1859 THE PHOTOGRAPHIC JOURNAL Vol. VI
[Liverpool; ex- L&MPJ; future BJP]
 

ver.:  April 7, 2009

START: 

NOTES: 

   --Italics have been retained from publications, which use them for both titles as well as emphasis.  To more easily locate image titles, I have continued this italicization when titles have been rendered in all capitols or put in quotes, however italics have NOT been used when the general subject of an image is mentioned.

   --Image numbers listed in articles can be either an entry number in an exhibition, or the photographer’s own image number as found on labels. 

    --All names have been bolded for easy location.  Numbers frequently refer to the photographer’s image number, but can also refer to a number in a catalog for a show.  Decide whether to bold or not if can tell.

   --It is not always possible in lists of photographers to know when two separate photographers are partners or not, e.g., in a list, “Smith and Jones” sometimes alludes to two separate photographers and sometimes to one photographic company.  Both names will be highlighted and indexed but a partnership may be wrongly assumed.  Any information to the contrary would be appreciated.

   --  Brackets [ ] are used to indicate supplied comments by the transcriber;  parenthesis

(  )  are used in the original sources.  If the original source has used brackets, they have been transcribed as parenthesis to avoid confusion.

--“illus” means that I have the view mentioned and should be scanned and included.

   --Articles by photographers about technical matters – only name and titles have been listed.  If other names are associated with the paper they are listed as well.

  --Meetings of Societies – Names of officers, members attending or referenced, dates and locations of meetings have been given.  If the reports are very short or discuss photographs, then the articles have been copied; if administrative or technical in nature, they have not.

  -- Some journals, e.g., The Art-Journal, cover both photographer and painting/drawing.  As they frequently refer to the production of both the photographer and the painter as “pictures” it is not always possible to tell when photography is indicated.  If there is doubt, it will be included but a note will be added stating that the names listed may in fact not be photographers.

   --Mostly articles totally discussing technical aspects of photography, products, etc. are not transcribed unless they are part of a larger article covering photographs.   When technical descriptions are too lengthy to transcribe that is noted.

  --Spelling – as most of the journals transcribed, the spelling is British not American, e.g., “civilised” vs. “civilized”, “colour” instead of “color,” or “centre” vs. “center.”  Unfortunately Microsoft Word sometimes automatically changes spellings.  I have attempted to catch all of these, but no doubt, some “corrections” have slipped through.  This will not change the meaning.

 

1859:   Art Journal, April 1, ns vol. V; no #, p. 126:

            Sedgfield’s Stereographs of English and Welsh Scenery.—We have examined a very large collection of stereographs produced by Mr. Sedgfield, who, we understand, holds a prominent rank in this “branch of Art.”  An important branch it has become, considered even commercially, but it is also an essential element in education, opening up many new sources of delight, while adding materially to our power of deriving instruction from the great book of nature.  If these examples be, as they certainly are, “cheap,” they are “good,” so good, perhaps, as any that have been submitted to purchasers.  We have here delicious scenery—“bits” from the lakes, and charming passages from the river banks in Wales, and old abbeys—Battle, Tintern, and Netley; cathedrals—Bristol, Salisbury, Exeter, Wells, York, Canterbury, Winchester; venerable ruins—Kenilworth,  Raglan, Pevensey, Hurstmonceaux.  In short, a series of interesting British views, to the number of nearly a thousand, every one of which is of value to the antiquary, the lover of Art, or both.  The publisher of these stereographs—Mr. Bennet—has produced a new stereoscope especially designed for their use, but applicable also to any other views.  It is very simple in construction, being open at the sides, so as to obtain the largest available quantity of light.  The focus is easily obtained, and altogether it is convenient as well as elegant in construction and design.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] April 1,  vol. VI; #91, p. 81-82:

            Russia and the Isles of the Ocean in the Stereoscope.  By M. Ernest Lacan.

            Certain persons of grave and dignified bearing, bald-headed and white-cravated, have often reproached me with over-estimating the advantages of photography, and of speaking with too much enthusiasm of its productions.  Now, if I can only get one of these cold, calculating gentlemen into my study for an hour, I can without entering into any discussion, take a little revenge out of him, which is very satisfactory to my pride.  I have only to show him part of my stock of photographs collected during the past ten years, and which is daily increasing.  At first my gentleman turns over hastily, with a studied and forced air of indifference, the marvels of art I show to him; but he gradually begins to thaw, and stops incontinently at the portrait of some great politician, or artist, or author, he admires, or at some striking landscape or architectural gem.  Then he is in my power.  Having found out his weak point, I assail him with pictures, I awaken all his sympathies, all his preferences, and all his reminiscences.  I intoxicate him through his eyes; and it generally happens that his imagination, turned out of its accustomed routine, runs wilder than my own.

            Then I wrap myself up in the mantle of my dignity, look severe, and in solemn measured voice, address him in this style:--“Ahem!  You have accused me of extravagant enthusiasm, and here you are yourself excited with a few leaves taken from my portfolio.  What will become of you when you read the whole book—when you are transported, as it were, by these works, from one quarter of the globe to the other?—when you visit the most famous ruins of antiquity; when you study leisurely the chefs d’œvre contained in all the principal museums of Europe’ when you traverse a street in Constantinople, a lagune at Venice, a canal at Amsterdam, or a square at Madrid or Moscow; when you sail upon the Rhine or the Nile; ascend the summit of Vesuvius or Mont Blanc, and witness the most important occurrences of our times, evoke its ruling spirits, and revive, amid the wreck of ages, the great recollections of the past?  All this I can show you, and yet you accuse me of enthusiasm!”

            This little speech, which, after all, is only the expression of truth, seldom received a reply, and I generally make another convert to the charms of photography.

            If I make this confession, it is just because I feel at this moment a fit of that enthusiasm for which I am so unreasonably reproached, the cause of which I will proceed to explain.

            I have a great passion for traveling.  I have already made a good many voyages, and photography will cause me to make many more.  Thanks to the plan I have enounced above, I have visited nearly every quarter of the globe where objects of interest await the curiosity of man; but there are two regions which till now have remained closed to me—the extreme north and the extreme south.  Now these are opened to us by photography, and we enter Russia with intelligent guides, and proceed full sail to Oceania.  Is not this sufficient excuse for making rejoicing and raising a shout of triumph?

            For a country, new as compared with other nations, Russia possesses a considerable number of edifices, judging by the proofs under our notice.  Of these, churches form by far the greater portion.  Nowhere have we ever seen so many; or, to speak more correctly, in this country almost every edifice resembles a church.  At St. Petersburg they are generally in the style of our edifices of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries:  this is explained by the date of the foundation of this city, and by the influence of French taste upon the mind of the founder.  Those of Moscow are of an entirely different character, such as are found nowhere else.  They bear the true stamp of the national architecture.

            The imperial palaces, as that of the Grand-duke Michael, at St. Petersburg, are, in appearance, the same as the royal residences of other countries.  Formal colonnades, allegorical façade has every appearance of being copied from the celebrated composition of David d’Angers.  The Museum, called also, I know not why, the Hermitage, is elegant in style and richly ornamented.  The squares surrounding these edifices, the streets that lead to them, the river that flows at their feet, are all of immense proportions.  Every thing wears an air of belonging to a nation of giants.  Whenever a crowd gathers in this good city of Peter the Great, it must always find itself isolated.  The thought makes me cold!  I shiver while my eye traverses these vast open spaces.  Yet I like to muse in the Peterhoff Gardens, beneath the great trees which surround the charming fountain of Alexander.  The graceful colonnade surrounding this fountain reminds me of the little temples open to the sky which so frequently adorn the gardens of Italian villas; they want nothing but the sun of Naples.

            I decidedly prefer Moscow, and putting aside all the marvels of the City of the Czars, IU am tempted to make my entry into the old Muscovite capital.  As once all is new, not in date, but in appearance.  To enjoy a complete panorama of the city, I mount with the photographer to the summit of one of the minarets or clock towers.  From the Kremlin the view is splendid.  The gigantic and fanciful forms of the innumerable edifices look like an immense collection of Savoy cakes.  It is superb.  Viewed nearer, all these edifices present a character of originality which often attains to elegance and grandeur.  Besides the Kremlin, itself quite a city, there are at Moscow only churches and convents.  If the architecture of these sacred edifices be the expression of the religious sentiments of those who pray in them, or who bury themselves beneath the austerities of a monastic life, then surely nowhere can dissent be so numerous or so varied.  Every fantastic form that one can be chiseled into may be found here.  Domes, minarets, clock towers, turrets, form a strange outline against the sky.  Such a variety of columns, façades, and towers is here, that it looks like a collection of models of all the mosques, temples, and churches ever built.  Such eclecticism!  Still these edifices possess a vivid interest.  The Convent of Sakolink has the aspect of an enchanted palace, the charming retreat of a fairy princess, an asylum against the temptations, vicissitudes, and annoyances of the world.  In a word, my impression is, that few collections have appeared to me so well calculated to command public attention as this.  Our voyage to Oceania will be described on a future occasion. –La Lumière.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] April 1,  vol. VI; #91, p. 92-93:

            Notice of Recently Published Stereographs.

            Amongst the most pleasing of our editorial duties we may reckon that of awarding commendation which has been faithfully earned.  There is, perhaps, no branch of photographic industry which is so extensively pursued as the production of stereographs—a remark that holds good, not only as regards the negatives, but also in respect to the number of positive proofs printed therefrom.

            Wherever our wanderings may be directed—in shops devoted to all sorts of manufactures, as, for instance, in those of opticians, stationers, chemists, fancy warehousemen, dealers in china and glass, toys, &c.—we find displayed in the windows stereoscopes and the accompanying slides.

            Where quantity is in such profusion, quality is too often lost sight of; and though the effect of apparent solidity is of itself sufficient to charm the novice in stereoscopic matters, without reference to the nature of the subject delineated, such is not the case after the surprise of novelty has worn off.

            There are, however, but few persons who have made much use of the stereoscope who would be willing to forego the possession of the instrument, if provided with slides of an interesting character; and no matter how many they may possess, they are constantly adding to their stock, not because they weary of those they have, but because the inspection of a well-executed subject in the stereoscope is but little short of an actual visit to the place itself, and thus with every addition the pleasure of a new experience is acquired.

            We have just received from Mr. W. Woodward, of Chapel Bar, Nottingham, a series of admirably-executed stereographs, chiefly of architectural and rural subjects, that are deserving of the highest commendation, and as photographs possess very considerable merit, not on account of their execution, but also as regards artistic excellence.  Some of the subjects we have seen before, and had occasion to notice favourably when awarding the prizes given by the Nottingham Photographic Society.

            We have, on the occasion just quoted, already remarked upon the slide of Peterborough Cathedral, which is taken from the north-east corner of the Minster Yard, and gives an excellent notion of the building.  We recommend Mr. Woodward to take another view of the same Cathedral from the Market Place, a position which commands the beautiful west front, and, if executed with his usual skill, we can venture to promise him a tolerably extensive sale of his proofs.

            Two slides of Woollaton Hall, the residence of Lord Middleton, are also valuable illustrations of architectural subjects; that with the tree in the foreground being particularly interesting to all lovers of the picturesque, though architects will probably prefer the other view of the building, designed by the celebrated John of Padua, on account of the details being none of them intercepted by intervening objects.

            Newstead Abbey, The Menai Bridge, and Conway Castle, are also interesting productions of a similar class.  The first-named, we fancy, would have been more picturesque if taken from a position a little further to the right hand than that chosen, but we notice that it would then have required a later hour in the day to have rendered the shadows as effective.  In the Menai Bridge view, the wooded scenery on the opposite side of the water is distinct, yet properly subdued; there is detail without undue obtrusiveness, a quality, we were dogmatically informed by an artist a few years back, that a photograph never could possess.

            Of the View in Wilford, (No. 24), the prize picture, we have already given detailed particulars in Vol. VI. No. 86, page 24; there are, however, three others from the same village, which possess nearly an equal degree of merit.  These are charming bits of English rural scenery, that are truly samples of our homely landscape beauties, consisting of thatched cottages, half buried in foliage, the pleasant shade under which forms a refreshing contrast to the flood of sunlight bathing the rest of the subject.  In one, a wreath of half-transparent smoke curls gracefully against a background formed by masses of leaves; in another, a fine old walnut tree completely overwhelms a little cottage under its protection; in a third, a horse-chestnut tree shelters a truly rustic home.  The slides to which we allude are numbered respectively, 4, 7 and 29.

            The Bridge in Burghley Park is, perhaps, one of the best-executed and happily-selected in the collection.  The beautiful transparency of the tranquil water, bearing on its surface the floating leaves of the water-lily, the reed-bordered bank of the stream, the bridge half screened by the shrubs, and wholly reflected in the crystal stream, produce altogether a composition as delightful as it is placid.

            We cannot conclude without the mention of one more amongst Mr. Woodward’s collection—that of a Valley in North Wales, near Llanrwyst, that is pleasingly illustrative of mountainous scenery.

            By a careful examination of the pictures we have been describing, we have come to the conclusion, that Mr. Woodward operates with one lens, and exposes his plates necessarily at two separate consecutive spaces of time.  Now, as a matter of economy in apparatus, this is all very well, and for taking positives on glass for stereoscopic subjects, it is decidedly the best plan, as the two impressions can be taken in the correct relative position without transposition—a necessity that would involve, in this case, the cutting in two of the slide; but where negatives are the desiderata, this position is not of any consequence, because the paper proofs can be transposed, and the advantage of taking the two pictures simultaneously is not to be lightly disregarded.  Not only is a portion of the effect sacrificed by a slight shifting of the shadows when the impressions are received consecutively, but it frequently happens that owing to a variation in the light, one picture gets more done than the other, although perhaps equally exposed, and in some cases the loss of the sharp shadows in one, and not in the other, is the inevitable consequence of as troublesome cloud intervening between the times of the two exposures.  We thin, therefore, that so skilful an operator as Mr. Woodward has proved himself to be, does not do himself justice in employing a single lens camera, for, however great an adept a photographer may be, he does not act wisely in neglecting any advantage whatever, of which he might avail himself if he would.  If Mr. Woodward will adopt the use of a bi-lens camera, he will, we doubt not, earn fresher laurels—but in offering this suggestion, we would have it understood that it is not from any noticeable deficiency in his productions that we make it; rather because he works so well that we would fain relieve him of unnecessary difficulty.

            We may remark, for the encouragement of those employing dry processes, that Mr. Woodward’s pictures, abounding in detail, brilliancy, and half-tone in perfection, are all taken by the collodio-albumen process.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] May 1, vol. VI; #93, p. 103-104:

            [Editorial leader]

            On the evening following the day on which our last issue was published, the 15^th ultimo, we had the pleasure of assisting (as our French neighbours phrase it) at one of the most brilliant and successful soirées of the season, where photography formed the pièce de resistance of the intellectual part of the entertainment, with a garnish of microscopes, gyroscopes, electromotive engines, and other philosophical apparatus by way of side dishes.

            The gathering took place at the Mansion House, in consequence of invitations from the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress to some of our most noted photographers, together with many distinguished members of the scientific world and private friends of the entertainers, including a goodly array of the fair sex, to meet the President (Mr. Glaisher, the celebrated meteorologist) and other officers and members of the Blackheath Photographic Society, Mr. T. Wire, the son of the Lord Mayor, being one of the Secretaries.

            Judging from the animated conversation which was carried on in every direction, the pleased and eager countenances that met the eye wherever turned, and the frequent expressions of admiration and satisfaction which fell upon the ear, the entertainment provided must have been highly gratifying to every one concerned.

            The number of photographs exhibited was considerable and, what is more important, of high character; in fact, many of them have before been fully noticed in these pages, consequently it will be sufficient to mention the names of the artists to indicate the class of productions.

            There were contributions from Francis Bedford, M. Claudet, P.H. Delamotte, Roger Fenton, Frank Frith, Melhuish, Alfred Rosling, B.B. Turner, Williams, &c., &c., in addition to many others, chiefly members of the Blackheath Society, amongst which we recognised with pleasure some subjects taken by Mr. Wire in his trip through Kent, described in a paper published in our last volume, entitled, “A Week with the Camera among the Kentish Hills,” in which that gentleman sung the praises of a “dog-cart” as a photographic vehicle; to the justice of which praises the photographs bear ample testimony, particularly those taken at Chiddingstone, a locality apparently abounding in the picturesque.

            Mr. Glaisher exhibited some highly interesting photographs from drawings of snow crystals, presenting very many varieties of form, as observed by him a winter or two back, when a copious fall of snow took place, in such condition as was most favourable for a microscopical investigation into the subject; the flakes not being composed of agglomerated masses, but consisting generally of regularly formed feathery crystals, perfectly symmetrical, and of great beauty.

            Surrounding the collection of photographs contributed by the members of the Blackheath Society, was a beautiful series of large-sized ones representing the fronds &c., of various ferns; these, besides being of an out-of-the way character, were further distinguished as the production of a lady follower of our art, Mrs. Glaisher.

            The method of execution was by simple interposition of the actual frond itself upon a sheet of sensitized waxed-paper, which, after sufficient exposure, was developed and fixed in the usual way.  This afterwards acted as a negative, from which the positives exhibited were printed, and thus a faithful facsimile produced, displaying all the beauties of venation, fructification, &c.

Botanists and Naturalists generally, as might be anticipated, prefer these illustrations to all others taken by any process hitherto devised.  It will be at once perceived that this is a most valuable application of photography, and one that may be followed by the many without any expensive apparatus.

            The Rev. A. B. Cotton’s picture of Sinai, from two negatives on waxed-paper, we notice as very effective for the particular subject delineated; indeed the waxed-paper process, in skilful hands, not unfrequently rivals collodion—for instance, some of Mr. B. B. Turner’s works are such as to leave little to be desired.

