1862 BRITISH JOURNAL OF PHOTOGRAPHY
vol. IX
START – June 2 article on Cornwall
VER: 1/25/07
NOTES:
--Italics have been retained from publications, which uses them for both titles as well as emphasis. To more easily locate image titles have also been italicized when titles were 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. It is reasonably safe to assume that when a photographer’s works are being reviewed and numbers noted, they refer to the image whereas numbers referenced to given works in an exhibition, are exhibition entry numbers and are not the photographer’s.
--All photographer’s 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.
--Articles by photographers about technical matters – only name and titles have been listed. IF AT ALL. 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.
1862: BJP Jan. 1, vol. IX, #157, p. 10-11:
Exhibition.
Sixth Annual Exhibition of the Photographic Society of Scotland.
This Exhibition, now open in the same place in which it has been held for some years part—George Street, Edinburgh—presents no contrast to that of last year, unless it may be in the great accumulation of cartes de visite portraits, of which, as might have been anticipated, some are miserable in the extreme, some possess average merit, and some few would satisfy all the requirements of the most fastidious taste.
Although the catalogue shows that there are 85 artists exhibiting, some of these are not exhibitors in the usual sense. Wilson, of Aberdeen, for example, sends none for exhibition himself, although a considerable number of his little souvenirs are contributed by a printseller in this city. Some might be apt to question the propriety of sending to a photographic exhibition works which for some time have been articles of commerce, and as such available for inspection at the various shop windows; but a glance around the room shows that were an expulsion to be made on such grounds the number of pictures in this Exhibition would be sadly reduced, for several “old familiar faces” and places, whose acquaintance we have long ago made in the show-cases at the stair foot of the professional photographer, now kindly smile upon us from the walls of this Exhibition. This peculiarity is very noticeable indeed.
The varieties of process employed in the production of the pictures are few—indeed year after year they are getting fewer and fewer. How much this depends upon the system which this Society adopts, of giving medals for the pictures which they consider best, is a matter of opinion. A recent article on this subject in The British Journal of Photography, by Mr. John Cramb, of Glasgow, is felt by many in this city to be at least one of the best and most suggestive articles that has yet appeared. It is evident that awarding medals for merely pretty and artistic prints is not the best method of advancing the interests of photography as a science. Mr. Cramb or some one else might suggest the best means for attaining this desideratum. This leads us to state that among the various contributions to this Exhibition we look in vain for Joubert’s patent enamel transparencies; photographs in carbon or any other pigment; specimens of Ramage’s or any other person’s photolithographs; photographic engraving by any of the existing processes, whether photoglyphs or photogalvanographs. There are no magic lantern slides, nor are there any of those huge productions for which our Gallic brethren are celebrated (let us except a painted portrait on a solar camera production as a base); in short, we were about to add that there was nothing whatever new or uncommon in the Exhibition, when our attention was directed to some panoramic pictures alleged to be taken by a patent lens, “which includes an angle of 100˚, or two-thirds more than an ordinary lens will include.” This we learn from a printed slip pasted on the pictures. An inspection of these (views in Jersey, Nos. 501-2-3-4) satisfies us that if these pictures are sent as specimens of the performance of the panoramic lens a very great blunder has been committed, for the want of definition is very great indeed. The ferns and other objects in the foregrounds require the exercise of no small amount of imagination to enable them to be “deciphered,” and the pictures generally are hazy and indistinct, forming in this respect a marked contrast to almost all the other pictures in the Exhibition; and we would say, without hesitation, that if these are the best pictures that can be produced by the panoramic lens, photographers will do well to stick to their meniscus and Petzval lenses for some time yet. Mr. Mudd, too, has entered the field with, a panoramic picture—Eskdale, from Birker Fell (324). This is a brilliant, magnificent picture, evidently printed from two negatives although on one sheet of paper. As soon as Mr. Mudd chooses to divulge the manner in which he manipulates such pictures, we doubt not that he will be favoured somewhat extensively by that truest flattery, imitation—a consummation devoutly to be wished.
Among the non-resident contributors to this Exhibition are Annan, Claudet, Vernon Heath, Hering, Abbot, Kirkland, S. Thompson, Bedford, Lyte, Mudd, Piper, Rodger, Robinson, and others. Most of the pictures are by the collodion process—some few being by modification of it, such as collodio-albumen, tannin, malt, and “hot water.”
The Rev. D.T.K. Drummond practices chiefly the malt process. His pictures exhibit considerable artistic judgment in the selection of points of view; and it only remains for him to adopt a process such as that used by Mudd or Annan, by means of which he can get better gradation of tone, and also to employ a smaller stop in his lens than he appears to have done in some of his works, to enable him to rise to a higher position than he otherwise would attain.
