JOHN CALVIN MOSS AND MRS. MOSS.
Of all the stories told by Samuel Smiles in his book, "Self Help," I think that of Palissy the Potter is the most thrilling. I admire most heartily the pluck of Palissy in fighting down every difficulty in the way of securing the glaze on his pottery ware. For want of fuel to feed his furnace he destroyed his wife's furniture. I do not blame him one bit. Poor woman, she was hardly to be blamed, however, for not relishing this sacrifice to the cause of art. I commend the modesty of Palissy, who would not assume even the title of potter until he had achieved notable success in his loved employ. I am reminded of the plucky and persistent Palissy as I read the story of Mr. and Mrs. Moss, and their discovery of the process of engraving known as the Moss system. It is through its aid that our magazines are enabled to furnish many of their beautiful illustrations. The story of this brave couple is told in the Woman's Magazine, from which the following is an extract:— Mr. Moss had been called John Calvin by his mother, who destined him for a minister. But he became an engraver. When a lad he delighted to be in his father's carpenter shop rather than spend his time in boyish sports; in his study of heads of birds and animals, in his desire to be a portrait painter, in the persistent study of chemistry and natural philosophy, while teaching or type-setting, and finally, in his advance as a photographer, learning from books and by experiments, rather than taking his knowledge second-hand. Through all these steps he came to his life-work—a photo-engraver—and the first to achieve complete success in producing engravings directly from the photograph. While reading an account of some experiments made by Professor Grove, in which he tried to produce engraved plates by etching out the daguerrean image, but having failed to get his etchings deep enough to be of any practical value, it occurred to Mr. Moss that by using Professor Grove's method, he could etch through the daguerreotype plate, and then change the plate to another solution, which would act upon the copper, and would not act upon the silver, and by this means get the required depth. He told his wife of his plan. "Why not try it at once? and I will help you." "But I have no galvanic battery, and there is none to be had in this place; besides, I cannot spare the money to buy one, if there were." "Can't you make one yourself?" "If I only had some copper and zinc plates, I have all the chemicals, but there is no such thing for sale nearer than Pittsburgh." She disappeared for a few moments, and returned with their copper kettle and zinc wash-board. "They will do," the husband said, "but oh, my! how your mother will scold if we cut them up; they are almost new." "Leave that to me. Mother is out, and we will get the battery made before she comes back." So they went to work, bringing the sugar-bowl and the tea-pot into requisition for battery cells, and soon had the battery completed. The scraps of the kettle and the wash-board told the tale to the amazed mother-in-law, but "she didn't scold just then. She couldn't." The two children were two happy in their experiments—the "scold" died out before it was uttered. That night the appliances were slipped into their sleeping-room, and in stocking feet they pursued their work. Before morning they produced their first plates,—all bad but one little patch, that Mrs. Moss declared was "just beautiful." Some time after this they moved to Philadelphia, where type-setting earned the bread, and the evenings gave time for continued experiments. Mrs. Moss would purchase and mix chemicals during the day, and they would work together at night. Sometimes success seemed so near all the time would be given to experiments, and want would compel the sacrifice of their household stores. Nearly all was gone at one time but a feather-bed—a gift from Mrs. Moss' mother, which they had resolved never to part with. He said, "If I only had a few dollars success would be sure." Mrs. Moss soon came in with ten dollars. "Why, Mary, where did you get that?" "I heard our washwoman say she was saving money to buy a feather-bed; so I sold her mine," adding with a merry laugh, "feather-beds are unhealthy, anyway. We will pick out a soft board; it will make us grow straight." There is one characteristic thing about the lives of these good people. It was always "we." Writing to a friend, Mr. Moss relates this incident:— "It is only just to say that without the assistance of my wife, it is very doubtful whether I should have succeeded. She became quite as enthusiastic in the matter as myself. My other relatives had lost all hope of my ever succeeding, and did all they could for many years to dissuade me from pursuing it further. On one occasion, we had been baffled for several weeks over a certain difficulty. We had tried everything to overcome it, in vain. There was one experiment we had tried that seemed faultless in theory, but it too failed in practice. My wife insisted that we had not given it a fair trial. We were in a state of almost perfect desperation, as we were working on a real order, which would bring us $40, and the time for delivery was past due. For several nights we had scarcely slept. It was two o'clock in the morning, and I sat down upon the bed in a complete state of exhaustion, and fell asleep; but my wife determined to stay up all night and repeat the experiment that she declared had not been fairly tried. Late in the morning I awoke, aroused by the sun shining in upon my face. My wife had not slept at all. "Though pale and haggard, I saw that she was smiling and very happy. She had taken our last few pence to buy a good breakfast—a hot loaf of graham bread, coffee—with milk in it—and a quarter of a pound of butter. The butter and milk were luxuries we had not seen for many a day. "I knew by her looks that she had succeeded, and did not want to eat until I knew just how; but no, I must eat my breakfast first. Hot graham bread with good butter, oh, how delicious it tasted! and the coffee was to me like the nectar of the gods; every sup seemed to give me new strength. When I had eaten to my satisfaction, she took from her hiding-place some plaster moulds—perfect. She had repeated the experiment several times to make sure that it was not all a delusion. We finished up the order, and got the $40, and were rich again. Had not that experiment succeeded, the 'Moss process' might never have been heard of, for it was really the only way in which that part of the work could be successfully done. It was the last link necessary to make the chain complete." "But it makes a world of difference about the kind of man a woman helps," says one, and truly. All the work of Mrs. Moss was like holding up a ladder, steadying it with strong hands, and pointing to the sunlight above. She knew the "kind of man" that was climbing. Here is a bit of proof:— In the spring of 1860, while Mrs Moss stayed with her little boy at her mother's, Mr. Moss went to Philadelphia to seek employment, always bearing in mind his one individual work of making engravings from photographs. Of over seven hundred members of the Printers' Union, less than three hundred had employment. His search for work was unavailing. Going out of a printing office one day where he had applied without success for work, he saw an old hand-press standing near the door. He went back525and asked the proprietor if they had any work to do on that hand-press, assuring him that he was accustomed to that kind of work. The proprietor was very busy, but walked to the press and pointed to a small poster that was ready to be printed, and walked away. The press was in a "fearful state of neglect, roller dried up, and there was no ink." Mr. Moss went to work, cleaned and soaked the roller, scraped a little ink from some old cans, a boy near showed him where to find paper, and the "job" was presently done. The proprietor liked the young man who could master difficulties, and gave him a place to work. In a week a test case came up. The forms of type had to be taken to another office to be printed. This was usually done by a porter on a wheelbarrow. The case was urgent and the porter was not at hand. Mr. Moss volunteered. A sneer went round, and jokes filled the air. One man said, "If you do that we will lose all respect for you, and work you out of the job." Mr. Moss said, "Benjamin Franklin often trundled a wheelbarrow on that street; I do not consider myself better than he." Great excitement prevailed, some of the printers declaring they would not work with a man who thus demeaned himself, but the proprietor took a bold stand and decided that in future each must take his turn in wheeling the forms to the press-room, or leave. None left. Securing their respect, Mr. Moss also won their friendship. This incident happened prior to Mrs. Moss' heroic experiments and all night's devotion to the plates. It was in 1863 they moved to New York, which has since been their home. They did not win success all at once, but every failure brought wisdom, and fulfillment gave courage. From a stock company to a co-partnership, they passed to the "Moss Engraving Co.," in 1880, with John C. Moss as president and superintendent, Mrs. Moss as treasurer, and their son Robert as assistant superintendent, and now have the largest establishment of the kind in the world.—N. Y. Observer.