            We were much struck by some small pictures of Mr. Heisch’s, viz., a red and a white camellia, with the bright green leaves, in a hand basket, colours most trying to the photographer to reconcile, but which under Mr. Heisch’s treatment were successfully interpreted in simple light and shade.  This be it remembered is no slight praise—no engraver can do more in this respect; while, as regards truthfulness of form and minutiæ of detail, of course the photographer beats the engraver hollow.  There were several examples from the same subject exhibited, illustrative of Mr. Heisch’s researches upon the value of employing iodides, bromides, and chlorides in something like atomic proportion; the views entertained by him being fully set forth in a paper published in our last volume.  Certainly the most perfect is the proof from the negative prepared with four parts of iodide, two of bromide, and one of chloride, as a sensitizing mixture.

            Mr. Claudet’s contribution comprised many large-sized photographic portraits coloured in oils.

            Herr Pretsch displayed some of his photogalvanographic plates, together with the impressions therefrom.

            M. Rejlander had a small pair of his very suggestive morceaux, which we believe he calls “The Two Children,” the subject being taken from an old Norse legend:--

                        1^st. Thus they played for hours together,

                                    And the dog went fast asleep.

                        2^nd.  So they both would sleep together,

                                    But the dog then watch would keep.

In both pictures the group consists of an aged grandsire, the little grandson, and the dog.  In the first, the two children, (that is, first and second childhood) are playing at “cat’s-cradle,” the old man’s countenance expressive of kindly and eager interest and lit up with a beaming smile,--the dog snugly sleeping at their feet.

            In the other, the two playfellows are locked in one another’s arms and having a quiet doze after their game, while the dog wide awake keeps a vigilant look out.  The complete repose of the muscles is the point especially aimed at, and this is beautifully exemplified in the child’s hand, which is particularly expressive of sleep.

            And the dog!—what a famous dog he must be!—we fancy we have made his acquaintance before accompanying his master with a camera turned into a wheelbarrow!

            Of course stereoscopes and stereoscopic subjects formed a very attractive feature in the entertainment.

            As novelties in the latter branch, we have to mention a series of twenty-five, recently published by Messrs. Negretti and Zambra, of scenes and individuals of note in China, which are particularly interesting, and exhibit characteristics differing materially from the ordinary class of stereoscopic illustrations.  We believe they are the productions of a photographer sent out specially by the publishers for the purpose of procuring them.          Messrs. Horne and Thornthwaite exhibited the illustrations of the moon, and also the beautiful sea-view, noticed in another column as the work of Mr. S. Fry, together with two others of a similar description to the last-named, representing the calm and the ground-swell.

            Messrs. Smith and Beck were intrusted with the magnificent stereographs of the moon belonging to Mr. Warren De la Rue, enlarged by the late Mr. Robert Howlett to about twelve inches in diameter, from negatives taken by Mr. De la Rue.  These were shown in the large reflecting prismatic stereoscope constructed purposely for their display, and are truly wonderful production.  Smaller copies of the ordinary stereoscopic size were also shown by the same gentlemen in their well-known achromatic stereoscopes.

            Among the stereoscopic luxuries were some pillar arrangements for showing in succession a series of subjects.  In one, which we believe is called, “Stereoscopia,” twenty or thirty paper slides are attached by their backs to endless tapes, passing over a square piece of wood, revolving on an axis upon the principle of the Jacquard loom.  This arrangement does not admit of the display of transparencies.

            In another a series of drawers, containing about fifty slides each, placed in racks, are so contrived that the whole, amounting to some hundreds as a total, can be viewed in succession by simply working a handle.  This we believe is the result of American ingenuity; it is, we must admit, a little complicated, and rather puzzling to work correctly at first.  Like the preceding, also, it is only adapted for opaque slides.

            Another form, manufactured by Messrs. Negretti and Zambra, is contrived to be employed with transparencies, and this in a very ingenious manner, occupying but small space, the twenty-five Chinese views before alluded to being all mounted in one instrument.  It is difficult, without the aid of diagrams, to give an idea of the method of arrangement; some notion of it may however be formed, by imagining the slides to be all arranged like the spokes of a wheel around a cylinder, but with a sort of hinge so contrived that all except the one under inspection bend out of the way.

            A magnificent collection of first-class microscopes, by Powell and Lealand, Ross, Smith and beck, and others, attracted very general admiration.

            Of photographic apparatus there was a goodly display, comprising every possible necessary convenience and luxury that a photographer could desire; in fact, if any objection could have been made to such a collection, it could only have arisen from un embarrass de richesse.  Cameras of every possible (we had almost added and impossible) form—rigid and folding, portable, square, long, massive, &c., &c.,--together with the thousand and one contrivances for changing plats in the field—lenses, dishes, plate-boxes, tripods, plate-holders, baths, dark slides, cum multis aliis.

            [The rest of the editorial leader deals with descriptions of equipment]

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] May 1, vol. VI; #93, p. 105-106:

            Notice of Recently Published Stereographs.

            In our last we had occasion to bestow commendation upon some highly deserving specimens of stereographs on paper; we have now to direct attention to some printed on glass, the work of Mr. Samuel Fry, of Brighton, which are quite out of the ordinary class of these productions.

            The application of photography, aided by the stereoscope, to the visible demonstration of the fact that the earth’s satellite is uncontestably of a globular form, is one of more importance than at first sight appears to be the case.  It is true that, by strict logical reasoning, the fact had been deduced; but, until the phenomenon had been actually brought home by the evidence of sight, the conviction thereof rested rather upon circumstantial than direct evidence; consequently, the production of photographic stereographs of the moon’s surface may be regarded as the experimentum cruces.  We believe, that to our friend, Mr. Warren de la Rue, belongs the honour of having first accomplished this feat; and, thanks to the subsequent aid of the late Mr. Robert Howlett, the public have been supplied with many copies from Mr. de la Rue’s negatives.

            As might have been predicted, an object of such beauty, and possessing besides so much of scientific interest, became naturally very much in demand, and several other photographers were fired with the ambition of producing equally valuable results; amongst them Mr. Samuel Fry has been eminently successful.

            To those who are unacquainted with the principles of binocular vision, there will not be any thing surprising in the power of showing visibly that the moon really and truly is of a globular form, and more or less studded all over with mountainous protuberances; because they are ignorant that, in order to exhibit this, it is necessary that the pictures be taken from two distinct points of view; while to the unassisted eye, or by aid of a telescope, the moon’s surface appears as a flat disk, but with certain parts darker than others.

            Now although the inhabitants of this earth never see but one and the same side of the moon, it is a fact that owing to the relative rates of her orbital and axial motion, a small portion of her surface on opposite sides of the hemisphere next the earth are alternately rendered visible—the movement being regular and periodical, and known as the moon’s libration.  Advantage is taken of this slight change of position to procure the impressions from the requisite points of view, for of course it is immaterial whether the camera is shifted or the object itself is made to turn slightly on its axis.

            In order to show the effect of an entire globe it has been thought advisable to take the moon’s portrait when at the full, but in so doing it must be borne in mind that the irregularity of the surface is in a great measure lost to the eye, because the effect is precisely similar to that which occurs when we take a landscape with the sun shining directly behind our backs—we lose all the beautiful relief of shadows.  It is true that by taking the impression when presenting a gibbous phase, the effect of the shadows is retained, but then a portion only of the glove is visible.  Mr. Fry, being anxious to retain the advantages of both of these conditions, ahs in his stereographs combined a full disk with a very gibbous one, in opposite states of vibration, and the effect, produced in both striking and beautiful; and though we should, if we had the choice, prefer three sets of illustrations, viz., those of the waxing, full, and waning moons, yet for a single one the arrangement adopted is perhaps the most satisfactory.

            Accompanying the stereograph is a small pamphlet with an illustrative diagram of the moon, which imparts a fund of information, together with the names and supposed character of the more important elevations and depressions of the surface.  The little pamphlet materially enhances the value and interest of the slide which it explains.

            Scarcely inferior in interest to the preceding is an instantaneous picture of the sea, showing the effects of a  stiff south-west breeze, in which every ripple is distinctly visible, with the white foam cresting the breaking waves, and more than all, the brilliant play of light upon the dancing spray.

            We have no hesitation in pronouncing the beautiful specimen before us more satisfactory than anything of the kind that we have hitherto seen.  The perfectly liquid appearance of the water, the transparency of the spray. The four vessels towards the horizon, and the graceful curl of the wave, together with the general brilliancy of the whole, unite to bring vividly before the mind the pleasurable sensation of the bracing effects of inhaling the sea breezes.  In fact one never wearies of looking at this specimen, and while viewing it we almost fancy we hear the rush of the surging waters and smell their briny savour.

            We strongly advise those having stereoscopes to indulge in the luxury of a mental visit to the sea-side.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] May 15,  vol. VI; #94, p. 121:

            Note on Photographing in the Pyrenees.  By M. Civiale, Fils.         

            During an excursion to the Pyrenees I obtained two panoramas of the mountains and some views in detail of the rocks and cliffs, which it appears to be may present some interest in a geological and geodesical point of view.

            The first panorama, consisting of four proofs, represents a portion of the chain of the Pyrenees, French and Spanish, taken from the Antecade, near Luchon, at a station 6600 feet above the level of the sea.  This panorama, comprised within an angle of less than sixty degrees, forms the sixth part of a cylinder, the diameter of whose base is 13,300 feet.  The horizontal plane of this base is 4330 feet above the sea-level, and extends from the south-east to the south-west.  I focused upon the mountains, distant about 5000 feet from the camera, so as to bring in distinctly the most distant objects.

            The second panorama, composed of three proofs, represents a view of the Maladetta and its glaciers, taken from Venasque, near Luchon.  This station is 7660 feet above the level of the sea.  This panorama, comprised within an angle of thirty degrees, is a plain.  I focused upon a point about 12,000 feet from the camera.  Al the distances and measurements of angles are only approximative.

            The points from which panoramic views can be taken are not numerous, and are often of difficult access.  The photographer is almost always obliged to work under conditions of distance and orientation, which are detrimental to the effect of the panorama he desires to take.

            The other views are details of mountains, the chaotic rocks of Gedne, and the cliffs of Saint Jean de Luz.  The negatives were taken on dry waxed paper, by a modified process of my own, and with an instrument as portable as could be made.  This indication of the manner in which the proofs have been taken will, I think, show what can be obtained in the way of pictorial illustration of the general arrangement of mountain-chains, their forms, fissures, and their glaciers.  We can also determine approximatively, from heights already known, the heights of peaks of very difficult access.  The heights already calculated will give with the maps the approximative distance from the camera to vertical lines passing through their different summits; measuring the vertical angles of these summits, direct from the station-point, we obtain the approximative heights, by multiplying the line of the base by the line of the vertical angle.

                                                            h  =  A  B  sin. a.

            We can also obtain details of the rocks, of natural sections of the glaciers, fissures, cliffs, &c.  Lastly, the comparison of the panoramas of mountains obtained by photography with existing maps, will enable us to rectify certain inaccuracies which have crept into these maps.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] July 1, vol. VI; #97, p. 162:

            Photography At The Handel Festival.

            The recent Festival has proved a wonderful success-musically, financially, and pictorially.  The photographic art was well represented by Messrs. Negretti and Zambra, photographers to the Crystal Palace Company.  While the representatives of the “fourth estate” were actively employed in making their “pen-and-ink sketches” of the beautiful prospect which met their faze, and recording the vivid impressions made by the orchestral marvels which greeted their ear, our art representatives were busy in the production of wondrous pictures which, in a few moments, conveyed to those present, and subsequently to a distant public, truthful representations of the picturesque scenes which met the eye of the visitor to the Crystal Palace during each day of the great Handel Festival.

            The orchestra was photographed on the day of the rehearsal, and it was printed, mounted, and posted on the orchestra before the commencement of the second part of the concert.  The orchestra was again taken on Wednesday’ and on Friday,. Owing to the different arrangement of the ladies, which gave the orchestra a prettier appearance, it was once more photographed.  With reference to the success as a photograph, we may, without fear of contradiction, state that, taking into consideration the oiled waterproof yellow awning over the orchestra, it is a wonderful picture, containing, as it does, some three thousand distinct portraits.  Besides the orchestra, there were a number of negatives taken on each day of the festival of all the persons occupying the centre transept:  so that we have a collection of some 20,000 portraits.  We fear, however, these pictures may cause some mischief; for some gentleman who had very important business in London may, perhaps be seen seated very cozily with some fair one that may make his absent partner not at all pleased with the gentleman’s trip to London

            On Friday a stereoscopic picture of the Royal Box was taken, printed, mounted, and presented by Mr. Negretti to H.R.H. the Prince Consort previous to the commencement of the second part.  When it is considered that the box was constructed, as usual, with the everlasting covering of red cloth; that H.R.H., as a lover of music, cannot refrain from beating time; and that there was an awning all over the transept—this picture was eminently successful:  again, when we consider that the usual time of explore under ordinary circumstances in the palace is about ten times more than that of any ordinary glass room—a quarter of an hour, and from that to twenty minutes, being the time given for a 10 x 8 picture—we are only surprised that the artists were able to get anything at all.  The length of time quoted may surprise some; but when it is recollected that the roof is 150 feet over the sitter’s head, and that it is glazed with that peculiar green tinted glass which in the process of time is changed into all manner of colours, then the surprise ceases.

            The size of the pictures taken is 18 x 10.  By arrangement with the company, the price of each picture to the members of the late orchestra is 5s; to the general public 7s 6d.  We need hardly add they are published by the artists, Messrs. Negretti and Zambra, of Hatton Garden, and of Crystal Palace.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] July 15, vol. VI; #98, p. 176-177:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land. 

            Upon one of those warm sunny days which, during the ides of March, deluded us with the idea that spring has stolen a march upon winter, I found myself seated at a little table outside a café in the Boulevard Italien, sipping a miserable compound of Martinique coffee and chicory, which is extolled as a model for imitation to the barbarians across the channel.  I was deep in study in the feuilleton of La Presse, and just beginning to unravel the thread of the mystery of a table, when a heavy hand fell upon my shoulder with a weight and a grip that I knew could only be inflicted by a Lancashire man.  “Halloa, parson!  I want you; going across the desert, and you must come too:  I want you to take Jerusalem and Damascus, so pack up your traps and come along!”  Such an address awoke in my mind a strange confusion of ideas.  Desert!  Jerusalem!  Traps!  I looked up and saw the broad honest face of my college chum, Weston.

            John Weston is in every sense of the word a strong man:  strong in his Herculean frame, strong in will, firm of purpose.  Whatever John says you feel must and will be done.  I saw at once that I must cross the desert with him; and, had the next day been fixed for my wedding, it must have been postponed, for John is one that takes no denial, so I meekly replied:  “When do you go?  When must I be ready?”  “To-morrow.  To-day if you like, so look alive!”  I had only to say, very well, and then bethink me of what was necessary to be done before starting.  John informed that I was to consider only my own personne, that he would provide all things needful for the offensive and defensive, revolvers included; so having dispatched a note to my blanchisseuse, I proceeded at once to provide myself with a good supply of waxed-paper and the requisite chemicals.  Taking a bellows-camera, my whole photographic baggage was comprised within the compass of an ordinary writing desk, and before sunset I was in complete marching order.  At six o’clock next morning we were on the Lyons railway, en route for Marseilles.  I said we, but I have not yet said who we were.  Besides John and myself, already mentioned, our party consisted of an American gentleman and lady, who, acquainted with John, and having unlimited confidence in his valour and resources, had placed themselves under his guidance and protection.

            I had always looked up to John:  a brave, hearty fellow, who seemed born to protect the weak, to conquer difficulties, and overcome menacing dangers.  I do not think I would have trusted myself on so perilous a journey in any other person’s company than his, for I felt sure that whatever scrapes we might fall into he would get us safely out of them; and, as I have no doubt will be shown in the sequel, my confidence was not misplaced.

            As each member of our party studied to be agreeable to the other, our journey was as pleasant as could well be imagined; but as nothing of more than ordinary interest occurred, I shall at once jump to our arrival at Gaza.  I must not, however, omit to remark that as I was strolling through the streets of Marseilles, I stopped before the shop window of a bookseller, and there to my great surprise and delight I saw a copy of The Photographic Journal, dated March 15^th.  It was like meeting an old friend.  I walked into the shop, and entering into conversation with the libraire, I found he was an amateur photographer.  bringing forth his portfolio, he showed me many interesting views he had taken of the public buildings, Roman antiquities, &c., of his city.  He was a subscriber to your Journal and to some others, but he gave unhesitatingly his preference to yours, for, as he said, he was sure to find in it la science and always du nouveau.  *   *   *   *   * [sic]

            Well, here I am encamped on the plain that lies between Gaza and El Arish, in a hollow, from whence, all night long, I can hear the heavy thud of the surf on the shore, beating that solemn, steadfast time-beat that has shaken the desert hills for who knows how many thousand years.  It is dawn; the morn is coming up like a giant refreshed.  There is a glow in the horizon, succeeded by a burst of splendour, and up in the sky soars the golden sun, monarch of all he surveys.  Swiftly shrink the long shadows of the sand-hills into dark spots in hollows, and soon a rich light, such a light as can be felt, lay upon all the desert.

            In such scenes as this how the whole man expands!  You seem to grow with every breath you inhale.  All the past is yours, you feel yourself its representative, its living embodiment.  And yet you feel humble withal:  humbled at the reflection, which on such a spot as this becomes a sad conviction, that indeed all is vanity.

            This is the fourteenth day since we left Cairo.  My outward man is changed into something more in harmony with the scene around me, and I feel the inner man changing too, more than I could have dreamed.  I feel myself insensibly acquiring the tone and manners of the strangers whose land I have invaded.  Collodion and hypo’ seem strangely out of place here, and I could not help smiling when one day I suddenly found myself in front of a camera, planted by an enterprising Frenchman in the streets of Cairo.