We are inclined to characterise Loch Ranza, Arran (101), by T. Annan, as the best landscape in the Exhibition. It is a pleasing picture: the composition is good, and the manipulation perfect. This picture is by the tannin process. The same artist also shows some others, all possessing great excellence.
The collodio-albumen process still has its champion in Mr. Mudd, who exhibits eighteen pictures, which are all worthy of that artist. We have previously alluded to his panoramic picture as one of great merit; we doubt not that were it not for Loch Ranza, alluded to above, this picture would have to be pronounced as second to none in the Exhibition.
Vernon Heath’s pictures are worthy of admiration on account of their clearness and general excellence. His shadows are not of that inky blackness which pervades many pictures, and the selection of subjects is made with the eye of a master. Old Mill on the Almong (492) we think is his best, although many of his other contributions, especially Turnpike, Glenalmond, and Bridge on the Earn (335-6-7), are perfect gems, and will not fail to attract attention.
W. Kirkland exhibits eight large-sized pictures taken by various processes. A tannin picture, Holyrood Chapel (590), is one of his best, and is a noble work, combining breadth and brilliancy—the point of view he has selected showing the value of an artist’s eye. In this respect the picture, Cedar at Biel House (586), by D. Campbell, which hangs next to it, forms a strong contrast, being what artists would call a front elevation of a tree, quite sectional in effect. It is only fair to state that the photographic merits of this picture considerably predominate over the artistic.
We can scarcely congratulate Mr. Ions on the merits of his picture of Ruins, Dunfermline Monastery (580), which gives the spectator the idea that it was taken not by midday, but by the feeble light of a waning moon. It presents a contrast with its neighbour on the left, Brislington Church (576), by Thomas Tyley, which is brilliant and sunny, although by no means picturesque.
Mr. H. P. Robinson exhibits four pictures, among which is his famous picture, the Lady of Shalott, on which (as it has been so recently and specially noticed in these pages) we add no comment beyond the remark that it is free from the “clipped out” appearance which his Holiday in the Woods of last year possessed to a certain extent. One of his minor pictures, Early Spring (605), a study by the river side, is a pleasing photography, with excellent distance.
Mr. Maxwell Lyte contributes fifteen pictures. There is a grandeaur and massiveness about his productions which stamp him as a true artist, although his shadows, in many instances, are unnaturally black. This failing, however, characterised his pictures of last year to a much greater extent than the present; and, when this defect shall have been totally overcome, few indeed will successfully compete with him. His subjects are chiefly mountain scenery and glens in the South of France.
The past inclement season, together with the volunteer movement, may, perhaps, have prevented such valuable contributors as Mr. Horation Ross, Mr. Fenton, and others, from enriching the collection; but we are glad to see some new names in the catalogue, and among others that of S. Thompson, who exhibits twenty-three pictures, mostly architectural subjects, no fewer than nine of which are views of Melrose Abbey from various points. These would form a collection of great value to the archæologist. The points of view preferred by Mr. Thompson, as well as his manner of treatment, evidently indicate that he possesses true artistic feeling. We would recommend him to try his hand at general landscapes, in which department of the art he would evidently be as much at home as among architectural subjects.
Mr. Dixon Piper’s pictures, of which there are ten or eleven, indicate perfect photographic manipulation, without, however, corresponding taste in the arrangement of subjects.
Only one picture in the Exhibition purports to be by the hot water process, viz., On the Water of Leith (390), by J. Nichol—in which the gradation of tone and general merits of the picture are excellent.
There are several pictures by the waxed-paper process. Herries, as usual, shows in great force. His pictures are uniformly good and are, without doubt, the best exhibited by this process. Mr. Adam, also, exhibits several. We cannot see what there is in the picture marked 585 that could induce Mr. T. B. Johnstone to waste an evidently successfully-prepared negative sheet on a subject so totally devoid of interest. Surely this artist could have picked up in the environs of his native city a hundred specimens the worst of which would be more interesting than his Mill on the Allan. However, many people think that “far awa’ birds hae bonniest feathers.”
We cannot conclude the present brief notice of the landscapes without adverting to a beautiful little “bit” by Annan, The last Stocks of harvest (62), in which the few sheaves tell of the forthcoming harvest-home. A little brawling brook, rather suggested than pourtrayed—a rocky precipice, almost hidden by coppice-wood—last, though not least, a beautiful sky—will cause the visitors to make the acquaintance of this (as a whole) picturesque photograph, which we observe by the catalogue is taken by the tannin process. Aur. Chl.
1862: BJP Jan. 15, vol. IX, #158, p. 24-25:
Stereographs.
An Artist’s Gatherings in Cornwall, Devon, and the West England. Photographed by George Wilson, Aberdeen.
