. The artist's model is irretrievably destroyed, and if a bad casting should result, all his labour is lost.

How well I remember the heartbreaking disappointments that beset all my early attempts to cast from the lost wax in plaster-of-Paris moulds. For this was the very great desideratum for which I was striving. The plan was to first carefully dry the massive plaster envelope in which the wax model was embedded, and then to put it into a stove heated sufficiently to melt the wax, which, if the mould was inverted, would run out.

The difficulty in obtaining a good casting arose from the plaster mould absorbing a small portion of the wax during the melting process, so that when the molten metal was poured into the mould, the wax so absorbed and retained in its pores was converted into gas, which bubbled up through the metal, and made a most unsound and imperfect casting.

Over and over again I essayed to prevent this result, but all to no purpose, and I almost gave it up in despair. I pondered over many schemes to remedy this defect, when at last it occurred to me that there was only one way that must succeed. Plaster-of-Paris very quickly sets, and gets hard and firm while it is quite saturated with water; and it seemed probable that if I kept the mould in this saturated condition instead of drying it, the melted wax could not be absorbed by it. After several trials I found it advisable to render the wax a little more fusible by the addition to it of a small quantity of animal fat, and then it was quite easy to melt out the wax by simply immersing the mould in a caldron filled with boiling water. The wax was melted by the heat of the water, and floated up to the surface, allowing the water to take its place. As soon as the melted wax ceased to rise to the surface the mould was taken out of the bath, emptied of the water which had taken the place of the melted wax, and slowly dried; after this its temperature was raised to a point sufficiently high to allow the metal to be retained in it in a fluid state for some time, thus ensuring a perfect cast. By this simple device there was no absorption of the wax, and consequently no gas produced in the mould, and no longer any fear that the model would be lost without getting a perfect cast in return.

A fine bust of Shakespeare which I produced in this way, and coated with copper, was purchased of me by an eminent sculptor, who saw in this simple plan a means of getting faithful copies of his works uninjured by the chipping and filing of a mere mechanic. Indeed, it was finally arranged that I should cast for him a bust of the Hon. George Canning, for which he had received a commission; but, unfortunately, while engaged in modelling this bust, he was seized with a sudden illness which terminated fatally, and the work was never completed.

My attention was at this period directed to the production of castings suitable for stamping ornamental scroll-work, medallions, and basso relievos in cardboard. This was a much more difficult subject to deal with than casting in white-metal alloys, and required moulds of quite a different character. It was, however, mainly a question of mixing metals so as to produce great hardness, while absolutely free from brittleness, and in this manner to obtain an alloy that would melt at a comparatively low temperature, and run very fluid in the mould. All of these conditions to their fullest extent could not be combined in any one alloy; but after a few months expended in making a systematic series of experiments, I succeeded in obtaining a die metal that pretty closely approximated to all the desired requirements, and I also found a "facing" for the moulds, which stood the heat of these hard alloys without suffering any destructive action or the formation of surface cracks. I could thus form moulds capable of taking an impression of the finest and most delicate lines, and in these I succeeded in casting many works of art in brass.

After a certain amount of practice, I produced a great many very beautiful dies, from which thousands of fine sharp impressions were made. I erected a powerful "fly-press" for stamping impressions from first commercial work. It will be easy to imagine my delight on securing a first order for 500 copies on buff-coloured cardboard of a beautiful basso-relievo of one of the cartoons of Raphael, from Messrs. Ackerman, the well-known art publishers. These impressions cost me only threepence each, including the material, and I found a ready sale for them at half-a-crown, when taken in wholesale quantities. They must still exist in many families, for hundreds were stamped in leather on the covers of a beautifully got-up quarto edition of the Bible, the cartoon chosen being the one in which Raphael represents Our Saviour giving the keys to St. Peter. I also made a great many dies in this way for bookbinders, cardboard-box manufacturers, etc., thus turning to commercial account the art of "fine-casting," which I had heretofore only practised as an amusement.

A year or so previously, 1831, I made the acquaintance of a Mr. Richard Cull, then a youth about my own age, who, when I last heard of him, had become a noted philologist and a member of the Antiquarian Society. My friend Cull was a great admirer of these beautiful cast dies, and we very nearly entered into a deed of partnership, with the intention of carrying on this business on a greatly extended scale; but for some reason or other this intention was never carried out.

Footnotes
[1] The production of Daguerreotype plates was announced on February 6th, 1839

[2] Vide Dr. Ure's Dictionary of Arts, Manufactures, and Mining

[3] Opened April, 1838