The precious red coral of the Mediterranean can be perfectly imitated by
taking a cast of a coral branch and filling in the mold with celluloid
of the same color and hardness. The clear luster of amber, the dead
black of ebony, the cloudiness of onyx, the opalescence of alabaster,
the glow of carnelian--once confined to the selfish enjoyment of the
rich--are now within the reach of every one, thanks to this chameleon
material. Mosaics may be multiplied indefinitely by laying together
sheets and sticks of celluloid, suitably cut and colored to make up the
picture, fusing the mass, and then shaving off thin layers from the end.
That _chef d'oeuvre_ of the Venetian glass makers, the Battle of Isus,
from the House of the Faun in Pompeii, can be reproduced as fast as the
machine can shave them off the block. And the tesserae do not fall out
like those you bought on the Rialto.

The process thus does for mosaics, ivory and coral what printing does
for pictures. It is a mechanical multiplier and only by such means can
we ever attain to a state of democratic luxury. The product, in cases
where the imitation is accurate, is equally valuable except to those who
delight in thinking that coral insects, Italian craftsmen and elephants
have been laboring for years to put a trinket into their hands. The Lord
may be trusted to deal with such selfish souls according to their
deserts.

But it is very low praise for a synthetic product that it can pass
itself off, more or less acceptably, as a natural product. If that is
all we could do without it. It must be an improvement in some respects
on anything to be found in nature or it does not represent a real
advance. So celluloid and its congeners are not confined to the shapes
of shell and coral and crystal, or to the grain of ivory and wood and
horn, the colors of amber and amethyst and lapis lazuli, but can be