BRITANNIA'S SMELLING BOTTLE.

DID the reader ever ask himself, as he passed a perfumer's shop,-How are these delicate odours that strike so sweetly upon the sense taken prisoners! What chains can we forge fine enough to enslave the delicious breath of the rose? what trap can we set sufficiently subtile to seize the odour of the violet? By what process do we manage to "bottle" the hawthorn-scented gale?

If the perfumer (guessing his thoughts) were to say "The most successful trap we set is a lump of fat," possibly our reader would open his eyes very wide, and exclaim incredulously, What possible affinity can there be between so gross an animal product, and so volatile an essence? Verily, good reader, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy; and this is one of them. Possibly, if we were to tell you that the perfumer salts down his rose-leaves in order to preserve their odour, just as the meat-curer salts down his pork, you would be still incredulous; yet, verily, we speak the words of truth and soberness, as we shall presently show you.

The cultivation of flowers for the manufacture of perfumes is chiefly carried on in the south of France, in the

plains watered by the river Var; and now that Louis Napoleon has acquired both banks of that river, he may be said to have taken possession of the scent-bottle of Europe. Those who have visited Cannes and its neighbourhood must have seen the flower-farms bright with a thousand brilliant dyes; and at Grasse, again, the plantations of orange-trees which perfume the air. To secure the odours of those flowers is the care of the proprietors, so that thousands in far-off capitals shall be able to enjoy the perfume that otherwise would waste its sweetness upon the desert air. There are various modes of accomplishing this; but the principal one, for the more delicate flowers, such as the jasmine, the violet, tube rose, and orange, is by what we will call the fat-trap.

Those who know anything of chemistry are well aware that carbon, in the shape of charcoal, possesses an astonishing affinity for all kinds of odours—a property which the physician avails himself of to absorb the foul smells of the hospital. The hydrocarbons, such as beef and mutton fat, highly purified, possess a similar absorptive power, which is taken advantage of by the flower farmer, to take and secure the fleeting breath of his flowers. Let us suppose, for instance, that it is the season for violets. The proprietor has already prepared thousands of square wooden frames, the rims of which are, say, three inches in depth; in the middle of this frame is inserted a sheet of glass, and the whole series of frames are constructed so as to fit one upon the other. Upon both sides of the glass a film of finely purified fat is spread, to the depth of a quarter of an inch, and upon this fat the violet flowers just picked are lightly spread. Thus it will be seen the flowers are

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sandwiched between layers of fat, resting upon the lower layer, but not touching the upper layer. In a short period the fat will have absorbed the whole perfume of the flower, when a fresh supply is added, and this process of feeding with flowers is often repeated thirty times, until the fat is thoroughly saturated with its perfume. Thus imprisoned, the odour is safely transferred from one part of the globe to another.

The extent to which this process is carried in the south of France may be imagined when we say that 1,600,000 lbs. of orange flowers, 500,000 lbs. of rose blooms, 100,000 lbs. of jasmine blooms, 60,000 lbs. of violets, 65,000 lbs. of acacia buds, 30,000 lbs. of tube rose flowers, and 5,000 lbs. of jonquil flowers are consumed annually, the value of which cannot be less than £240,000. But, says the reader, what can all this scented fat be used for? The fat, good reader, is only the vehicle in which these odours travel. The next process, when it reaches the manufacturing perfumer, is to liberate the delicate Ariel from its bondage. In order to accomplish this, the fat is cut into small cubes and macerated in pure spirits of wine. The scent, like an inconstant mate, immediately deserts its more material partner, and combines with the spirit, just as wives now and then will desert their solid city husbands for some mercurial singing-master. The scent is now in the form of an extract, but is by no means fitted for the pocket-handkerchief. Here the artist steps in and combines in definite proportions different colours so as to produce bouquets, or he manufactures primary odours; for your fashionable perfumer will no more allow the public to enjoy the pure perfume of the flower than a chef de cuisine

will permit you to taste the natural quality of the meat. And, first, with respect to primary odours, it is astonishing how few art has yet managed to extract direct from the flower. Violets, geraniums, orange blossoms, and roses, are translated, it is true, by the absorptive process immediately into the perfumer's stores. But of the scores of scents which the European nose smells at, full twothirds are but a delusion and a snare. Mr. Septimus Piesse, of the firm of Piesse & Lubin, has written a very interesting book on the art of perfumery, in which this secret is most frankly confessed. We must admit, however, that the manufacturing perfumer is in no wise to blame in this matter. It is not his business to provide the primary odours; his department is the higher duty of combining them give him a fuller scale of notes, and he will afford the public more varied airs. Mr. Piesse indeed laments, that whilst cultivators of gardens spend thousands for the gratification of the eye, they altogether neglect the nose. Why should we not grow flowers for their odours as well as for their colours? There are scores of flowers in our gardens that would yield admirable extracts with a little pains. For instance, there is heliotrope, the lily of the valley, honeysuckle, myrtle, clove pink, and wallflower. We have extracts of all these flowers in the perfumers' shops, but they are nothing but skilful combinations of other scents. They play tricks with our noses as they do with our palates. We know full well that certain flavourings, such as pine-apple drops, jargonelle pears, &c., are manufactured out of the refuse of gas tar and from rotten cheese. In the same way some of our sweetest, and, as we believe, natural flower-scents, have their base

in fœtid animal secretions, such as musk, civet, &c. Who will come to the rescue? There is a great cry for woman's work-here it is. Many a lady would willingly employ her time, which hangs heavy in country-houses, if she only knew how. We will tell her. "I want heliotrope pomade," says Mr. Piesse. "I would buy any amount that I could get ;" and this is the way to get it. If there is such a thing as a glue-pot in the house, you have the only piece of machinery needed-it is, in fact, a waterbath.

As the details of the process are all-important, we will proceed in Mr. Piesse's own words :—

"At the season when the flowers are in bloom, obtain a pound of fine lard, melt the lard, and strain it through a close hair sieve, allow the liquid fat as it falls from the sieve to drop into the cold spring water; this operation granulates and washes the blood and membrane from it. In order to start with a perfectly inodorous grease, the melting and granulation process may be repeated three or four times, using a pinch of salt and a pinch of alum in each water; it is then to be washed five or six times in plain water; finally, re-melt the fat, and cast it into a pan, to free it from adhering water. Now put the clarified fat into the glue-pot, and place it in such a position near the fire of the greenhouse, or elsewhere, that will keep it warm enough to be liquid; into the fat throw as many flowers as you can, and there let them remain for twentyfour hours. At this time strain the fat from the spent flowers, and add fresh ones; repeat this operation for a week we expect, at the last straining, the fat will have become very highly perfumed, and when cold, may be