to the surface to be decorated, and the pattern is reimpressed on the paper, and so through on to the surface of the book.
3. The paper is now removed, and the pattern on the book is reimpressed with hot tools to make the impression crisp and distinct.
4. At this stage a different process begins. The surface of the cover, with the pattern impressed upon it as described, is taken bit by bit and treated as follows:
1. First it is moistened with water or vinegar.
2. Then the pattern is penciled over with “glaire,” which is a liquid composed of the white of an egg beaten up and drained off.
3. Then, when the glaire is dry, the surface is lightly touched with oil or grease to give a hold to the gold leaf next to be applied.
4. Then the gold leaf, cut to the size and shape of the portion of the cover to be operated on, is applied by a flat brush called a “tip,” and pressed down by a pad of cotton-wool to reveal the pattern underneath.
5. Then, and finally, the pattern with the gold upon it is gone over again with the hot tools, and the gold is impressed into it. The rest of the gold is rubbed away with an oiled rag, and the pattern is now displayed permanently in gold and “finished.”
The description is easy—how easy!—but the craft is difficult. Gold can not be persuaded to stick as a friend may be persuaded to stay; it must be made to stick—i. e., all the conditions upon which successful gold tooling depends must in all cases be observed, and there is the rub! What in each case—and the circumstances are never quite the same—are the conditions? How divine them? A little more or a little less makes so much difference. How dry may the leather be, or how damp must it be? How much glaire? How hot must the tools be? When is the moment to begin? Then how difficult it is correctly to manipulate the tools, to keep them even upon the leather! How difficult, finally, to keep the leather, throughout all the long and difficult operation, perfectly clean and the gold brilliant! What patience, what natural aptitude, what acquired skill, what fortitude! “The city sparkles like a grain of salt.” “Shall I ever succeed?” the apprentice may well ask himself. “Shall I ever attain to such skill, to such consciousness of power, that I shall not even know how to fail?” In this difficulty, too, and in the effort and ambition to overcome it, lies a further difficulty, the snare of the art, the temptation of the finisher. He becomes engrossed in it—the finisher in mere finishing. He pursues it positively, and not in subordination to design. And he achieves victory at last, only to find that what he should have achieved, the thing beautiful, has escaped him. He can tool but he can not design; and he has so magnified execution that