During the season of 1861 one of our most renowned artist-photographers, Mr. George Wilson, selected for his sketching-ground the southernmost district of the island, probably as a contract to the (to him) more familiar but now less beautiful sections of Great Britain, comprising the Scottish Highlands. In calling it a “sketching-ground” we have perhaps employed a term scarcely appropriate in connexion with Mr. Wilson’s productions, which are rather finished pictures than sketches, the only thing in common between the two being their rapidity of execution; but we scarcely know what e4xpression we could use that would be more definitive unless indeed we were to call it his al-fresco studio. However, whatever may be the proper designation of the place of temporary sojourn for artistic purposes, the results of the artist’s labours and more to our present purpose, and we propose describing some of those which are now before us.
The Land’s End (No. 311) s as interesting in an artistic point of view as it is in a sentimental one. The broken columnar point of rock, stretching far away into the ocean, with its smal… [GET REST] DETACHED MASSES FORMING Liliputian Islets bathed with eddying waters and foaming surf, and the rough angular points sharply defined, contrast beautifully with the gently-rounded undulating wavelets of the ocean melting gradually into the far-off horizon indicated rather than seen through the naturally moist atmosphere. Those who deny to photography its capability of rendering atmospheric perspective have only to look upon this subject to become convinced that their notions are erroneous.
The Logan Stone (No. 309) is interesting rather as the representation of a natural curiosity than as a picture; but
The Cheesewring (No. 307), though at least equally curious presents far more of the picturesque. There are three views of this singular natural cairn of stones, consisting of some eight or nine huge rounded masses piled one upon another, the largest being at the top. The stunted herbage and lichen-covered rocks add much to the effect, and still more the introduction (in that marked A) of a couple of figures seated under the overhanging stones of the Cheesewring, one of them, with extended arm, pointing out to his companion something in the far distance.
Of The Viaduct on the Cornwall Railway at Saltash (Nos. 305 and 306), one view is taken from the shore, the other from the river. Both will be valued by engineers as records of the skill of Sir I. K. Brunel. During the construction of the work the late Mr. Robert Howlett was employed to photograph the same in order to retain accurate representations of its progress, and who accompanied him to Plymouth on the last occasion of his visiting the spot for that purpose, shortly prior to the time of his death. Perhaps this is the reason we take an interest in the subject now before us, as we must admit that there is not much room for the display of high artistic skill in its delineation.
What a contrast with the preceding is there in the next slide we have to notice! for, though only that very matter-of-fact object—a vessel of war in harbour—Mr. Wilson has converted into a charming picture, whether viewed in or out of the stereoscope. H.M. Ship “Impregnable,” 104 Guns, Guardship in Hamoaze (No. 313), is seen through a vista in the branches of an oak tree, the towering hull and stately masts being faintly reflected in the water; and the background of low hills in the far distance and the building sheds of the dockyard on the right and in good keeping—some smaller craft, especially a barque with very raking masts, acting as foils to display the huge proportions of the man-of-war. A very excellent pictures is also the same vessel as shown in an another [sic] slide (No. 313A), without the framework of foliage, but wherein is a small sailing boat violently rocked by the wavelets, the huge vessel lying tranquil and stately.
Whilst on nautical subjects, we cannot forbear noticing (Nos. 316 and 317) Great-Gun Practice on board H.M.S. “Cambridge,” in Hamoaze. In the former, the mirror-like surface of the water has been just ruffled by the concussion of the air caused by the explosion of a single gun, the white smoke from which, in rolling rounded masses, has been delineated with perfect truthfulness—the reflection of the vessel in the water, with her bare masts and rigging, being grotesquely contorted, and rendered with charming accuracy, while the reflected light from the sky, glancing under the vessel’s stern, adds much to the effect as a work of art. No. 317 is a representation of the same vessel firing a broadside, and taken from a point more towards the stern: the very different effect produced upon the water in this as compared with the former subject is worthy of remark. There are several other capital illustrations of marine subjects; but we can only spare space for the description of one more containing views of the “Sheldrake”and“Charon” Gunboats in Hamoaze, with Keyham Steamyard in the distance (No. 325). This is a capital slide. The water and gunboats in the foreground, the long low workshops and steam chimneys in the far middle distance, backed by the grounded hills with scattered buildings, and adorned with a sky shrouded in natural clouds, combining to make up a very fine picture.
The Cathedral at Exeter has been well illustrated. The West Front being represented in No. 295, showing the beautiful mass of figures which adorn it, though they would be more correctly describe ed by calling it a “view of the Cathedral from the west.” No. 300 is a representation on a larger scale of The Great West Door, including also about fifteen or sixteen of the surrounding figures in alto relievo (alas! that it should be so), sadly mutilated by the corroding hand of Time. One-half of the massive iron door is partially opened, showing a glimpse of the interior, which, however, is scarcely discernible except it be viewed in the stereoscope.
