crowns, palm and olive branches--in a word, models of all those things
which pertain to the service and decoration of the church, and upon
which it has been the privilege of the silversmith to expend his art and
labour from time immemorial until the present day. There were some few
casts in plaster, but almost all were of that deep red, strong-smelling
wax which is the most fit medium for the temporary expression and study
of very fine and intricate designs. There is something in the very
colour which, to one acquainted with the art, suggests beautiful
fancies. It is the red of the Pompeian walls, and the rich tint seems to
call up the matchless traceries of the ancients. Old chisellers say that
no one can model anything wholly bad in red wax, and there is truth in
the saying. The material is old--the older the better; it has passed
under the hand of the artist again and again; it has taken form, served
for the model of a lasting work, been kneaded together in a lump, been
worked over and over by the boxwood tool. The workman feels that it has
absorbed some of the qualities of the master's genius, and touches it
with the certainty that its stiff substance will yield new forms of
beauty in his fingers, rendering up some of its latent capacity of shape
at each pressure and twist of the deftly-handled instrument.

At the extremities of the long bench huge iron vices were fixed by
staples that ran into the ground. In one of these was fastened the long
curved tool which serves to beat out the bosses of hollow and
small-necked vessels. Each of the workmen had a pedal beneath his foot
from which a soft cord ascended, passed through the table, and pressed
the round object on which he was working upon a thick leather cushion,
enabling him to hold it tightly in its place, or by lifting his foot to
turn it to a new position. In pots full of sand were stuck hundreds of
tiny chisels, so that the workmen could select at a glance the exact
form of tool needful for the moment. Two or three half balls of heavy