            But I was describing the morning on the desert.  It will soon be left in our rear, for little hills and occasional groves of olive trees and the prickly pear are in view.  We are passing the line of no rain! And entering the country where occasional showers insure a certain though feeble vegetation.

            I am in the land of the Philistines.  Before me is Gaza.  How often, when a child, had I pictured to myself a giant striding up the hills on the east, on a dark night, bearing on his shoulders the rent gates of the city!  But this I see is a modern city, with some five thousand inhabitants.  “Gaza shall be forsaken.”  The mighty are fallen.  Sampson is dust:  the temple he threw down with the last struggle of his mighty soul is crumbled to ruin, and flowers grow and bees suck honey in the dust that was stronger than the lion of his own fable.

            The sun was setting in the Mediterranean as we approached Gaza.  John rode on in advance to select a spot for the tents, and I followed leisurely with the baggage.  We form something of a caravan with our six horses and a file of half-a-dozen camels carrying tents, &c.  About a dozen Bedouins flutter round us as escort, watching for baksheesh or plunder

            Out tented field was a burial ground, a fitting and curious place to sleep.  At home I have no fear of ghosts, but who could sleep in a Moslem cemetery believing that the dead would lie quietly?  I lay awake looking for them all night long, and so positive was I that I should see a ghost, that when Sheikh Selim lifted the tent curtain in the morning dawn, and put his thin, gaunt countenance and skinny hand into the opening, I rushed at him, to his total rout and overthrow, for he thought he had intruded, and sprung back to avoid an expected blow, stumbling over the cook, who was on his hands and knees blowing at his breakfast fire, and Selim, the cook, and the breakfast made a mass of ruin on the ground that resembled, though remotely, the ruins of Gaza.

            So soon as my cook had recovered his equanimity, after this inglorious overthrow, to concoct his usual preparation of coffee and accessories, I made my breakfast, not without comparing the decoction of the Arabian berry with its poor substitute on the Boulevards.  It is melancholy to reflect how many thousands of Europeans go to their graves without having tasted in perfection—coffee!  That bitter, mawkish, insipid decoction of chicory and beans so constantly foisted upon the ignorant for the fragrant berry, is no more to be compared to the latter than is champagne to toast and water.  Coffee cannot be made and drunk too quickly’ every moment it stands letting off its fragrant steam it loses its virtue, the true spirit evaporates, and what is left is but a caput mortuum.

            I could fill many pages with the praises of coffee, of the coffee of the barbarians, not that of civilisation.  No matter how exhausted or weary I feel in my travels, give me but a cup of the true Eastern beverage, and in a few moments “Richard’s himself again!”  Its restorative power on an exhausted frame is truly marvelous; but then it must be the pure, freshly-prepared infusion.

            But here I sit dreamily gazing at Gaza, and John will want to take Gaza away with him, so I must needs plant my camera and set to work.  About the modern city the ruins of the ancient lie engulphed around in broken columns and fragments of capitals, architraves, and friezes, all appropriated to the vilest uses.  The mosques of the city are mostly built of the stone of the old ruins, and the muezzein calls the faithful to prayer within walls which have echoed the praises of Dagon.  Half a mile away the hoarse surf thunders a mocking triumph over the decay of the grandeur of the oldest or cities:  the stillness of its port, the wreck of its harbour, the absence of its merchants.  How solemn the scene, now so desolate and lonesome, contrasted with what the mind conjures up when the port was crowded with its galleys and thronged with princes and merchants!

            It was towards the cool of the evening that I took my first picture in Holy Land.  The declining sun tinged with a golden hue all the features of the scene; the shadows were deep but not dark, giving a relief to objects such as I had never seen before.  I brought away with me the forms of things it is true, but how I sighed for the magic colours that illumed the picture, no tongue but my won can tell.  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Aug. 1,  vol. VI; #99, p. 189:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land.  No. II.

            Photographic operations are as attractive to the popular mind as a sugar-cask is to the flies.,  No matter where you plant your camera, on barren moor or sedgy vale, in a deserted village or a ruined city, in the desert or by the sea-shore, out of reach, as you supposed, of human ken, and are hugging yourself with the idea that you are alone, when straightway up pops one head and then another.  Where they come from you cannot guess; they seem to grow out of the earth like mushrooms.  When I put my head under the focusing cloth there was no human biped in sight except my dragoman, who looked with silent awe at my mysterious operations.  When I withdrew my head, after obtaining a satisfactory focus, I found myself the cynosure of neighbouring eyes, to the extent of some sixteen wild-looking Bedouins, arranged in a semicircle, at about ten paces distance.  My surprise was so great that I lost my presence of mind, and I suspect my countenance exhibited some tokens of fear, although I was not afraid, oh no! not at all, though I did look round for John.  I suppose that, seeing my confusion, they concluded I was after no good, and after holding a consultation among themselves in (to me) an unknown tongue, as quick as thought the strongest and boldest of the gang rushed at my camera, lifted it up, tripod and all, and quickly strode away in the direction of the city, while the others seized every thing lying around and followed him.  I turned to my dragoman, but he looked on quite unconcerned, as if what occurred was a matter of course.  My first impulse was to cry “stop thief!” but a sense of the absurdity of such a proceeding soon came over me; so I made up my mind that the best thing I could do would be to follow on and see the game played out.  The rascals never once turned their heads to look at me, but kept on their way with quickening pace.  I had but one hope—that we might meet John, who had gone early in the day to explore the city.

            In about twenty minutes the city was reached; the party halted at a bazaar, while one of them moved off, as if in quest of something.  We were soon surrounded by some fifty half-naked citizens of Gaza, who divided their attentions between the camera and myself.  My stock of Arabic consisted of one work – Bekam, which, being interpreted, signified “how much?”  Seeing a basket of oranges for sale near where I stood, and being exceedingly thirsty and choked with dust, I essayed my linguistic skill.  It is all very well to be able to ask a question, but it is also necessary to understand the answer when it is made.  Arba was just as intelligible to me as ouahed, so I did not know what to make of my answer when I got it.  I then tried with my fingers, but with no better success.  The Arab cannot interpret signs made by any other nationality.  My attempts to make myself understood were received with shouts of derision.  It was but too evident that, in obedience to the prophecy, the king had long ago perished from Gaza.

            Matters seemed to be getting critical.  I expected nothing less than that these gentlemen would treat me as mischievous boys frequently serve at stray dog:--tie, not a tin kettle, but my camera, round my neck, and chase me through the city, running “ a muck.”  And I verily believe to this hour that such was their intention.

            I gasped, in horror and despair, “Where’s John?”

            A sudden movement behind me, a turning of all eyes in that direction, caused me involuntarily to turn my head also.  O welcome vision!  There was good John, his Herculean frame looming up above all the rest, with one hand gripping the throat of one unbeliever, and the other grasping the shoulder and holding at arm’s length another.  With a jerk he sent them both reeling; during their course, they overturned all they came in contact with, and soon some half-dozen of my foes were lying prone on mother earth.  This style of argument seemed to have a very salutary effect:  the living circle, which had grown uncomfortably narrow about me, immediately took a considerable expansion, and I could breathe more freely.  Meanwhile, John had drawn a revolver from each of his side pockets, one of which he handed to me, keeping the other himself.  “Don’t fire,” said he, “before I do; we are good for twelve shots, if you keep cool.”

            I was not very eager to shed a fellow-creature’s blood, and only the certain prospect of destruction would have prevailed upon me to pull a trigger.  I flattered myself that the sight of the weapons would have a salutary effect upon our foes, and check, further aggression on their part.  There was a parley.  John thundered out his anthemas upon the Moslems, who sneaked away behind each other as they best could, when lo! “Room for the Governor!”

            The Pasha, in the nick of time, came to the rescue.  Finding myself in the presence of this worthy functionary, I bowed profoundly to this degenerate representative of the decayed royalty of Gaza; the representative bowed to the ground, placing his hand on his breast, chin, and forehead, in the most approved oriental style, to signify the depth of his degradation.  After a volley of suppressed grunts of profound admiration and respect, mingled with “Salaam Aleikoum,” the Governor waved his hand to disperse the assembly, and backing up against a shop front, gathered up himself and his robes upon it, and motioned us to a seat on the opposite side of the narrow street.  We took possession of two of the little shelves, which I suppose I must in courtesy call shops, and then came pipes and coffee!  Heaven only knows where coffee comes from in such places:  you might suppose the Pasha carried a portable coffee-shop about with him.  No matter where he is or where you meet him, in the street, in the desert, on the mountain, down he sits, and you sit down, and forthwith the tiny cup of coffee, aromatic, glorious coffee, Mohammed’s wine!  Comes smoking hot to burn your lips and soothe the nervousness you naturally feel at the illustrious presence in which you find yourself.

            I stated the case to John, and John related it to the Governor, with becoming indignation.  That worthy functionary was incensed at the treatment the Howajjis had received.  The offending culprits were led forth, and we were asked what punishment we wished to be inflicted upon them.  Thinking they had acted from mistaken zeal, I egged they might be forgiven, on condition that they carried back my traps to the place they had taken them from.  As soon as this sentence became promulgated, a shout of triumph was raised; my camera was shouldered and already on its way back to our camp, when I suddenly found myself lifted from the ground upon which I was standing, and hoisted upon two men’s shoulders, with a mob of wild, howling, dark-visaged attendants madly capering around.

            Talk of Eastern gravity:  it is the gravity of a boarding-school miss in presence of the lady who teaches her “deportment.”  See the same prim miss at her romps!  The Arab, under the influence of excitement, is more than a match for any uncaged animal.

            Fortunately my traps sustained no injury.  My losses were confined to a sheet of waxed-paper.  Some inquisitive Moslem had opened the slide, and saw—nothing!

            Next morning we dismissed the camels with which we had crossed the desert, and hired horses and mules.  In the cool breeze of early dawn our cavalcade rode down the Zim Zim to Askelon, on the sea-shore, to the north of Gaza.

            I quitted Gaza with reluctance.  Its high antiquity had an unspeakable charm for me.  It must have been one of the earliest cities of Palestine, for it is mentioned in Genesis with Sodom and Gomorrah.  As the southern barrier of the Holy Land, it was always held as a place of some importance.  It stood in the highway of the armies of ancient days:  every conqueror who marched from the north into Egypt halted at Gaza.  Cambyses took it.  Alexander spent five months before its walls.  The soil around is fertilized with human blood, which in every succeeding century has been poured out upon it, serving to nourish the luxuriant olive, which thrives and grows rich around.

Askelon, no less celebrated in modern as in ancient history, was once a great city.  The ruins of its quays and wharves and breakwater, bear witness to its departed greatness.  But now it is only a miserable village, destitute alike of trade, commerce, wealth, and almost of name.

            We pitched our tents amid the ruins of the ancient city, and took our dinner on the sea-shore; cooling our wine in the hollow of a stately carved capital, into which the crisp foam dashed at every fifth wave.  All the gallant deeds of Godfrey and of our brave Richard on these hills and in the valleys rushed into my memory.  No more gallant deeds in the world’s history are recorded than were done for the Cross and the Sepulchre on the fields of ancient Philistine glory.  As I slept at night on these fields I could fancy myself one of Richard’s host, and repeople the scene with the noble forms of the Crusaders who lie enshrouded in the dust beneath my feet.

            We slept to the lulling sound of the surf, and rode next morning by way of Ashdod to Ramleh.  Ashdod was the city to which the Ark was carried by the Philistines, and which suffered so terribly the curses of an offended God for their sacrilege.  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Aug. 15, vol. VI; #100, p. 198:

            Notices of Recently Published Stereographs.

            There are perhaps few persons who have not at one time or another experienced the delights of coming suddenly upon some well-remembered spot from which they have been long separated:  the floodgates of memory are then opened, and a rush of mingled sensations is felt—of pleasure mixed with pain—in which the former, like good wine, is improved; and the latter,, like its crudities, toned down by time.  When these “green spots in memory’s waste” are really beautiful in themselves, and not only so from associations connected therewith, of course the pleasure is materially heightened.

            We experience these same joys to some extent (we may say to a considerable extent, and with the power of more or less renewing them at will) if we possess ourselves of well-executed stereographs of our favourite localities—those where we have perchance wandered with some beloved one; where generous thoughts and noble aspirations have dawned upon us; where we have drank in renewed health from the life-giving air after a lingering attack of sickness,  or where we have found rest and recreation for the over-tasked brain.

            Again, how pleasant it is if we have not been able personally to enjoy our wonted trip, to see the spots that have delighted our dearest friend, our fidus Achates, and thus better comprehend the enthusiasm with which he speaks of that romantic mountain side, with the stream in the hollow, where he had the happiness of aiding the footsteps of the “lovely girl with the flashing eyes and slender ancles, [sic]” none the less brilliant or the less lovely from the stimulus of our friend’s presence no doubt.

            It is such subjects as these, of which we have been Dreaming in Print, to which the series of views of Dovedale, in Derbyshire, recently published by Mr. Woodward, of Nottingham, belong.  How different are they to the host of “got up” scenery trash, with its mock sentimentality, that acts almost as an emetic upon the beholder.

            Apart from their stereoscopic value, the productions of Mr. Woodward have an intrinsic one of their own as faithful and pleasing transcripts of very charming scenery.  Before noticing them in detail we may remark that the negatives are produced by the collodio-albumen process and executed with Mr. Woodward’s well-known skill.  In one or two the truthfulness of effect may be a little marred by slight over-development;’ not so the charm, however, for where this is the case the appearance of hoar frost on the ground is given, and that so naturally, that although we knew the cause might be what we have stated, we were so convinced that it arose from the frost being actually there in nature that we were only undeceived on reference to Mr. Woodward himself.  When we mention that the negatives were taken “on a May-day morning early,” when a portion only of the trees had put forth their leaves, the very natural appearance of this “pride” of the morning will be readily acknowledged; and lest our mention of it may be misu8nderstood as unnecessary faultfinding, we may observe that it is only apparent on two or at most three of the series, and that we scarcely regard it as a fault at all in the instances quoted.

            In No. 74, The Street Rock, and 75, Entrance to the Dale, the frosted effect is noticeable in the former on the large dock leaves at the left-hand corner, and in the latter on the pathway amongst the grass, and on a picturesque rock standing out of the cool transparent water of the stream.  Both are very pleasing subjects.  No. 76, Pickerill Torr, is valuable as a geological illustration; as is also No. 77, The Needle Rocks—the latter being a particularly pleasing subject, and admirably executed.  The brambles and other brushwood, with the velvety turf, form a fine contrast to the ruggedness of the gigantic rocks.

            On the entire series, however, No. 78 is our especial favourite.  It represents the singular rocks called The Twelve Apostles, and is not only highly picturesque, but the execution leaves nothing to be desired.  The graceful curve of the stream, the liquid effect of the water, the crispness of the foliage, and the remarkable contour of the weather-beaten rocks, rudely resembling human figures reclining against a bank—a resemblance heightened in one case by a small bush on the apex of the rounded mass of stone, presenting the appearance of curling hair—causes this slide to be peculiarly interesting.

            In No. 79, the rock called Dovedale Church, the foreground is occupied by the stream, which reflects too much of the white light from the sky to be pleasant, and is, to our thinking, the least satisfactory by faqr of the whole.  No. 80, The View from the Lover’s Leap, completes a series with which all admirers of nature, where grandeur and softness contend for mastery, cannot fail to be enchanted.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Aug. 15,  vol. VI; #100, p. 201-202:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land, No. III.

            In the Valley of Jehoshophat.

            This morning my eyes are gladdened and my heart is cheered by the sight of a bundle of letters and papers from home.  Truly, manna in the wilderness, and I bless the good Samaritan who so promptly dispatched a fleet messenger from Cairo, to track my wandering footsteps to the shores of Askelon, who halted and rested not until he placed the previous burden at my feet.  To day I will hold jubilee.  I will recline under my tent and read my letters, and con over the columns of The Photographic Journal, some half-dozen numbers of which form not the least interesting item in my packet.

                        “Ho!  Hassan!  Prince of the Faithless!

                        “Hassan is the slave of the Howajji.

                        “Bring Coffee!”

            Tradition related that Ramleh is the ancient Ramah.  It stands on the borders of the great plain of Sharon.  To the east are the mountains that separate it from Jerusalem, to the westward lies the sea.  You may perceive the blue Mediterranean from the summit of the tower.  We halted for the night at Ramleh, and in the early morning I took four views of the city and adjacent scenery.  That done I struck across the plain to Ludd, a modern city on the site of the ancient Lydda, a distance of about four miles, while the sun was ascending from behind the hills of Ephraim.

            The ruins of the ancient city are imposing, those of the vast church of St. George especially so.  It was at this place that our national saint was born, and, for aught I remember to the contrary, it was here he fought and slew the dragon.  The bishopric of St. George, at Lydda, was one of the most powerful sees in the Christian Church.  It is celebrated in Scripture history as the scene of Peter’s miracle of the healing of Eneas.

            I had intended to proceed to Jerusalem from Ludd, but while seated meditating amid the ruins of the old church, I suddenly bethought me that I should miss seeing Jaffa, the Joppa of Scripture, and unless I now made a deviation from the route of some twelve or fifteen miles to go down to the coast, I might in all probability not see it at all.  We had no inflexible route marked out, but desired to visit every place of interest, in connection with the main object of our journey.  As for me, I cared nothing where I might lay my head on the morrow.  Wherever it might be, I knew I should be sure to find material for the exercise of my photographic abilities.

            The baggage mules were in the read.  We had but to leave an order for them to alter their course, and then start at a gallop across the lower end of the plain of Sharon, when in about a couple of hours we reached the most luxurious groves of oranges and prickly pear, from among which we emerged suddenly at the gateway by which you enter the city of Joppa.

