encyclopædias, the most comprehensive and complete that there might be room for. The sacred books of all nations might come next; then the works of the great poets, historians and novelists; after them, the best obtainable records of art, science, the various industries, and so on, with specimens of the best and most typical of our works of art, manufacture, and the like.

The spaces between the various articles should be filled in with some insoluble and neutral substance, to prevent corrosion, or the infiltration of water and consequent damage to the plates. Then, the entrance to the chamber being securely sealed, permanent records should be made in many places and in various ways, setting forth the purpose of the deposit, its exact location, and the nature of its contents. Among such records not the least valuable would be deeply cut polyglot inscriptions on natural cliffs in different parts of the world, observation having shown that such records may remain to challenge human curiosity for ages after all other records of their time have disappeared.

Even a single deposit of this sort might prove of enormous value to the race at some critical period of its history. But the probability is that the good work would not end with one deposit. From age to age this and other nations might repeat the experiment, commemorating in this way important epochs in their history. The fashion once set might easily become a permanent feature of all great national celebrations. The cost would be comparatively small: a penny contribution from each of the visitors to the Philadelphia Exhibition, for example, would have been quite sufficient to provide for a memorial of our first Centennial year that would have carried an imperishable picture of the civilization of the day to the end of—our first millennium, at least; and we may safely infer that, whatever may be the condition of the world at that not very remote epoch, a memorial of that sort would be something worth having.

As we have intimated, the custom might easily become general, so that in the course of ages the earth would become dotted with such repositories of art and learning. Then, come what might to humanity—whatever might be the ups and downs of nations—whatever moral, social, or intellectual advances mankind might make—whatever lapses or disasters might befall them—it could hardly happen that a knowledge of any considerable period of human history, or the advantage of any worthy human achievement, could ever be permanently blotted out and lost.

It is true that "posterity" has never done anything of the sort for us. It is true that "posterity" may have no valid claim on us for such a legacy. But we might venture to make "posterity" a present! It would not cost us much, and it might turn out to be immensely valuable and useful to some far future age.

THE LOST ARTS IN NEW YORK.

While the objects of ancient art contained in the Castellani collection, recently placed on exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in this city, are individually of great rarity and archæological value, they derive additional importance from the fact that, viewed conjunctively as a collection, they represent connected histories of two great industrial arts extending over many centuries. Both in the work of the goldsmith and of the potter, we are enabled to trace progress from the earliest stages up to a period when the greatest skill was attained, and even subsequently into the era of decadence. In both industries, we find that ancient and mediæval workmen possessed knowledge which we do not possess; and among Signor Castellani's treasures may be seen handiwork which is the embodiment of two lost arts, the secrets of which the modern world, with all its infinitely superior wisdom, has not yet rediscovered.

The productions, in the Castellani collection, of precious metal workers dating from prehistoric epochs, the exact dates of which are wholly unknown, and covering the long period ending in the thirteenth century, are represented by the contents of some twenty cases. The first three of these receptacles bear no dates. The ornaments which they contain are of bronze, amber, silver, and glass (the latter having become converted into opalescent silicic acid), and were found in Præneste (modern Palestrina, Italy), and in the territory which was ancient Etruria. Case No. 4 bears date 700 B.C., and here is a rich treasure of primitive Etruscan and Phœnician ornaments of gold, adorned with granulated work. Signor Castellani considers that the workmanship of these objects is so perfect that it is impossible at the present time to explain the process of execution, and very difficult to imitate it. The ornaments are of two kinds—those for ordinary use and those for funereal purposes. The first are massive, and might be worn for years without injury; the others are extremely delicate. All are made of the purest gold, and their decoration evinces the most consummate skill and taste on the part of the artist. There is, for example, a small flask, shaped something like an antique wine jar, and about five inches in height. It is of beaten gold, and is covered with a pattern intended to imitate the similarly shaped designs of variegated glass of the Græco-Phœnician period. This pattern is entirely produced by minute globules of metal soldered to the surface in tiers of zigzag or Vandyke patterns. Another specimen is a strip of gold covered with granulated lines and bearing a row of birds in relief. On other ornaments are exquisitely carved heads and flowers, produced apparently by hammering on the reverse of the object, but with a delicacy and precision of touch which is simply marvelous.

The closest students of this ancient handiwork are entirely at a loss to understand how the processes of melting, soldering, and wire drawing, which were employed in the art, were performed. Modern workmen have failed in their attempts exactly to imitate the old ornaments; and it is certain that the secret of the mechanical agents, whereby it was possible to separate and join pieces of gold hardly perceptible to the naked eye, is lost. Signor Castellani has taken great pains to solve the problem, reading all the treatises of mediæval goldsmiths, inquiring of all classes of Italian jewelers, and experimenting with all kinds of chemicals, in the hope of finding the solder wherewith the minute grains were attached to the surface of the metal. At last he found some of the old processes still employed in a remote district, hidden in the recesses of the Apennines, far from the great towns. Bringing away a few workmen, he gave them much more instruction, and at last succeeded, not perhaps in equalling, but certainly in rivalling the ancient productions.

We question whether the Etruscans used fire at all in their soldering, as it would be almost an impossibility to keep the excessively fine tools necessary for the work at a proper heat. Mr. Joshua Rose offers the plausible suggestion that a cold flux was employed, with which the workman followed the lines or dots of his pattern. Then the gold granules were possibly sprinkled over the surface, and adhered only to the solder, the superfluous grains being brushed off after the solder had set.

There is also a fragment of a finely woven fabric, made of threads of pure gold, found on the body of a woman in a tomb at Metapontum. This is without doubt the material to which the Psalmist refers in speaking of "the King's daughter" having "clothing of wrought gold;" and in the Pentateuch there is reference to gold threads being used upon looms.

As we follow the various objects in the twenty cases above mentioned, the decline of the goldworker's art when the use of enamels came into vogue is evidenced. Continuing on to later periods, the decadence is more marked under the successors of Alexander. In Rome, under the emperors, we find gold used as a mere setting for precious stones, and finally the collection terminates with examples of workmanship of the time of