            The aspect of Joppa is stately and commanding:  the city stands upon a hill, or knoll, which forms a promontory on the sea coast.  It is surrounded by a strong, gray, venerable-looking wall, which dates from the times of the Saracens.  When you enter the gateway on the land-side you step at once into a crowded bazaar, and  and [sic] then you find yourself in the filthiest of seaport towns, crowded with Arabs and fleas.

            I took a stroll through the streets of the city, seeking what I might find, and devouring, as I walked, some splendid Jaffa oranges.  Many groups and picturesque subjects for photographs presented themselves, which I would gladly have transferred to my portfolio, but I knew the attempt would be hopeless.  Had I planted my camera in the streets of Joppa I should have been devoured by human flies.  Outside the city I find more elbow-room:  with our mules and horses I form a hollow square, within which I plant my camera in peace, without fear of being pounced upon by marauding or suspicious Bedouins.

            The views I took of this picturesque city are among the most interesting I have yet obtained, perhaps even the most so.  Joppa was a city of the Philistines, celebrated chiefly in ancient times as the port of Jerusalem, to which Solomon brought his timber from Tyre.  Jonah sailed from this port when seeking to escape the duty assigned him; and it is not far hence that they show the identical place where the whale threw him out on the sand.  At a subsequent date Joppa became a point of interest in Christian history. It was here that Peter performed the miracle of raising Dorcas to life; and here, also, he saw from the house top of Simon the tanner the sublime vision which declared that all distinctions between Jew and Gentile were for ever swept away.

            They point out, in the heart of the city, the house of Simon, a little square stone building, with an open roof, looking out upon the sea:-- the veritable house of the tanner, believe it who will.  Half-naked Arab children lay on the sunny pavements of the court, both common and unclean in appearance, and an atmosphere of filth enveloping everything around.  The streets were ancle [sic] deep with mud.  Everything was melancholy, as everything always is in an Eastern city.  I panted for the free air, and slowly and dejectedly walked out to the fresh shady spot where our tents were pitched.

            The East is the Paradise of those who desire to indulge their self-importance. With what an air of grandeur you can order breakfast when you have an obsequious slave to wait upon you!  It is impossible, amid the grandeur that surrounds you, with the hot red sun shedding his glory on the scene, to say, in homely phrase, “Bring breakfast.”  You feel that you must indulge in Oriental magniloquence and pompous phrase; therefore so I say, “Ho!  Hassan, prince of the faithless, bring coffee!”

            I thought this morning I would pay minute attention to Hassan while he busied himself in preparing the infusion of the fragrant berry.  The operation of roasting the berries I did not see performed.  My observations commenced with the grinding or pounding between two stones, one slightly hollowed for the purpose.  The coffee-pot was of silver, with a tightly fitting cover, within which a ring fitted, to which a flannel bag containing the pounded coffee was suspended.  Pouring boiling water upon this, it quickly filtered through, as clear as wine, and was immediately transferred hot and fragrant to the little cups on the board.  I essayed to discover the philosophy that guided Hassan in his operations, and think it may be summed up in two words—quick and hot.  He never made me more than one cupful at a time, for this reason, that the second would spoil while I was sipping the first; for here, coffee is not drank but sipped.  If you wish to obtain the exhilarating, restorative effect of coffee, you must take it without milk; with this addition, however, it is more nutritive by virtue of the milk added, but less exhilarating.  Happy Orientals, to whom chicory is unknown!  When that foe to the fragrant berry insinuates its insidious presence on the desert, may the days of the adulterators by numbered!  I heartily applaud the manner in which those who tamper with the purity of the necessaries of life are treated in these regions.  And I must confess I should rejoice to see a fraudulent grocer nailed by the ears to his own doorpost in Whitechapel, a terror to all evil-doers.

            “Woe unto the inhabitants of the sea-cost, the nation of the Cherethites! the word  of the Lord is against you:  O Canaan, the land of the Philistines, I will even destroy thee, that there shall be no inhabitant!”

All the terrible denunciations of Scripture rushed into my memory as I walked through the narrow, vile, and filthy lanes of the cities of the Philistines.  With every facility for a prosperous commerce, the trade is limited to dealings with the Egyptian and Damascus caravans.  Some shops for the peddling of smallwares alone represent the commercial importance of a city once a proud mart of Mediterranean commerce.  I cannot impart to you the emotion and enthusiasm I experience as I tread this sacred soil:  its rocks, trees, and flowers remain, but the men who dwelt among them have given up the ghost, and where are they?  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Sept. 1,  vol. VI; #101, p. 215-216:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land.  No. IV.

            I verily believe that the gloomiest spot on earth is the valley of Jehosophat in a rain-storm:  and here I must be a prisoner in my tent all day long, listening to the howling of the wind rushing furiously between the Mount of Olives and the hill Moriah, as if the fiends were driving the souls of the damned through the valley—as saith Mohammedan tradition they will one day, when the Prophet shall have judged them on the Temple mound above;-- and then, when all is still, solemn, silent, and calm in the valley, I can hear, far up, over the walls of the Temple, the moan of the storm, like the voice of offended Nature, solemnly declaring the vengeance of its God.  The swollen stream of the Kedron rushes by yellow with clay.  I am seated on a camp-stool, my canvas pinned closely down around the earth heaped over the edges to keep out the streams that come dashing down the Mount of Olives; my shivering Arabs are crouched under the canvas of the servant’s tent and –

            I was interrupted by the irruption of one of the streams I spoke of, which found its way under the edge of the tent, and threatened to carry us away, bag and baggage, but which my men successfully directed into its proper channel again, so that all is once more dry, snug, and close.  A tent like mine, in such a tempest as now prevails, is not to be laughed at, let me tell you; and as photographic operations must be suspended for this day at least, I shall devote myself to writing to all friends at home who take any interest in my proceedings, and communicate to you my adventures during the past week.

            I have hovered about Jerusalem in every direction, but not yet set my foot in it.  I approach it with a vague awe, for I feel that, being holy ground, I must not lightly profane it.  I desire to render myself worthy of the privilege of entering the sacred precincts, and seek to subdue my thoughts and feelings to the true devotional pitch.  Therefore, I shall first finish all business requirements, and when my mind is free from worldly cares, put off my shoes, and glide through the city gates, the greatest of sinners.

            But every inch of ground about me is holy ground.  The Mount of Olives, Bethany, the Wilderness of Engeddi, and many other places familiar to you which I need not name, have engaged my attention.  I have been over the hill to Bethany half-a-dozen times already.  Often in the morning, rising early, and taking my coffee hot from the hands of my faithful Hassan, I climb the Mount of Olives, and walk swiftly along the winding ridge, down to the old home of Martha and Mary and Lazarus, seeing the sun rise lovingly over it, and then return to breakfast and a day’s photographing.

            Bethany lies but a short walk from Jerusalem—perhaps two miles—on the eastern slope of the hills which are called the Mount of Olives.  This road is the saddest and holiest walk on this earth.  How often trodden by those weary feet that bore our heavy load!  Morning and evening, going out and coming in to the city, He passed this way.  On it He bade the fig-tree wither:  on it He mounted the asses’ colt, for His only triumphal march on earth.  At the one extremity of it was the home of Mary and Martha and the tomb of Lazarus; at the other, the Cross and the Tomb; and somewhere along it is the dust He shook from His feet on the earth that had rejected Him as He ascended to His throne.  Sad and sublime path from Jerusalem to Bethany!  Above it angels hover for ever, worshipping the tears that dropped all along it from the sad eyes of the Man of Sorrows.

            The old village lies in ruins.  A deep dark vault on the side of the hill, into which you descend by a flight of stone steps, does duty as the tomb of Lazarus.  I know no reason to doubt its correctness; some such place here he occupied, and perhaps he slept in this again after his Saviour was gone whither he followed Him.  I sat down on the ground in a shady lane or road that runs down to the hill-side, in the edge of which is the tome; and here, as a thousand travelers have done, read over again in the Bible the beautiful story of the brother of Mary and Martha.

            The day wore on, noon came and past unheeded, the sun went westward, and still I lingered.  Could you but have seen how sadly splendid was Jerusalem in the sight of the setting sun, as I returned to my tent over Olivet!

            I set off alone the other day for the Wilderness of Engeddi and the Convent of Saint Saba.  It was a delightful day for the road.  All down the bed of the Kedron it was fresh and grand; wild flowers starring out on us everywhere.  All over the hills of Palestine there are to be found splendid varieties of the anemone.

            Following the Kedron down some ten or twelve miles to the south-east, I reached a spot where it suddenly began to descend rapidly between lofty and precipitous sides.  Instead of descending with it, I found a road cut in the cliff on the south side of the ravine, along which I rode, while the stream continued to descend deeper and deeper, the gorge growing more dark, profound, and magnificent, until it became several hundred feet deep—I will not attempt to guess how many, but not less than four hundred I think it safe to say; the sides abrupt, bare rock, nearly perpendicular, the top only a gun-shot across.  And now I knew I was in the Wilderness of Engeddi, which has been famed in all ages.

            My mare snuffed the desert atmosphere, and tossed her head into the air with the utmost delight.  The odours of the city had not been agreeable to her, and she had been stabled night after night in the vacant tomb of a wealthy Jew of the olden time, in the Valley of Tombs.

            Hassan met some of his old friends as we entered the gorge.  There was an Arab of the Jordan Ghor—a sheik with two or three followers—who eyed us suspiciously as we approached; for I had not seen fit to make any arrangements, or pay any tribute to his tribe for protection.  Hassan recognised our present friend as a notorious camel-thief, to whom he owed somewhat—as Arabs owe debts to Arabs—in the way of revenge.

            A guttural grunt, not unlike that of a North American Indian, was the only salutation as they passed each other, and when the chief came to me, lounging along a dozen rods behind Hassan, he paid no attention whatever to my “Salaam Aleikoum,” whereby I knew him for an enemy.  It mattered little, however, for one Frank is fully equal to four Bedouins, and there were no more of them, and I had two six-shot revolvers in my holsters.  But it behoved me to keep a sharp look out on my way back to Jerusalem.  More than once in my rambles a bullet has whistled past my ears, without my being able to discover the miscreant who fired it.

            A little further on we came to a point where the left or ravine side of the road was closed up by a stout wall, extending along the ridge, descending into its depressions, and flanked by two high stone towers.  This is the top of the Convent of Saint Saba, which hangs on the precipice from its summit two-thirds of the way down the ravine, and there impends over the abyss below.  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Sept. 15,  vol. VI; #102, p. 222-223:

            When a professional photographer of considerable reputation for his skilful and artistic stereographic productions, whose success is partly dependent pon some peculiarity in his mode of operating, is so liberal as to communicate his method of procedure, whether with or without solicitation, for the benefit of the public, we have no hesitation in asserting that the photographic portion of it at least will duly appreciate the boon, and unanimously accord its best thanks to the gentleman who acts in so generous a spirit.  Such an one as we have been describing is Mr. Russell Sedgfield. who was kind enough to communicate the method by which he has produced some of the most successful stereographic interiors of our Cathedrals that have been yet offered to the public.

            The communication to which we have made allusion, appeared in our number of Aug. 15, at page 197, and we strongly commend it to the consideration of those engaged in similar work to that for which the proceeding was designed, not only because “there are glimmerings of common sense in the recommendation” (as a facetious friend of ours sometimes approvingly remarks), but because also the results tell in its favour.  A considerable number of specimens accompanied the communication, and we propose to remark upon them, firstly as illustrative specimens, and secondly as photographic productions.

            There are few persons who, being usually in the habit of taking out-of-door subjects, have attempted the delineation of interiors, without experiencing at first many very mortifying disappointments, and this is chiefly owing to the extreme difficulty of realising the extent of degradation of actinic activity in such localities, the deep shadows especially being almost impenetrable.  it is generally judged that two or three times as long an exposure as is requisite out of doors will be sufficient, but this is far from being the fact; and then, as Mr. Sedgfield truly observes, an additional obstacle is introduced in the concentration of the free nitrate of silver from evaporation, and the consequent production of stains; to which we may add, a reduction of sensitiveness, from the additional strength of the nitrate of silver enabling it to dissolve away a portion of the iodide from the film.

            Now with regard to the specimens sent (sixteen of them), they are, with one single exception, free from stains or flaws of any kind; the one single exception, free from stains or flaws of any kind; the one excepted not being an interior, and that only slightly affected with minute pin-holes in the sky, a defect in all probability quite extraneous to the particular process employed.  Many of the shadows, which must from their nature be very intense, are all transparent, and exhibit correctly every particle of detail that the eye can see; there are no chalky high lights, while the gradation from deep shadows to high lights throughout the whole gamut of semitones is harmonious in the extreme.  What more can we say for the fruits of the process?

            But this is not enough for the works themselves, which we have carefully and delightedly surveyed.  It is quite delightful, after seeing in many of the shop windows where stereoscopic slides are sold, such a collection of trash as is frequently exhibited, to enjoy the contemplation of some of our finest architectural subjects so admirably portrayed as in the series before us.   We have recently been treated to a mental visit with Mr. Woodward to one of the lovely dales of Derbyshire; we are now being refreshed, in like company with Mr. Sedgfield, with the cool shade and delicious calmness of the “echoing cloisters and long-drawn aisles” of Norwich and Ely Cathedrals, and some of the churches of Norfolk.  We inspect them all at our leisure too, lingering over the cunningly-sculptured stone and wood-work, without the impatient gesture of the attendant verger to recal [sic] us with a sudden shock to the unpoetical present.

            Of the whole series before us, there is perhaps not any one amongst the interiors more beautiful than The Altar Screen in Ely Cathedral, which must be in reality a perfect gem of carved work.  Every inflection of the rich tracery is more faithfully rendered; the subject of the sculpture itself, various passages in the life of Our Saviour, being distinctly visible, and yet the greater part of the screen is in shadow, with the exception of a few of the ornamental figures on the top.  The tessellate marble floor in the foreground, the stained glass window behind, and the chequered light falling through one of the side windows, combine to produce a most exquisite effect.

            The Choir of the same Cathedral, though equally well executed, is not quite so interesting as the preceding; it is nevertheless extremely beautiful, and includes a magnificently-sculptured monument in the right-hand corner.

            The Nave, with the Choir in the distance, forms a third one of these charming interiors, we have also an external view of the East End, and a general view from the park; but these do not complete the series, illustrative of Ely Minster, as we understand that there are several others taken by this artist.  We may remark that the external views are in no way inferior to the internal ones in point of execution.

            The Interior of St. Stephen’s Church at Norwich is a capital illustration of the value of the process by which it was taken.  The dark wood-work of the roof and sittings, contrasted with the whiteness of the stone forming the structure itself, the proximity of some of the ornamental ends to the seats, and the remoteness of others, must have been very trying to the capabilities of the  film, as well as to the manipulative skill of the operator.

            Norwich Cathedral, though not nearly so rich in ornament as its brother of Ely, being in fact comparatively plain, yet furnishes three interesting interior subjects, viz.—The North Aisle, The Choir, and Chantrey’s Monument to Bishop Bathurst.  An external view of the West End, and a distant one from the Meadows near Sandling’s Ferry form part of series.

            The remains of Castle Acre Priory form a subject alike interesting to the antiquary, the architect, and the lover of the picturesque.  The point of view is admirably chosen, and the execution everything that can be desired.

            The Ancient Entrance to Norwich Castle will suit our archæological friends, as also The Abbey Gate at Bury St. Edmunds.   

            The Ancient Bridge, from the Abbey Ground, in the same locality, in addition to its antiquarian interest, possesses also the charm of being calmly picturesque; in fact its antiquarian is completely outbalanced by its artistic value.  The clear waters of the stream, which appear as transparent as unsullied crystal, reflect a portion of some building behind the bridge, which building is itself not visible to the spectator, the reflection being broken up by the reeds and other aquatic plants in the stream.

            Two low arches of a quaint and massive bridge, overgrown with ivy are visible, and behind the bridge, at some distance, the outstretched branches of a stately elm tree are seen; while a figure—unless we are mistaken, that of the artist himself—stands on the bank in quiet contemplation of the water.  It is altogether a very beautiful composition.

            With the notice of one more subject we shall bring our remarks to a close.  An external view of St. Peter’s Mangroft [sic] Church, Norwich, is interesting in an architectural point of view, and highly effective as a stereoscopic subject, being seen through a vista amongst houses and other buildings, and with numerous figures, and what artists call “stuff” happily disposed in the foreground.

 

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Sept. 15, vol. VI; #102, p. 226-228:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land.  No. V.

            The Convent of Saint Saba is one of the most singular places in the world.  Its origin is easily explained.  In early Christian days, when monarchism began to prevail, and when the idea gained ground in the Church that sanctity was to be attained by a hermit’s life, the Wilderness of Engeddi offered special inducements to the devotee.  It was, as it now is, a wild, bleak country; mountains broken up by deep ravines, destitute of food for man, almost destitute of food for wild beasts.  In the sides of the deep ravine of the Kedron were numerous small grottoes and caverns, in which many hermits took shelter.  Here was the cell of Saint Saba, a good and great man, who performed miracles.  Other cells were near.  Little platforms of rock were hewn out to connect one with the other.  The hermits formed a community, and at length began to build stone huts on the shelves of the rock.  Then wealthy men visited them, and began to build them chapels and rooms, clinging to the rocky hill-side.  So grew this marvelous building in mid-air, now looking as if it were growing up to heaven, and now as if it were falling down to the depths.  It now belongs to the Greek Church, and is inhabited by Greek monks.

            I presented a letter under a high window in the wall, and the basket was lowered to receive it.  A few moments later the small door in the wall was opened, and I passed in.

            The interior of the Convent is not worth describing.  There is the tomb of the saint, a cave full of hermit’s bones, a fine alterpiece by Murillo in the chapel, some curious old books in the library, and the usual cells of the monks.

            I accepted their hospitality for the night, much as I abhor a Greek convent.  The fleas in them are armed with the spears of the men of Marathon.  Thrice I composed myself to sleep that night, and three times I sprang from my couch to the middle of the floor, as a new troop of the blood-thirsty villains made an attack upon me.

            Think of me alone in that large guest-chamber, the moon shining down the ravine and into the windows, pacing up and down the room, shouting out an occasional stave of a song to keep up my spirits, and to keep down the ghosts of Saba and his followers.  My profane songs must have disturbed the vigils of the holy brethren; for two or three times I heard a sandaled foot-fool on the pavement outside, and saw a face too solemn and pale, even for a ghost’s face, at the window which opened on the little court next to the tomb of Saba.  I fear the monks repented them of their hospitality.

            Once, I believe, I fell asleep; for as I lay on the cushions, with my boots on, and my tarbouche  drawn down over my forehead, with a determination that I should bid defiance to fleas and all other midnight marauders, there cam stealing over my brain and heart a silence and a calm, delicious and holy, which I have not words to describe.  And then a dream took possession of my soul.  I was a boy, in the dear land of home:  the breath of a summer Sunday morning was on my forehead.  I walked down that shady lane where the elm-trees meet overhead, and the glory of the day scarcely prevails to reach the ground through the green leaves.  And then over the hills came, clear and musical, the bell from the old church on the green; and I walked on till I came to the church door, and the great bell pealed overhead as I went up among the graves; and so I passed on into the church, and ---

            How swift are the wings of our dreams.  I could have slept but an instant, and the convent- bell was ringing for a midnight mass, and I was awake again.  But I had dreamed gloriously!  I would go down to Saint Saba again to-night, spite of Bedouins and fleas, could I hope for such a dream once more.  I am a far wanderer, and it is long since my weary feet walked that old country road.

            I went into the dim chapel and prayed with the monks.  The scene was picturesque:  it reminded me of one of Daguerre’s wonderful dioramic pictures, The Midnight Mass; but I was sleepy.  Morning found me in the same condition.

            Pardon me for breaking off abruptly.  There is a terrible row outside among my Arabs, and I must go and see what is the matter!

            I was interrupted by an uproar outside my tent.  I had some misgivings as to the cause of it, as John had got into trouble some days previously with the Pasha’s soldiers, and I expected nothing less than that the hour of our annihilation had arrived.  I seized a pair of revolvers and rushed forth.  I found that the row among my Arabs was caused by the approach of a distinguished visitor, no less a person than Mohammed Bey, a wealthy and intelligent Turkish gentleman, resident in Damascus.  He had heard at Jerusalem that a necromantic infidel was pursuing his black art in the neighbourhood, so he came to see and judge for himself.  A great favourite everywhere among the Bedouins, his approach elicited shouts which were very unusual among my quiet guard.  I hastened to meet the Bey.  About a hundred yards from my tent stands the Pillar of Absalom, that melancholy memorial of a disobedient son, at which Jews, Turks, and Infidels, cast stones as they pass by.  Here the Bey halted; but as the rain was still pouring down, I invited him to take shelter in my tent, gave him a seat upon my bed, a pipe of Latakia, and—a cup of coffee.

            My distinguished guest spoke French fluently.  After a few hours the sun broke forth out of the western cloud-banks, and poured a flood of splendour over the minarets of Omar and Olivet.  The red masses, brilliant and sanguineous, went flying eastward to the wilderness, and the day went down, calm and clear, and beautiful, and I still sat talking with the best of Pashas and the most gentlemanly of Turks.

            With true oriental politeness he never alluded to the object of his visit.  But I had divined it; and to gratify him brought forth my portfolios and displayed the precious fruits of my photographic labours since my arrival in Palestine.  He eagerly scrutinized every picture, and after careful inspection, pronounced the name of each, and when I bowed in token of assent, his bright eye sparkled again, and the shadow of a smile played around his mouth.  This inspection over, I planted my camera at the door of the tent, and with the aid of a mirror let him view the mimic scene.  He was lost in wonder and admiration, but could not divest himself of the idea that the objects themselves were in the box.  And when a living object crossed the field of view, his perplexity was extreme.  Mashallah!  Mashallah! He cried, God is great!  I endeavoured to explain to him the nature of the instrument and the modus operandi of taking a picture; but as it was growing too late in the day to make an experiment, I invited him to come again in a few days, when I would go through the ceremony or incantation, as he called it.

            I had made a friend of the Pasha.  He evidently regarded me as a superior being, having powers till then unheard of in my hands.  He took his departure with many expressions of friendship and oriental compliments, which in modesty I cannot venture to pen.

            The Bey was punctual in his visit to-day.  He came with troops of friends and retainers, and I have had a pretty hard day’s work of it.  I had made extensive preparations; and among other items, was fortunate enough to procure a basket of champagne.  It happened to be our gracious Queen’s birthday, and I resolved to celebrate it after a fashion of my own.  My photographic operations were watched with intense eagerness—nay, with awe.  My guests evidently expected an explosion from my camera, and kept at a very respectful distance.  Business over the fun came next in order. It commenced by letting of some Chinese crackers, which created an immense diversion, but so alarmed my faithful Hasaan that he threw himself on the ground in a state of collapse.  John proposed that he should be revived with a glass of champagne, which being duly administered, soon produced the desired effect.  He asked for another, not with his tongue, but with his eyes, and it seemed to agree with him so well that we administered half a bottle.  We had not calculated its effect upon Hassan.  He soon grew uproarious, and performed some very singular antics which so amused the Bey that he laughed until the tears ran down his beard.

            I had provided a dinner for my guests.  It was served with the addition of wine.  The Bey had been in England, and understood “dinner,” and when his health was drank responded in an elegant and complimentary speech.  It was a curious scene.  His officers and servants crowded around, and watched with wistful eyes, the wine disappear down our irreligious throats.  But perhaps I ought not to call it wine, since they did not.  For some reason or another champagne is considered by most Moslems an allowable drink, and many worthy and intelligent men, like my friend the  Bey, who strictly refuse ordinary wine, drink champagne and sometimes brandy.

            The Bey is a keen observer of men, and though he drank freely there was no one of the party less affected by the wine than he.  Polite, affable, and dignfied, he was at the same time full of the spirit of the occasion, and was polite enough to say that he would like to dine in the company of Englishmen every day.

            While our little drama was being enacted beneath my tent a critical episode was taking place outside.  An extra half-dozen of champagne, set aside as a reserve, had been scented out by the Bey’s scribe and the Cadi who accompanied him:  they helped themselves, and I am sorry to say got most uproariously drunk.  The Bey was chagrined and angry at this breach of decorum on the part of his staff; but John smoothed the matter over, and took upon himself the rather difficult task of seeing the representative of the clergy of Isam to his tent in safety.

            I could not help laughing to see John helping the Mohammedan clergyman along that evening.  The worthy Turk depended heavily on John as he swung along, muttering sentences, not from the Koran, but such as would have subjected him to a fine from any British magistrate.  But it was our Queen’s birthday!

            Coffee was served, and we smoked and talked, and the hours sped along.  And how swiftly the hours fly over these Eastern skies!  Life seems not half long enough to enjoy wandering up and down the hills over which I have been so long a rover.

            With the night came silence!  In the moonlight we walked down the valley.  The fountain at the pool of Siloam murmured pleasantly, and we sat down beside it.  A troop of Bedouin horsemen came dashing up the valley, and paused before us.  The leader sprang to the ground as he recognised my guest, and pressed the Bey’s hand to his forehead and his lips, then silently remounted and rode on.  An owl flittered in the air overhead, and soon sent his sharp scream down from the caverns near Siloam village, across the valley; a dog on mount Zion answered with a bark, and the shrill cry of jackals above us on the hill of Acaldema rang up the valley of the sons of Hinnom.  So the nights of these later years pass with the city of the owl and the wail of the jackal over desolate Jerusalem.

            The day’s fun is over; the tents are closed, and the Arabs lie sleeping in the night air around.  I am the only living object moving about.  All is silent and calm.  I retire to my tent reluctantly, for there is a charm over the scene, from which I can hardly tear myself away; but the air is chill, and I know not what ill effects it may exercise upon my frame not yet inured to the climate.

            P.S.—Mohammed Bey has a head-ache this morning, and is a little repentant, as most people are after “dining out.”  I went to his tent to inquire after his health, and we renewed our vows of eternal friendship over a cup of coffee.  In my travels through life and the land of the Philistines, may I meet with no worse acquaintance than Mohammed Bey; I can hardly hope to meet a sincerer friend.  May his shadow never be less!  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Oct. 1,  vol. VI; #103, p. 241-243: 

[See also page 258 which contains corrections to the following report]

!!GET PAGE 242     

            Section A.  Celestial Photography.

            Celestial Photography.  By Warren De la Rue, F.R.S.

            Professor Bond, of Cambridge, in the United States, was, so far as I know, the first to make a photographic picture of a celestial body.  By placing a daguerreotype in the focus of the great refractor of the observatory of Cambridge, of fifteen inches aperture, he obtained a daguerreotype of our satellite.  This was, I believe, about the year 1850, as I remember seeing one of these pictures in the Exhibition of 1851, and was so charmed with it that I determined to try and do the like at the first opportunity.

            At the latter end of 1852 or the beginning of 1853 (the exact period I cannot not fix), I made some successful positive lunar photographs on a collodion film, I made some successful positive lunar photographs on a collodion film, by means of an equatorially-mounted reflecting telescope of thirteen inches aperture, and ten feet focal length, cast and polished by myself; and I believe I was the first to use the then newly-discovered collodion in celestial photography.  In taking these early photographs I was assisted by my friend Mr. Thornthwaite, who was familiar with the employment of that new medium.  At that period I had not applied any mechanical driving motion to the telescope, so that I waa [sic]  constrained to contrive some other means of following the moon’s apparent motion.  This I accomplished by hand, by means of a sliding frame.  The motion of the slide being adjusted to suit the apparent motion.  This I accomplished by hand, by means of a sliding frame.  The motion of the slide by hand, by means of a sliding frame.  The motion of the slide being adjusted to suit the apparent motion of our satellite, the pictorial image of the moon could be seen through the collodion film, and could be rendered immovable as regards the collodion plate, by causing one of the craters to remain always in contact with a broad wire, placed in the focus of a compound microscope, affixed at the back of the little camera-box which held the plate.  Although the photographs were taken under the disadvantage referred to, namely, the want of a driving motion, nevertheless the excellent results obtained showed how perfectly the hand may be made to obey the eye.

            I could not, however, proceed in taking photographs of the moon in this way alone, but required always the aid of an experienced coadjutor, willing to lose the greater part of his night’s rest, and often to be disappointed—failures resulting from the passage of clouds, and numberless impediments sufficient to damp the ardour of the most enthusiastic.  For some months Mr. Thornthwaite was so good as to continue his invaluable aid, and several good pictures were obtained by us; but the difficulties we had to contend with were so great, that, after taking a certain number of pictures, it was at last resolved to discontinue my experiments until such time as I had applied a driving motion to my telescope.  This was done early in 1857, since which period I have unremittingly followed up the subject whenever my occupation and the state of the atmosphere has permitted me to do so.  With what results, the Association will have an opportunity of judging by the examples now on the table.  (Mr. de la Rue exhibited several very fine lunar photographs, largely magnified, which were examined and much admired by not a few of those present.)

            Some  time after I had discontinued my experiments in 1853, Mr. Hartnup, of Liverpool, by himself, and aided by Mr. Crookes and other photographers, took some good pictures of the moon, as did also our excellent officer, Professor Phillips, Father Secchi at Rome, Mr. Fry, at Brighton, Mr. Hoggins, near London, have also produced lunar pictures.  It is almost needless to say that Professor Bond, of America, continued to follow up his researches in celestial photography with the great refractor; but I man mention how, that before his death he applied his process with promise of a fruitful future, in measuring the distances and angle of position of double stars, and in the determination of their magnitudes; and that of later years this new application appeared to have engaged his attention more than lunar photography.

            The mention of photography—one of the last applications of our art—reminds me that the image of such a heavenly body being of the most simple form, it would render what I shall here-after have to say more easily understood if I were at once to introduce to your notice what happens in applying photography to sidereal astronomy.  The optical image of a fixed star, be it remembered, is an optical point, which in consequence of the properties of light is seen in the telescope as a very minute disc surrounded by certain rings, which become fainter and fainter as they enlarge, these rings being always more or less broken up according to the state of the atmosphere; the photographic image, on the other hand, is a mere speck, difficult to find among other specks present in the most perfect collodion film, when viewed with a high magnifying power.

            Let us now suppose we have a telescope to be turned upon a Lyræ, which is conveniently situated, from its great altitude on the meridian, for photography, and is moreover sufficiently brilliant to give an instantaneous picture.  If the telescope be steadily supported at rest, the star will, in consequence of the earth’s rotation, come along the field of the telescope in a line parallel to the earth’s equator; and as it produces an instantaneous picture, the image obtained is a line indicating the path of the star, thus, for example, (Mr. De La Rue indicated the form of the image on the black board in this way, [line drawing]  and continued.)  We should be led to expect, à priori, that the line for the short distance it is made would appear straight; but so far from this being the case, the line is much broken up and disturbed, and consists of an immense number of points, crowded in some places and scattered in others, thus—[a 2^nd line drawing]

This arises from disturbances in our own atmosphere, which cause the optical image to flit before the eye, which nevertheless can make out the proper figure of the image, although it dances before it several times in a second, and the mind is able to select and remember only the states of most perfect definition.  The photographic plate, however, remembers and records all the disturbances, and hence presents as a result a number of positions of the point of light, and consequently a less beautiful picture than we see optically.

            In the foregoing remarks it was supposed that the telescope was at rest; but now let us suppose that the telescope is mounted on an axis parallel with the earth’s axis, and provided with a driving apparatus, capable of carrying the telescope round in the direction of the star’s apparent path, so equally, that if viewed by a micrometer eyepiece, the star would remain in contact with one of the wires of the eyepiece.  The photographic image of a star obtained by a telescope, under these conditions, after some seconds’ exposure, is not one clear disc or point, but a conglomeration of points, extending over a greater or less surface, according as the atmosphere produces a greater or less flickering.

            A photographic image of a star, after an exposure of some seconds, is consequently a disc of comparatively large dimensions in comparison with the true image which can be really seen on the plate.  It will readily be seen, that as a single point like a fixed star acquires comparatively large dimensions on a sensitized plate exposed for some seconds to its action, so must every-optical point in an image of other celestial objects from the same cause occupy a space of greater or less dimensions; hence the photographic image will never be so perfect as the optical image given by the same telescope until we can produce pictures of all objects instantaneously, and we are a long way from this desirable end at present.

            GET PAGE 242

Which showed the progress of these spots across the sun’s disc, and the remarkable changes they had undergone during the intervals.  The photographs also rendered evident the faculœ or bright spots on the sun.  By taking advantage of the change of position of the sun’s spots in the interval of one day, Mr. De la Rue had produced some stereoscopic views of the sun, by grouping together two photographs taken at that interval.

            The President of the Section, Lord Rosse, added some observations on the method of obtaining lunar photographs; and in relation to experiments made by himself, remarked that the results, so far as he had gone, were not nearly equal to those produced by Mr. De La Rue.  He agreed entirely with Mr. De La Rue as to his use of a reflecting telescope; and also felt sure he had hit upon the right method of procedure in many of the very nice contrivances he had described to them.

            The Rev. T. Chevalier remarked upon the interesting question of how to get rid of the great inconvenience of excess of light in taking photographs of the sun; and alluded to the experiments of M. Porro to overcome this difficulty by the application of polarized light for the purpose of getting the image.

            There being a great deal of business for that day before the Section the discussion had to be broken off.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Oct. 1,  vol. VI; #103, p. 245-246:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land.  No. VI.

            A few days ago we rode down to Jericho and the Jordan by the road over the Mount of Olives, through Bethany, and thence among wild hills.  This seems to be the ancient road, and I cannot in my rides fine another which would throw doubt on this idea.  Doubtless this is the path which the Saviour alluded to when he related the parable of the Good Samaritan, and which he often passed over.

            Travelling in the Holy Land must be done entirely in the saddle.  The pace is always a walk, and the distance traveled in a day is seldom more than twenty miles.  This is when women and children are concerned.  For my part I cannot submit to this snail’s pace, but like to fly as swiftly as the swiftest of Arabian horses can carry me.  A free rein, a knee pressed firmly in the saddle, a keen eye and a cool head, are all that is required to make me equal to a Bedouin Arab on horseback.

            I came here under the idea that I should taste freedom, the freedom of the desert, and I turn my horse’s head as it suits me, now here, now there, taking my chance of finding a bed, or at least sleep in the Arab’s tents, and I can even take my rest when the black tent is inaccessible.

            I started off early in the morning.  Our tents were struck at daybreak.  The Valley of Jehosaphat had a deserted appearance, desolate and mournful, as it usually is, when I looked into it from the winding road that goes around the eastern side of Mount Olivet, and I missed the familiar home that I had occupied so many days.  We went through Bethany at a gallop, and were soon in a dark ravine among the hills, down which our course lay.  We got lost, but how it happened I know not; but we did get lost, and that too in the worst of roads, celebrated for its thieves now as of old.

            We passed the night in a queer place.  I think it must have been once a castle of the Crusaders.  It is a fine ruin, crowning a lofty hill, and commanding a vast prospect.  No foot of civilised man can have been in it, except it be of wanderers like ourselves, for centuries.  Seeing it from a distance, I pressed forward to it as the night fell, crossing three of the deepest ravines and as many sharp ridges before I reached it.

            In the grand court of this old castle we found a pile of dry brushwood, to which we helped ourselves.  It had doubtless been collected by the Bedouin women.  If ever I met them I will pay them.  In a little while we had a blazing fire in the chief room of the old building.  I call it room, for such it once was, though now the floor is turf and the roof is sky.  The scene would do to paint but would make nothing as a photograph.  I slept soundly under the side of a rock, a long stone which had once done duty in the wall, but now served as a wind breaker to a houseless wanderer.  John grumbled occasionally, but upon the whole we did well  I have seen worse quarters.

            In the morning we found the road, striking it near a ruined khan, and in three hours’ time opened that splendid landscape, the Valley of the Jordan and the Dead Sea.  Far down below us it smiled like a valley of heaven, rather than the deep sunken place of the curse of God.

            The solitary tower which marked the site of the village of E’Rihah [sic], the sole representative of old Jericho, was visible in the plain.  The gorge of the brook Cherith on our left went plunging down and down to the valley, where it was spanned by two ruined stone bridges of ancient days.  All was grand, magnificent, and solemn around us; all was exceedingly beautiful, calm, and glorious beyond, even to the mountains of Moab, that rose majestic across the Jordan.

            We descended rapidly to the plain, emerging from the gorge of the brook on a high platform, which occupied the western side of the valley.  This let us slowly down to the true valley level, and a gallop of half-a-mile to the northward brought us to the Fountain of the Sultan, where we pitched our tents.

            The fountain, a noble gushing stream, is doubtless that healed by Elisha, when its waters were bitter.  It lies a mile or more from the modern village, the representative of ancient Jericho.  I think it probable, however, that the ancient city was near the fountain; for ruins of old building lie scattered here and there all along the hillside.  The high bluff of the mountains which overlook the fountain is dignified by tradition as the place of the termination of the forty days’ temptation in the wilderness, and the high hill whence the Saviour saw the kingdoms of the world and the glory thereof.

            Jericho is a desolation.  It lies a prostrate as when the walls fell before the trumpets of the children of Israel; nor from that fall to the present day has any man, king or slave, prevailed to build again the accursed city.  Herod’s city was not on the site of the ancient Jericho, but nearer the mountains.  The plain is four or five miles broad between the hills and the Jordan.

            Early in the afternoon we were in the saddle, and rode at a gallop across the plain to the sacred river, reaching it at the spot where the pilgrims come annually to bathe and wash away their sins.  It is a sight well worth coming thus far to see.

            The pilgrims who throng Jerusalem at Easter are chiefly Armenians, though there are many Latins and Greeks.  They form a vast assembly, and one of the requirements of the pilgrimage is a bath in the Jordan, and a dipping therein of certain garments wherein they expect to be buried.  Indeed this is the great end of the pilgrimage.  Hence the camp-ground of the pilgrims and the scene at the river are among the most interesting views that a travelling artist can take away with him.

            If the Jordan could so wash away sin, I am a clean man, soul and body; for I have bathed seven times in its icy water.  It comes down cold and fierce from Lebanon and the Sea of Galilee, and its waves are as chilly as the waves of that river it is so often made to typify.

            Perhaps I have lost the blessings of the Jordan by my many dips in the Sea of Death.  I cannot now stop to describe the Jordan Valley nor the Dead Sea.  We rode down to the shore of the sea in the twilight”  Hassan was anxious lest the Bedouins of the Ghor should take the night to attack us, for we had paid no tribute, and were therefore proper prey.  I had invited the Sheik of the Ghor, however, to meet me in the evening, intending to pacify him with an appropriate backsheesh; but he might be impatient, and it was hardly safe to trust ourselves out after dark in the valley.

            We flew like lightning across the dry dusty plain, over which the Jordan had but lately swept in its spring overflow—pausing on the shore of the Sea of Death only long enough to taste its bitter waters, and to see the long black shadows of the mountains of Engeddi stealing over and taking possession of the sea, with a pomp that signified how totally it was given over to darkness and the powers thereof—over the plain to our tents by the Fountain of Elisha.

            The Sheik of the Ghor Bedouins and a dozen of his tribe were waiting for us at the camp fire.  Wild, fierce, and fiendish did they verily appear in the flickering light.  But the Jordan Arabs have not had such a feast for years as I gave them.  I had a sheep killed, and they ate like lords (lords eat only mutton in the East); and when they were filled to satisfaction, I made a compact with them, then and there, swearing eternal amity between all the Bedouins who inhabit the Valley of the Jordan and all the followers of the high and glorious Sheik of Lancashire who shall henceforth visit the valley aforesaid.  Much good may it do you, oh traveler!  But be warned:  if you do not make treaties on your own account with mutton and with money, the hounds of Ishmaelites will take no evidence that you are included in former treaties, except such evidence as you may be able to give out of the muzzles of your revolvers.

            The next day I loitered around the head of the Dead Sea.  Shall I repeat to you the often-told stories of its strange character?  How it floated me high up when I bathed, and stung me furiously in my eyes, and in every pore of my skin with its sharp acrid salts?  I was glad to wash off the glistening salt which a morning bath left on my skin, by dipping myself for the eight time in the Jordan.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Oct. 15,  vol. VI; #104, p. 252:

            [Extracted from Editorial leader] …

            Perhaps the most generally interesting paper of all that were read at the late British Association Meeting upon photographic matters, in a popular point of view, was that of Mr. Warren De la Rue On Celestial Photography.  We say popular, not because it was any the less scientific than the others—as we regret to say is the case with most attempts to render science popular—but because it is one in which everybody can feel an interest, whether photographers or not.  Some of the most striking facts to which our attention has been directed in this paper are:-- the much greater difficulty experienced by the delineator of celestial objects than falls to the lot of one who operates only upon those terrestrial; the ingenious arrangement proposed to vary the rate of motion of the clock movement to the telescope at will, viz.—the introduction of the disc and plate motion; and a fact that we regard as of considerable importance to photographers, the much smaller loss of actinic power by reflection than we should be led to anticipate from a knowledge of the amount of deterioration of the visible rays.  This should not be lost sight of, as it may be useful to remember when contriving certain pieces of apparatus hereafter.  That the full moon should be capable of impressing its image photographically more rapidly than when in part illuminated, might of course be anticipated by any one who considers the subject, because in the latter case the solar rays fall upon the satellite obliquely to the spectator, instead of perpendicularly, as in the former; but how few of us are likely to have thought about it until; we had tried the experiment and wanted an explanation for the phenomenon observed!

            Lastly the description of the photo-heliograph employed at the Kew Observatory for recording, by means of photography, the appearance of the sun’s disc and the progress of the spots across it, will no doubt have been of interest to every reader.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Oct. 15, vol. VI; #104, p.252:

            Photographic Contributions to Art.

            It is with no small amount of pleasure that we have felt called upon to notice from time to time, under the above heading, some very meritorious productions of photographic skill.  Every week now furnishes fresh evidence of the important aid afforded by it towards the development of art, and we will cite one or two instances that have recently come under observation.

            In the Suffolk Street Gallery there was exhibited a painting called The Mother’s Hope.  It was not difficult to see that the artist had been “ploughing with another man’s heifer.”  It may perhaps be borne in mind that a series of groups, illustrative of The Seven Ages, by Mr. Rejlander, was exhibited in the last collection of the Photographic Society (in the same locality by the way), one of the groups being, “The infant mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms,” a group which, if we remember rightly, was laid under heavy condemnation by a bashful critic, upon the ground of its having offended the sense of propriety of a prudish old maid at the soirée held in the exhibition room.  Now “The Mother’s Hope” is drawn precisely after the model of this group; the general arrangement, the baby in the lap, &c., all being exactly the same, the chief variation consisting in the infant smiling instead of playing the part that Shakspeare had set down for him.

            Would any of our readers like to have ocular demonstration, let them procure a copy of the Illustrated London News for the 27^th August last, and they will find therein a woodcut taken from the painting.

            We are not asserting that the application of the idea is not legitimate, any more than if the artist had seen the group in nature and reproduced it; but we do assert emphatically that it is a convincing proof of the valuable aid that artists may derive from photography, and we must put in a claim for a small share of the credit being justly due to Mr. Rejlander.

            While on this subject we may remark, en passant, that the attempted reproduction by woodcuts are not always so happy as in the present instance; witness the awful caricature of Mr. Robinson’s Fading Away which was perpetrated some time back without the consent or knowledge of the artist.

            We have also heard of another painting having been sold early in the present year, which was copied altogether from one of Mr. Rejlander’s photographs, being a Gamekeeper and a Peasant, with basket and other accessories.

            The facts speak for themselves; and Mr. Rejlander, like a sensible man as he is, instead of grumbling at being made useful to others without his permission being first obtained, has turned his attention to the means of affording a supply of his compositions at a very cheap rate, while still maintaining their original excellence.  In order to accomplish this object he has been making experiments in copying his original compositions by means of his Petzval lens, and with such success that few, if any, would find out that they were copies at all, as they possess all the roundness and brilliancy of the originals.

            There are many, very many, who would be delighted to possess a good specimen of the first proof from many negatives exhibited by this artist—the Two Ways of Life—but who are unable to afford the luxury of a large proof, while the smaller copies as heretofore produced, though possessing all the same grouping and outline, were far below the larger ones in brilliancy.  Now, however, they may freely indulge their desire, for Mr. Rejlander has succeeded in producing from his best original a miniature negative retaining all the beauty and exhibiting none of the grain of the paper.  The result is truly beautiful, and we strongly advise all lovers of our art to send for a copy, which will cost but a trifle, and well satisfy them.

            The Wayfarer and God Speed Him have been treated in like manner, and should the public appreciate the efforts thus made to meet their wants, no doubt other compositions will be forthcoming also.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Oct. 15,  vol. VI; #104, p. 258:

[Corrections to article Oct. 1, p. 241-243]

            Celestial Photography.

            We have received the following note from our friend Mr. De la Rue; and though the corrections given below are rather amendments of awkward phraseology employed, consequent upon the hasty manner in which reporter’s notes are of necessity taken, than upon matters of fact, we the more readily insert them because of the very interesting nature of the paper itself, which we are anxious to make as complete as possible:--

                                                            110, Bunhill Row, London, E.C., October 3^rd, 1859.

            My Dear Sir,--I have sent you by this post a copy of your Journal with corrections of your reporter’s account of my communication.  It is wonderfully faithful, and gives a good summary of my paper, which I curtailed considerably in reading, in order to allow of other communications being read in section A, before which there were a great many papers on the day I gave an account of my doings.

                                                                        Yours very sincerely,

     George Shadbolt, Esq.                                           Warren De La Rue

[NOTE:  Of necessity, the columns and lines listed below do not match this transcription, but the text is still locatable]

                                                CORRECTIONS

PAGE  COLUMN       LINE                           FOR                                        READ

241      1^st                    last                              Mr. Hoggins                           Mr. Huggins

“          2^nd                   9^th from top                 of photography                       of stellar photography

“          “                      18^th “      “                   rings being always                  rings are always.

“          “                      23^rd “      “               a telescope to be turned      a suitable telescope turned.

“          “                      28^th “      “                   come                                       course.

“          “                      10^th from bot.              which                                      and.

242      1^st                    4^th & 5^th from top        one second                              two seconds.

“          “                      14^th from top               size                                          image.

“          “                      16^th “        “                 them                                        the photographs.

“          “                      17^th “        “                 good copies                             good positive copies.

“          “                      27^th “        “                 notation                                   rotation.

“          “                      31^st  from bot.             reflected.  I have         reflected without some contri-

                                                                        however within           vance for removing the small

                                                                                                            mirror.  I have within.

“          “                      24^th   “      “                 began                                      begun.

“          “                      20^th  “       “                 Steenheil’s                              Steinheil’s.

“          “                      16^th  “       “                 place                                       plane.

“          2^nd                   1^st from top                 Portraits                                  Portions.

“          “                      4^th   “      “                   hence                                       therefore.

“          “                      26^th “      “                   libration, in               libration, and its librations, in

“          “                      40^th “      “                   taken                                       exhibited.

“          “                      30^th from bot.              enclosed by a ring       encircled by its rings.

243      1^st                    5^th from top                 one day                       one, two, or three days.

“          “                      7^th    “     “                   the interval                 those intervals.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Oct. 15,  vol. VI; #104, p. 258-259:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land.  No. VII.

            We remained four days in the Jordan valley.  On the morning of the fifth a pleasing incident occurred which is worth relating.  We rode down to the Jordan at the pilgrim’s bathing place—the spot where it is said Christ was baptised—and we stood on the bank, watching the flow of the river, while I described to John the amusing scene I had witnessed on my previous visit, when the pilgrims were rushing in, and bathing and dipping their shrouds in the sacred stream.  The appearance of the river was different now.  Its calm flow, the still and lonely banks, the soft gush of the holy water, were unlike that scene when pilgrims of all nations thronged it and sought purity in its stream.

            As we stood there, lost in contemplation, a shout from across the river, in pure English, startled us.

            --“Who goes there?”

            Think of an Anglo Saxon salutation in the land of the Moabites!  Who think you it proceeded from?  From John’s next door neighbour and most intimate friend.  He was with a party who had come down from Jerusalem the day previous, camped at the head of the Dead Sea, and were now riding up the Valley, having forded the Jordan to say that they had been on the other side.  Catching sight of us, they had hailed us in their own tongue.  The meeting was joyful, and we passed the morning together.  They went back to the Holy City in the afternoon, while we struck our tents and rode over to Saint Saba’s in the wilderness, where we passed the night in the ravine outside the convent walls.  I had tried the inside once and that was enough for me.

            The next day we rode to Bethlehem, and slept in the convent that night, and thence came by the pools of Solomon down to Hebron.

            The road from Jerusalem to Hebron lies by Bethlehem.  As John desired to see the mosque of Machpelah, I of course accompanied him, and secured a good picture.  Therefore I date this letter from the city of Abraham.  Possibly me tent is pitched on the identical ground that was occupied by his tent, when the promises were made to him which had their fulfillment in the glorious history of his children—which are yet to have their further fulfillment in the future history of that despised but powerful race, whose children are more numerous to-day than in any former generation, and who are steadily and constantly surpassing the host of heaven in number.

            Here, where my tent is pitched, the angels came.  Here the patriarch began his weary travel to the hill Moriah, where Isaac was to be sacrificed.  Here the story of Hagar had its origin.  Here Ishmael and Isaac buried the Father of the Faithful.

            The mosque of Machpelah, a Mohammedan building, is jealously closed against Christians and Jews.  Rumour has it that last year three American gentlemen and a lady succeeded in effecting a partial entrance, but before they had accomplished their object the citizens, having got wind of it, assembled and surrounded the mosque with hideous shouts, bringing out the travelers, the gentlemen with revolvers in their hands, and that they escaped with their lives only by exhibiting their weapons and evincing a willingness to use them.

            The cave of Machpelah is one of those places around which the most interesting of all associations linger.  No race of civilised men exists to whom the burial-place of the patriarchs has not more or less interest. [sic]

            That there is a cave under this great mosque on the hill side in Hebron cannot be doubted.  It is a large dark cavern, described more or less minutely by two or three travelers who profess to have seen it.  My own Arabs, who go in and out of the mosque freely, speak of it as a vast cavern, into which no one is allowed to enter, and they know nothing of its contents.  As usual in Moslem countries there are a dozen small tumuli, like rude graves, or something of that sort, in the open court of the mosque, and nothing more.  These are named after the various patriarchs and their wives, who “rest in peace.”

            Hebron is a scattered city, in a long and somewhat winding but very fertile valley.  In the lower part of the town are two ancient pools, doubtless the same spoken of in the Bible, over one of which David hung the murderers of Saul’s son.

            In the city are some three or four glass-making establishments, but on a small scale, affording employment to not more than twenty hands each.  Most of the labourers are employed in the fertile fields of the Valley of Eschol, whose vineyards are as rich and grand as of old.  The streets are narrow, dark, and very filthy.  The great mosque stands on the edge of the lower part of the city, nearly surrounded by houses.

            The locality of Hebron has never been lost, and the Cave of Machpelah cannot be mistaken.

            I am always falling into scrapes, and my usual luck attended me here.

            Accompanied by Hassan I strolled through the town in search of eligible photographic sites.  There are some parts of every city on earth into which if a stranger goes he will be likely to fall into trouble.  But Hebron is all alike in this respect.  My ignorance of Arabic was my protection in this as in former instances.  I found myself penned literally in a corner.  About thirty of the rascally Hebronites had surrounded me, and I took refuge in the sharp angle of two houses and stood at bay, with a revolver in each hand, ready to fight it out.  Hassan had run out of the city gate as fast as his legs could carry him, to look for John, shouting “Howajji Yehyeh!” and soon returned with my formidable friend, running in double quick time.

            One of the rascals had taken up a stone, as big as his fist, to throw at me.  I immediately covered him with my revolver, when my eye caught sight of John’s felt wide-awake.

            “I say John, just tell that yellow-skinned rascal that if he don’t drop that stone in three seconds, I’ll drop him!”

            The successor of Ishmael had not appreciated the danger of his position until John explained it, and then he and the stone fell together. He was utterly astounded at the danger he had escaped, and the more so when I gave them a little specimen of the man they had to deal with.  John assured them that I carried in my hands and pockets the lives of half Hebron, and that he had the other half in his.

            “Show them a little sharp-shooting, parson,” said he, taking off a dirty tarbouche from the head of a boy, and tossing it into the air.  Crack went my revolver, and down came the cap with two holes in it.  “Mashallah!” shouted a dozen voices.  John gave it back to the boy with some coppers to pay for mending the holes in it.  The crowd respectfully withdrew and allowed John and myself to walk off unmolested.

            “How did it happen, parson?”

            “I really don’t know!  These dogs don’t understand my tongue and I dont understand their’s and mistakes are natural.  I was rambling down a street, and lost my way:  hailed an old fellow with beard and turban, and when he went by me without replying I overhauled; he yelled; thought perhaps I was Stan:  his townsmen came to his rescue, cornered me, and the temptation to fight it out was irresistible when you came up.”

            If ever you expect to visit Moslem lands, let me beg, if you value your peace of mind and sanity of body, not to go without some such stalwart champion as my friend John Weston.  It is impossible to avoid getting into difficulties; and a Moslem mob is very daring in the presence of a solitary infidel, whereas two are almost as good as twenty.  We never go out without two six-shot revolvers a-piece, and as we never miss aim or fire, there’s a couple of dozen foes hors de combat; and sometimes John carries three with him, making thirty-six shots in all.  Verily, eastern travelers are very much indebted to Mr. Colt for his invention.

            A mile or so up the valley from Hebron is a vast tree, said to be the Oak of Abraham, whereof there are various traditions.  It is a fine large terebinth tree, venerable enough looking to pass for a contemporary of the Father of the Patriarchs; but, if the truth were known, I suppose it would prove not more than four or five hundred years old.  I little way from this, on the road to Jerusalem, are ruins called the house of Abraham, where the Moslems say his dwelling stood.  They are probably the remains of a mediaeval church or convent.

            I have spoken of the glass factories of Hebron.  These manufacture scarcely anything but small bottles and rude glass beads and bracelets—the latter being mere bands of coarse coloured glass, but they form a great item in the trade of Holy Land, and passing caravans distribute them from Cairo to Damascus.

            S evening fell on this old valley, so soon as I had been rescued by friend John, we took our seat in our tent door, imitating the father of Isaac, and waiting for angels.  With the starlight they came, the angels of peace and joy—delicious memories of home!

            One by one the grand events in the history of that valley of Mamre passed before us.  The scenery of Abraham’s life, his purchase of a grave, his death and kingly burial, the life of Isaac, the strife of Jacob and Esau, the burial of their father, the royal pageant that came up from Egypt to bury Jacob—then scenes in the life of David when he held court in Hebron, and then—even as we sat together and talked, while the stars shone on us, and a moonlight that Leah might have loved, silvered the minaret above her tomb, we grew silent and heard—I heard—the lapse along its banks of the sedgy Ouse, far away, and the voice of one beloved; and wrapping my cloak about me, and falling back on my camp bed, I slept calm, deep, and blesses sleep.

            Once in the night I awoke.  A low murmur of voices outside the tent had disturbed my visions of far lands.  The door curtain was raised as I had left it, and I could see Hassan and his followers sitting around the camp fire, their eyes flashing in the changeful light as they watched the dark hours through.  I knew that he would not sleep till I arose in the morning, so I lay back, and with my eyes fixed on the strange group, lost consciousness, and slept again.  Now my dreams were troubled and I awoke at dawn.

            As the run rose I walked out on the hill back of the Quarantine Station, and breathed the fresh south air that came up from the desert.  Hassan followed me, and begged me to go down to Wady Mousa and the Rock City.  It is but four or five days gallop from Hebron, and we could do it easily, he said, and his people would rejoice to welcome us among the Alaween.  The temptation was great, but I decided for the present to postpone a visit to the valley of Moses.

            So here in the morning, on the plains of Mamre, I have added this letter to the pile in my folio, waiting an opportunity of forwarding them to you.  When will the East have its Rowland Hill?  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Nov. 1,  vol. VI; #105, p. 270-271:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land.  No. VIII.

            I returned to Jerusalem four days ago, for it seems impossible to tear one’s self away from this hallowed spot, and I linger and linger, even while I know that the longer I stay the less inclined I shall become to depart.

            The morning had scarcely broke over the high eastern hills, when a terrible hubbub among my followers startled me from my sleep.  No matter how confused one’s ideas are in being suddenly aroused from sleep, the instinct of self-preservation is always paramount.  I seized a pair of revolvers, and without waiting to dress ran out to seek the cause of the disturbance.

            I have, I think, told you how John had got into trouble with some of the Pasha’s soldiers, and in his summary way had pitched one of them down a vault.  Out of that little episode the present adventure was born.

            Three of the resident Pasha’s officers with a dozen soldiers had seized on Hassan and his men, on my cook, and in fact on all my retinue they could lay hands upon.  Me, you know they could not arrest, for in Turkish countries Franks are protected against it, except by their own consuls or consular agents.  It was in vain for the soldier whom John had assaulted to make any complaint against my friend; but he could reach us through our servants, and the lying knave had complained of them as accessories to the assault.  Hence the present hubbub.  I have no doubt in my own mind that the guard had told the truth, but this arrest was an invention of an officer of the pasha’s, whose skill at extracting backsheesh out of travelers is well known.  The plot had been hatched out during our absence.  I was not precisely in the dress to appear dignified as I emerged from the tent among my captive followers; but clothing is a small matter in the East, and to an Oriental, accustomed to the various dresses of Arabs, sheiks, dervishes, and holy men, I supposed I presented as impressive an appearance in fluttering linen as I should have done in coat and trowsers.

            I hears John’s stentorian voice,

            “Who are you? And what are you about?”

            When you have heard seven Arab voices running over all the keys of the East—and there are several more octaves than you ever dreamed of—you will have some approximation of the confusion of tongues at Babel.

            An insolent reply from the officer was all John got to his question, and I can scarcely venture to guess what would have followed but for my appearance with the revolvers.  A significant pause ensued, for a pious horror of Frankish weapons possesses the Arabs soul; and of late years the idea has gained ground that a Frank does not much care who, what, or why he shoots—from which idea, carefully maintained by those whose duty it is to maintain it, much good to the traveler may result.

            “God is great!  If the Effendi will listen---”

            “I will listen to nothing!  Let go your hold of Mustapha Achmed Barikat!  How dare you touch my cook—son of a starved hound!—when the breakfast is but half ready?  Do you now know the penalty of interrupting an Englishman at his breakfast?”

            A continuous thunder of abuse brought the unlucky officer to his senses and his hand to his forehead, while he politely begged permission to execute his orders, which were to bring our attendants before the Pasha, who held court on the site of Pilate’s house, within St. Stephen’s gate.  We yielded them all except our cook and one man, who served breakfast as rapidly as possible, and then followed us to the court of this high and mighty Pasha, of more or less tails, I dont [sic] yet know how many.

            As we were entering the gate of the city we met our American friends coming out.  They turned round with us, so that we made a respectable cavalcade with our horses, mules, and donkeys, as we entered the door-way of the House of Judgment.

            His excellency was comforting himself with a shee shee (or water pipe) and the converse of a friend.  As our party entered I did not at first recognise his companion, but the next moment I was in the arms of Mohammed Bay, who, I supposed, had returned to Damascus more than a week ago.

            He presented me to the Pasha with infinite respect, and our business was dispatched in an instant.  The wily officer who had planned the attack was frightened out of his senses, and, by the way, he put down his feet as he walked.  I could see that the leathern thong was in his soul:  in fact, this high and distinguished governor begged to be permitted to evince his affection for his friend and the friend of Mohammed Bey by whipping somebody then and there.  Of course we politely declined the favour.  But the Pasha was not easily satisfied.  He proffered various services; and if he could have identified the soldier who had dared to call a respectable traveler “Christian dog!” I verily believe he would have laid violent hands upon him, and buried him alive in the pit into which friend John threw him.

            Business ended, we talked awhile, and then ascended to the top of the house, and looked at the sacred enclosure from that commanding position.  We remained up there half-an-hour.  I reserve a description of it for another letter, since I have an engagement with Sheik Mohammed, the principal sheik of the mosque, to visit the interior some day, and thoroughly explore it.

            When we came out of the Pasha’s house we paused a little while just inside St. Stephen’s Gate, to look down into that vast pit or pool, which is commonly called the Pool of Bethesda.  I will not venture an opinion on what it really is. It is by some supposed to be the remains of the trench which guarded the north wall of the tower of Antonia, and the temple area.  It is still the northern boundary of that space, and is overhung on the south by the high walls enclosing the Harem or sacred place.  Two arched vaults open in it, leading up under the Governor’s residence; but these are quite choked up with stones and rubbish.  It is at best, then, one of the mysterious relics of ancient Jerusalem, which we look upon with profound and melancholy interest.  Around it stand tottering walls, and all the signs of desolation that sadden the Holy City.  Minarets are standing pointing heavenward here and there near the lonely pool; but no angel descends to move the waters—no sick man finds healing in the floor—no Saviour approaches to bid the weak and weary sons of men rise up and walk.

            A mysterious sadness grows upon me as I linger about Jerusalem.  All is so mournful, so inexpressibly solemn.  The very sunshine on these crumbling walls is unlike sunlight elsewhere and has no cheer, no gladness in its beams.  I lingered all the morning within the gate—clambered into the dry basin of the pool—gathered some flowers from its sides—and listened like an old man while John and his friends talked, as it seemed to me, like children.  And then we walked together down the hill into the valley; passed the tomb of the Virgin Mary, and the wall of the Garden of the Passion, till we came to the monolith, known as Absalom’s Pillar.  Here we sat down on the pile of stones that has accumulated around the monument—for every passer-by hurls a stone at the monument of the disobedient son—and the sun traveled westward.  When shall the succession of morning, noon, and starlight over down-trodden Jerusalem have an end?  When will God call Zion from desolation, and give to Salem the blessing of peace?

            Are you not tired of my notes from this sad city?  There is nothing to write about but ruin and its story, decay and its memorials.  And yet I feel at times a pride—a tenderness mingled with a majestic pride—as I look down from the side of Olivet on the City of the Great King, for I know that the Lord will build Jerusalem, and I thank Him that my eyes have seen her even in her desolation.  We may not live to see it, but the elders that carry the saint’s prayers bear many vials full of those that beg the restoration of the scepter of Judah; and the day cometh—the day will come!  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Nov. 15,  vol. VI; #106, p. 285-286:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land.  No. IX.

            More than two weeks have elapsed since I last wrote to you, and I am still lingering around Jerusalem.  But I have not been idle, as my portfolio will show; for I have been beyond the Jordan for a week, and among the hills of Moab, on the east side of the Dead Sea, and photographed many interesting scenes.

            “Parson,” said John, “Parson, I can’t stand this; let’s be off, down to Nablous.  I’ve had enough of this place; and so should you, I think.”   “Nonsense, friend John; I have not half done.  Besides, we must wait here a week for our letters that will be due.”

            “We can come back for them!”

            The idea was not a bad one.  It was dull enough, truly, and getting warm.  A daily stroll over Mount Zion, and along the hill Acra, by the Church of the Sepulchre; an evening seat on the summit of the Mount of Olives, to watch the sun go down beyond the city; a profound sleep, with dreams of old glories all night—these were the daily variations of my photographic business, and for these I was willing to exchange a ride over the hills on the north of Jerusalem.

            So we went.

            Mounting at day-break, we emerged from the Damascus gate in the cold grey light of dawn, and crossed Mount Scopus as the sun was shedding splendour on the eastern walls of the city.

            Our troop of Bedouins was in fine spirits.  They had been begging us to move northward, and were not aware that this was but a ride and a return.

            We slaked our thirst at the Well of Beeroth, if I mistake not the ancient name—a fine fountain on the south side of the hills which were once the site of Bethel.

            The sun was high up when we passed the place of Jacob’s sleep, and we paused not till late in the afternoon.  The road was miserable nearly every inch of the way.  The hardihood of our Arabian horses is incredible.  One-fourth of this day’s labour would have knocked up the best horses of any other breed.  But we rode into the valley of Nablous almost as fresh as when we left Jerusalem, though it was a ten hours’ ride.

            Three times on the route we passed the spots where our friends had encamped.  Can I speak adequately of the interest which such a spot possesses?  A still valley—a place where the breezes seem to linger with delight—is made far more interesting by the fact that a little while ago it was the home of some pilgrim from far lands, whose tent was pitched here—who slept, and dreamed, and woke, and prayed here, and passed on, and left the valley for me to come into, and wonder who he was, and where and whither his pilgrimage.

            We rode up the valley till we came to a spot where another valley crossed it from the west to the east.  This latter is the Valley of Shechem.  At the point of crossing it is one of the most interesting places in this holiest land of earth. 

Its interest dates from remote time.  It was here that Jacob digged a well, and here gave to Joseph a piece of land.  The title to that little piece of land has changed hands often since then, and would be now somewhat difficult to trace; but passing over unknown and obscure owners, it is not to be doubted that this is the land of Joseph.  Here, too, was his grave.  The Moslems have a rude mud-and-stone structure enclosing one of their common graver mounds, which they point out as the tomb of the lord of Egypt.  It stand out in the plain, and without doubt, is on the land of Joseph; and I know no reason to deny that it may with some fitness be considered near the locality of his grave.

A little way from it, on the side of Mount Gerizim, is the Well of Jacob, where Christ met the Samaritan woman.  He was traveling up the valley from Jerusalem, and arrived at this spot, where He rested while His disciples went up the side valley to make purchases in the city, and awaited their return.  The side valley is a ravine between Mount Gerizim on its south and Mount Ebal on its north—the mountains of blessing and cursing.  Both are desolate and uninteresting.  The valley is fruitful, and the grain on its fields looks well.

Turning sharply round the spur of Mount Gerizim we rode at an easy gallop towards the walls of Nablous, which is the modern representative of ancient Shechem.  Rattling through the city, cursed by women and boys who scampered out of our furious way, we found the tents of our friends pitched on the usual travellers’ camp-ground, just without the walls on the west side of the city.  They were absent, so we took possession sans ceremonie.

Their servants obeyed our orders without hesitation, and in fifteen minutes we had a smoking dinner on the tent table, flanked by a bottle of claret, to which we were doing justice, when they returned from making a visit, and were greatly astonished to find their tent and dinner in possession of the Philistines.

But not displeased, if we may believe them.

            What a delightful evening we had of it, all going down the valley together to the Well of Jacob!  The moonlight was clear and fine for two or three hours, and the old mountains lifted their heads into a serene sky, as if they had something akin to it in their own antiquity and the grandeur of their story.

            The scene was picturesque.  We were all on horseback.  Our Bedouins rode in two bodies—one before, the other behind us.

            We seated ourselves at the well, and made the night musical without discourse of the loved ones at home.  But how often has this atmosphere been defiled since it vibrated with the voice of the Son of the Father, uttering the sublime mysteries of spiritual worship.

            We slept, John and I, in the town, in a miserable hole, surrounded by half-a-dozen Greek Christians and some thousands of fleas.  The night was, in brief, hideous.  In the morning we went to see the synagogue of the Samaritans, of whom a miserable remnant yet worship God in the city of their fathers.  A queer old man showed us an old book, which he said was in the autograph of a grandson of Aaron—though his voice was so cracked and his Arabic so poor (or so good) that perhaps we misunderstood it:  it is probably he said—a grandson of Adam.  An incredible antiquity is claimed for it, and non credo.

            We breakfasted with our friends—stewed chickens, stewed mutton, a capital loaf of bread, an omelet, and coffee that was fit drink for Mahomet himself.  Then we rode over to Samaria, a gay cavalcade.

            The city of the Kinds of Israel is almost gone.  A few relics of its ancient splendour remain, especially long rows of columns, running half-way around the lofty bluff on which the city stood, and marking, perhaps, the line of one of its most splendid avenues.  A ruined gateway at the western extremity of this row of columns, looking out to the distant sea where the ships of the world ride in the wind, and the mariners of nations lately born laugh at the faded splendour of the city of Omri.

            No need that I should point out to you the passages of Holy Writ which we read on the hills of Samaria—prophecies that have had their literal fulfillment a thousand years.  You know, or ought to know, them all.

            The modern Samaritans are a fierce and furious race of men.  They surrounded us with demands for money before we were fairly out of the city, and when we paid no attention they grew insolent.  As we rode out of the place, a tall fellow attempted to seize the bridle of John’s horse.  John pressed the animal with his knee, and at a leap brought himself within reach of the scoundrel’s skull  I heard a dull heavy blow, and saw him go reeling down.  Then a cry rose that rang through the village.  We put the ladies under Hassan’s charge, and they plunged rapidly down the steep hill side, while we guarded the pass against the advancing villagers.  We three were a host in such a case.  We argued the matter a moment, until a stone came from the crowd and struck John’s horse somewhat heavily.  He replied with a ball from his revolver, aimed at the man who threw it, but missed him.  It was as well, for the crowd scattered in a twinkling, and left to us the field.  As we descended to the plain a fun was fired from a loop-hole in the old church of John the Baptist, now a mosque.  We sent three balls against the walls, and then Samaria was silent.  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Dec. 1,  vol. VI; #107, p, 297-298:

            Notices of Recently Published Stereographs.

            Some little time back, while passing along the various frequented parts of the metropolis, wherever there was an available place for the operations of the bill-sticker we were sure to be saluted by the words, “No Home Without a Stereoscope,” accompanied by a florid illustration, from a huge wood block, of a family party busily engaged in inspecting stereoscopic slides by the aid of stereoscopes of wonderful patterns; and, judging from the attitude of a lady in the foreground, we should imagine that the suppositious subjects under examination were of the most interesting character, for no human being could possibly maintain such an uncomfortable position for any length of time unless the mind were thoroughly occupied.

            Of course the words quoted are only the prominent feature of some advertisement, doubtless setting forth where [London Stereoscopic Co., I think] the said instruments are to be obtained for a mere song, &c., but there may be more of prophecy contained in them than would at first sight be supposed.  No home without a stereoscope—possibly! nay probably! not many years hence; but certainly it cannot be long before there is no school without a stereoscope.  What a splendid means of instruction it presents, and the more one considers it, the more we are impressed with a notion of its value when thus applied.  We commend it to the attention of the members of the Educational Institute and College of Preceptors.

            How common a thing it is to hear the observation, “it is not easy to describe it intelligibly, but if you could only see it you would understand it in a moment.”  Aye! there’s the rub:  if you could only see it—perhaps it may be something too bulky to be seen otherwise than by going to it—as, for instance, intricate machinery; or too perishable to last for more than a short or limited time, such as some beautiful extotic [sic; exotic] of the vegetable kingdom in full bloom; or too costly, or too distant, or what not.  now only take a good stereograph of the rare, valuable, intricate, or bulky subject, and, lo! the difficulty of inspection vanishes in a moment, and the distant object is brought literally “under the nose: of the spectator.  Seriously we are so fully impressed with the value of the stereoscope as an educational engine that, were it our lot to be employed in teaching, we should unquestionably avail ourself of its aid at once.  Amongst other things, for instance, observe what an immense advantage it would be as an adjunct to geographical study—that bugbear to children (and grown people, too, for that matter), that “valley of dry bones”—but add to it the stereoscope by way of illustration, and, as in Ezekiel’s vision, the dry bones “would live and stand upon their feet, an exceeding great army.”   How vividly could be brought before the mind’s eye the peculiarities of mountain ranges, lakes and rivers, hill and valley, and all the specialities which go to make up the physical aspects of a country! and still more readily the inhabitants, the national peculiarities and customs, the natural productions, &c., &c.  Geography, as generally taught in schools, is nothing more than barren lists of names, that, unaccompanied by anything tangible, are very rarely retained in the mind, except by a very great effort.  Add but the stereoscope with proper illustrations, and that which is now a toil would become a pleasure, and we would answer for it more information would be both attained and retained than is now the case generally, and that in a tithe of the time at present employed.

            Our readers will doubtless exclaim—“what has all this to do with newly-published stereographs?”  We must plead guilty to a very long digression, nevertheless it has something to do with the subject, for we have been led into it by an examination of a very interesting and extensive series of Stereoscopic Views in china, published by Messrs. Negretti and Zambra, of Hatton Garden, and Cornhill, London.  [Ed. NOTE:  The photographs were taken by Pierre Joseph Rossier.]  The series consist of about three dozen and a half in number, tastily got up, each one with an appropriate ornamental label, and having on the back a printed description of the subject delineated.  Although quoted correctly enough as views in China, they are chiefly confined to the neighbourhood of Canton; but, as a consequence, we are enabled to form a very correct idea of the nature of a place hitherto so little known, and so full of interest to the European.  It would not be possible for any one possessed of the smallest amount of intelligence to rise from an inspection of this admirable series without having derived therefrom a very considerable share both of pleasure and profit; and the publishers are fully deserving of the best thanks of the public for their enterprise in procuring such valuable means of information.  We sincerely trust and are firmly convinced they will receive substantial encouragement to proceed in a course so praiseworthy by an extensive demand for copies of this truly excellent collection, of which we now proceed to notice some specimens in detail, and will commence with the figure subjects.

            Chinese Lady and Attendants (No. 42).—Seated on a stool, with the stem of a tree of gigantic dimensions for a background, is a small-footed specimen of a Chinese belle, though to European eyes there is not much that is attractive about her, with the high cheek bones, eyes deep set and near together, hair all gathered back from the forehead and fastened on the crown into a sort of knot.  Her dress consists of a loose robe reaching to the knee, with large open sleeves, and fitting close and high round the throat.  The white sleeve of an under garment protrudes from the dress sleeve and reaches nearly to the wrist.  A pair of drawers made very loose in the leg, and shoes with immensely thick soles, such as all who visited the Chinese Collection, at Hyde Park Corner, or at the crystal Palace of 1851, must be familiar with, complete her costume.  In her right hand she holds a fan, and in her left a book; while her attitude, though unrestrained, is one not usually assumed by the fair sex in the Western Hemisphere, the left foot being nursed on the right knee.  A female attendant stands on her left hand, attired somewhat similarly to herself, though with less of finish about the dress; and on the other side is a bare-footed, rawboned male attendant.  The trunk of the tree before mentioned is of itself a curiosity: it spreads out at the base, being furnished with what woodmen call “spurs;” but although the three figures are not very close together, some notion of its size may be conceived of when we state that it forms a background to the whole of them, and projects beyond the group some distance on one side.

            Portrait of Tseang Keun (No. 39).—This, the Tartar General-in-Chief of the army of Braves, is seated on a chair of state, attired in the full-dress costume of a mandarin, which is too well known to need description.  On a table by his side, on a sort of stand, is placed his mandarin cap with the red button.  The expression of countenance is intelligent, but the attitude a little stiff.  Various singular-looking plants in flower, and growing in China vases, are disposed somewhat symmetrically, and the whole is pleasing and extremely characteristic, the background consisting of a quaint trellis work.

            Portraits of Pey Kewi and Mr. Commissioner Park (No. 38).—The Governor of Canton and the British Envoy are seated at a table, while six attendants of the former are standing at the back.  Like the last mentioned, this group is also taken in a species of verandah or conservatory, flowers in vases being disposed around, and the trellis, resembling irregular hexagonal network, has thrown a shadow on the countenances of the Chinese figures which produces an exceedingly grotesque appearance.  Our own countryman being seated with his back to the light has escaped this disfigurement.  This, like the last slide, is one of very great interest.

            Pa Tah Lom Boo (No. 41).—A Tartar brigadier-general, mandarin of the blue button, is in the centre of the group, and around him are disposed some of his children and other members of his family, with the reverend chaplain of the British army in Canton.

            Group of Sailors (No. 40).—This slide is interesting on account of the locality, the garden of the allied Commissioners, Yamun.  Although exceedingly different from an European garden in appearance, it is highly picturesque.  On the left of the spectator is a tree of very singular aspect, the stem of which consists of an immense number of branching and anastomosing parts twisted and matted together in the most extraordinary manner.  A large-roofed building, open on all sides, and protected by a grove of trees, is, no doubt, designed with a view to obtaining shelter from the sun without obstructing the free current of air.

            The Landing Place (No.6).—This is a small wooden jetty, supported on wooden piles driven into the bed of the river, upon which are seen several natives squatting in what appears to the English eye a very fatiguing and comical attitude.  In the river are seen several structures that look like small houses, supported on wooden stakes, and in the foreground are a palanquin and the two bearers also squatting, but in this case with their knees and chin in contact, and the hands clasped round the knees:  with the large mushroom-shaped hats, they present a very droll appearance.  This will no doubt be a favourite slide, as well for its novelty as for its picturesque effect.  (To be continued.)

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Dec. 1,  vol. VI; #107, p. 298-299:

            Notes of a Photographic Tour in the Holy Land. No. X.

            Man proposes and God disposes.  I write this from Haifa, or Caipha, which lies at the outlet of the River Kishon and the Plain of Esdraelon.  It is the modern village which has taken the place of Saint Jean d’Acre, known in the times of the crusades as Ptolemais—a small and filthy place, which possesses no interest except as the probable point which will one day be connected with Jerusalem by rail, if there be ever a railway laid in Holy Land.

            Acre, ruined and desolate, stands on the seashore in solemn and stately grandeur.  There is an interest that no words can convey an idea of always clinging to such a spot.  From early Christian days this spot was regarded as the key of Palestine; and, indeed, long before the days of Christ the Plain of Esdraelon, which here finds an outlet to the sea in the waters of the Kishon, was celeb rated as the battle-field on which the nations who invaded Palestine conquered or were defeated.  Here Sisera, in the ancient years, was driven to flight; and here Napoleon, but yesterday as compared with the other, with a small troop of men, conquered a host of dusky foes.  There has not been a century, for three thousand years, in which there has not been some battle fought on the plain near Acre.  The old city seems to know the splendour that hangs around her decay, and sits as proudly in the sunshine as if throned as of old and surrounded with stout guards in flashing armour.  I took more than ordinary interest in this place, it being the scene of Sir Sydney Smith’s prowess, whose physiognomy my own is said to strikingly resemble.

            But I have not told you by what chance I came here; and unless I acquaint you with it you may marvel at my eccentric movements.  It was in this wise.  When I returned to Jerusalem, from that last evening on the Mount of Olives, I found in the little hotel a party of Englishmen who had recently come from Alexandria.  They had been in the city a few days before, while I was away at Nablous, had gone down to the Dead Sea, and were now on their way back to Jaffa, intending to take the steamer thence for Constantinople.  This is the common and easiest way of visiting Jerusalem.  Come in the weekly steamer from Alexandria, land at Jaffa, ride up to the Holy City, visit Bethlehem, the Dead Sea, and Jordan, and return to Jaffa in time for the next week’s steamer up the coast.

            My route was laid out.  Go over to Caesarea and up the coast to Mount Carmel.  Next morning we rode out of Jerusalem together before daybreak, paying our sleepy guard our last backsheesh for opening the Jaffa gate.  Before we reached Jaffa, the temptation to continue in English company was irresistible, and I changed my plans entirely.  You cannot imagine the exceeding pleasure of that long talk with old friends.  The hours flew by like minutes.  Could you appreciate it you would understand how ready I was to change.

            A few direction to Hassan sufficed.  I ordered him and all the men, with the

baggage and tents, to proceed up to Beyrout by the coast road, passing the nights at fixed places which I named.  John and I joined the party for the steamer, to go by sea to Beyrout, for the sake of two days more in their company.  We found the French steamer at Jaffa in the evening of our arrival, and went instantly on board.

            The French steamers on the Mediterranean are a very rough class of vessels.  Still, in pleasant weather, with the hatches open, and the ladies in good health, the dinner table presents a gay scene, and there is some fun in listening to the good and bad French, the mixed Arabic and Italian, the English, Spanish, and German, which the various lips and throats utter.

            The Tarbucket is a miserable fourth-class tub, with no deckroom, and the same amount of cabin.  The chief officer is the steward, a withered little Frenchman, who commands the captain, and is sworn enemy to all passengers who are not sea-sick.  The bill of fare of all the French steamers is printed and published in a volume at Paris.  All Messagerie Imperiale steamers, to all parts of the world, are said to have the same bill on the same days; and as there are some fifty or seventy-five steamers afloat in various services, it is consolatory to know that there is plenty of company in the misery of the most wretched food that could be contrived for the stomach of a sea-sick man.  The nominal commander of the Tarbucket has had a few private dishes of his own on the table every day, which he sometimes divided with the mail agent—a gruff, grey, tall, thin man, whose lessons of politeness have been learned, and badly learned, in the Faubourg St. Antoine.  The doctor of the ship is a little fellow, given to drumming on a piano in the ladies’ saloon, and to eating enormously of the vile stuffs concocted between the steward, the cook, and the proprietors of the line.  Such is the list of the ship’s officers.  The working master speaks some English, such as it is.  He is a tall, good-looking fellow, and a gentleman withal.  But for him, I verily believe, we should have been utterly used-up in the three days voyage from Jaffa northward.

            The morning after our arrival at Jaffa the steamer was detained, and we went on shore, to be recalled by a gun when she should be ready to sail.  We passed the day in looking at Jaffa, which I have before described to you.  Externally it is both common and unclean, the haunt of Gentiles and Jews who are alike beyond the reach of even the Catholic preaching of Peter.

            The gun was fired at three.  A boat waited for us at the landing stairs.  Pushing out way through the crowd of beggars that thronged the platform, we sprang in and shoved off; but by some accident John was left on the platform, and his shouts reached my ear just as we were dashing through the narrow channel in the reef, into which a westerly breeze was now rolling a heavy sea.  Backing all, and swinging in on the top of the waves, we had well nigh been upset; but another boat astern of us was in worse condition, for, as we went in towards the stairs with the dash of the sea, she shot across out track most recklessly, and we cut her down to the water’s edge, and swamped her then and there.  Dire were the shouts of the Arabs, and furious the demands for payment of damages, on the principle that we were the charaterers of the boat we were in, and liable for her acts and accidents.  The damaged owner, with his assistants, laid profane hands on  John, Who was quietly awaiting our approach, which they had no sooner done than they repented most heartily; for Herculean John seized two of them by the throat, shook them alternately till they were black in the face, knocked their thick skulls together, and kicked the third—the unlucky owner—into the sea.  A howl of fury rose from the crowd of all nations on the platform, but no one ventured to lay hands on the giant.  John leaped into our boat, and we rolled alongside the steamer.  Rolled, I say, for the sea was short, and the vessel pitched at her anchor, so that the passenger gangway was alternately six feet under and six feet above water.  No small exertion of skill was requisite to get on board in a dry skin.  You must watch your chance as she came down, leap to the highest possible step before she rolled to port, and if you missed your footing, trust to the Arab boatmen and your powers of swimming.  Safe on board at last, the usual row with the boatmen about the pay followed, and was ended by tossing a handful of Turkish coppers into the bottom of the boat, which only served to elicit louder demands for more, inaudible as we ducked down the companion-way to the dinner table.

            A dismal row of empty seats there were that day at dinner time, for the sea was heavy, and the smell of the oil most vile.  All night we tossed and pitched along, and all the next day and the next night, by the port of Caesarea and the coast of Holy Land.  Once we put back.  At times our situation was critical and alarming.  We lay-to twenty hours, and it was noon of the third day before we reached the lofty bluff of Mount Carmel, and, passing it, ran into the port of Haifa.

            There is never anything we very bad that some good may not come out of it.  Even Francois, the steward of the Tarbucket, did us good when he intended our hurt.  He had a sharp eye to his provision-lockers, and always warned his passengers to stay on shore when he could thereby save a few mouthfuls of dinner.    

            “The steamer will not leave Haifa to-morrow!”  This was his announcement as we were going down the ladder into a boat to go on shore.

            “And why?”

            “There is a Turkish Pasha, with his family, coming on board; and he has paid extra to have the steamer wait a day!”

            “And we must wait his pleasure?  Is that the way of doing business in a French steamer?”

            “If Monsieur wishes to complain, there is a complaint-book in the cabin; but, perhaps, Monsieur will save himself the trouble, and have more time to go to Mount Carmel?”

            The idea was good, and we improved it by visiting the convent on the mountain, where they preserve the memory of Elijah and Elisha.

            It was a long and pleasant day.  Climbing the sides of the hill, visiting the old monks in their mountain home, where they rest in calm looking out over the tossing sea, and then, when we saw a cloud, somewhat larger than a man’s hand, on the western horizon, hastening helter-skelter down hill more furious than Ahab, and not so fortunate; for he escaped the tempest, but we got soaked and drenched long before reaching Haifa, and came on board ship in the evening fit subjects for the sympathies of the Royal Humane Society.  D.T.

 

1859:  Photo J. [L&MPJ/BJP] Dec. 15, vol. VI; #108, p. 315:

            Notices of Recently Published Stereographs.  Views in China.  Negretti & Zambra, Hatton Garden, and Cornhill, London. (Second Notice) [cont. from p. 298] [Note:  photos by Rossier, although not noted in review]

            Having disposed of the principal figure subjects in the series before us, we turn to the other classes.

            Next in interest to the inhabitants we regard their idols and the temples; hence we come to

The Joss (No. 25), which represents the Goddess of Fecundity.  The idol was presented to the temple by oen of the Chinese Emperors, and is held in the greatest veneration, especially by the female inhabitants of Canton.  Behind the principal idol are located several smaller ones, and on the ground before it are placed plants in vases as votive offerings; but their dried up and withered appearance does not say much for the attention they have received.

            The Joss House (Nos. 23, 24, and 27), are different views of the building, which received considerable damage during the bombardment, not so much from the fire of our troops as from the act of one of the Braves, who threw a bag of gunpowder into the building under the impression that it was occupied by some of the barbarians.  The explosion demolished a considerable portion of the edifice.  It is richly decorated with carving and other embellishments, partaking largely, however, of the grotesque.  This is best seen in No. 24, which is a front view of the principal entrance.

            The Temple of the Genh (No. 8), is peculiarly Chinese in aspect, and the slide will certainly be a popular one.  The building is situated in the Tartar quarter of the city, and it is to be regretted that it has suffered materially during the bombardment of Canton, the inhabitants of which hold this temple in great veneration.  The quaint character of the structure and the agreeable contrast of light and shade render this subject extremely pleasing.  A general distant view of this temple is found in No. 12, in which it forms the principal feature, and is there seen to be surrounded by a clump of tall trees.  We are informed by the description that the building contains the largest bell in Canton, which is regarded with superstitious awe as foreboding evil to the place whenever it is sounded.  During the bombardment a shot struck the bell and cracked it, and the sound emitted was interpreted as the knell of the city’s prosperity.  From the upper part of the last named, the panorama which forms the subject of No. 10 was taken.  The view extends over an extensive range; and although the houses, for the most part, present a very mean appearance from being interspersed with some large sized trees, and here and there a structure of a higher character, together with the distant wooded country, the whole composes into a sufficiently pleasing subject.  In the centre is The Mussulman Pagoda, said to be built by a son or brother of Mahomed, who first introduced Islamism into Canton.  The structure itself is one of very little interest, being merely a tall circular shaft without window or any visible opening of any kind, and crowned with a smaller shaft, also circular, presenting much the appearance of a lighthouse.

            The Nine-Storied Pagoda (No. 29), on the contrary, is peculiarly interesting and thoroughly Chinese in its architectural character.  It is octagonal in form, and each storey being somewhat smaller than the one beneath it causes it to taper upwards.  Although originally richly gilt and painted, as well as ornamented with elaborate carved work, it is now in a painful state of dilapidation, so much so that it would be impossible to ascend the spiral staircase which leads to the top.  Much to the consternation of the population, an iron model of the pagoda, which until lately surmounted it, fell down; the feeling will be understood when it is known that a superstitious tradition was in existence that, whenever the model should fall, the city itself would fall into the hands of the barbarians.

            The Five-Storied Pagoda (No. 5), now occupied as a barrack for the allied troops, is situated on the extreme northern point of the city walls, and in this direction the general level of the country seems to be interrupted by a series of very respectable hills.  The residences located on the city walls appear to be very characteristic of the place, and the slide is an extremely pleasing one.  The pagoda itself is not at all imposing, and reminds one of the grand-stands at some of our race-courses.

            We must, for want of space, pause for the present, but purpose in a future number returning to the subject, as there are many more of the series that deserve particular notice.  In the meantime we cannot do amiss in advising those of our friends who are in search of some acceptable article as a Christmas or new Year’s present for a friend, to procure this truly valuable collection.