A fine view of the Choir of Exeter Cathedral is depicted in No. 297, showing well the magnificent stained-glass window and beautifully carved oak canopy of the Bishop’s throne. No. 296 is a view of the choir from the east end, showing, in addition to the throne, the carved canopy of the pulpit, and, instead of the east window, the organ occupies the central position, while the whole extent of the splendid roof, over both choir and nave, stretches in long perspective to the west window, a fragmentary portion of which is visible by the side of the organ. A view of The Name, Looking East (No. 298), is nearly the converse of the preceding; but though without some of the interesting features of the previous slide, their absence is to some extent balanced by a fine chequering beam of sunlight falling upon the screen.
Want of space compels us to postpone to another opportunity the notice of many others of Mr. Wilson’s recent productions; but before closing the present one, while upon Cathedral interiors, we may appropriately make mention of two taken from Gloucester Cathedral, which must not be passed over. The first to which we allude (No. 301) is the representation of an extraordinarily-fine painted window. This is seen between two rows of plain cylindrical columns, united by semicircular arches, which, without presenting any architectural beauty, are important elements in the pictorial composition, and assist materially in giving value to the play of light and shade.
No. 304 exhibits, in fine perspective, the beautifully-carved roof of The Cloisters of Gloucester Cathedral, the pavement chequered with sunlight streaming in through the embrasures on the right hand, lighting up the roof well by its radiation, the culminating focus of the long perspective being well defined by a dark corner pierced by a small window, each forming an appropriate, though not violent, contrast to the immediate surroundings; but, dark as the corner is, it is full of detail. This is a fine combination of contrast and harmonious subordination of parts, and the slide will, unquestionably, be a favourite both with the novice and the amateur.
Fine as Mr. Wilson’s “interiors” have always been since we have had the pleasure of being acquainted with them, he appears to us every succeeding season to acquire increased skill in their delineation. We are always fond of rambling through the mazes of our old Cathedrals whenever we have a chance of doing so; and we cannot but linger with much gratification over such representations of their familiar scenes as those now before us.
1862: BJP Jan. 15, vol. IX, #158, p. 25:
The Principle of the Diorama Applied to Photographic Pictures.
We extract the following from the Glasgow Daily Herald:
‘Within the last day or two we have had the pleasure of inspecting a highly interesting invention of our townsman, Dr. Taylor, of the Andersonian University, by means of which the principle of the diorama has been applied for the first time to photographic pictures. Photography produces pictures admirably perfect in the form and proportions of their objects, and unapproachable in truthful accuracy by any other species of art. To give the charm of colour, and of changing light and shade with the varied hues of morning, noonday, evening, or moonlight, along with the fidelity of the photography, seemed to be all that was requisite in order greatly to increase the gratification derivable from the inspection of such pictures. The translucency of photographs on glass fits them in a greater degree than any other species of pictures for taking on in a truthful manner changes of hue and shade by transmitted light; even the deepest shadows, from their semi-transparency, being capable of being affected in their hue by the general change of colour of the light. Dr. Taylor’s principle and its application possess the merit of extreme simplicity; and considering the sudden and rapid development of photographic art, it is somewhat astonishing that nobody had previously alighted upon this secret. The Doctor’s problem was not merely to colour the photographic plate—not merely to produce successive transitions of colouring before the eye of the spectator, but to produce even the movement of clouds. This, we can say from what we have witnessed, has been successfully accomplished. The apparatus consists of an ordinary cosmoramic box, with a slide in the one side of it, for holding the pictures, and with lenses on the opposite side, properly placed, through which the spectator looks at the picture. The pictures are carefully dimmed, or rendered slightly opaque in the light, to prevent the motion and forms of objects behind from being too distinctly seen through them. The chief modification and change of colour and shade are produced by the motion of a coloured surface placed behind the picture, and strongly illuminated by a row of gas-burners, the light from which is kept from directly reaching the picture. This surface, on which the clouds and bands of graduated colour and shade are painted, is stretched round a light frame of wood, so as to give it a cylindrical or drum shape. The drum is about five feet in diameter, and is suspended by a cord from the roof. It is kept by the band, or by means of some appropriate machinery, in a state of slow rotation, so as to bring the differently coloured and shaded portions successively opposite the pictures. The drum is placed at a distance of about nine inches from the picture; and the differences of distance between the lens and the drum contribute much to the beauty of the aerial effects. By this simple appliance wonderful results are produced. Whatever perspective exists in a picture is brought out in a manner that the ordinary methods of painting need scarcely hope to equal, and every object bulks out from the picture with such completeness that one feels he could take a hold of it. It is scarcely to be doubted that this simple appliance, which could be easily fitted up, so as to be both portable and elegant, will yet be so mechanized, or arranged, as to become an agreeable means of enjoyment in many private families. It is right to say that Dr. Taylor has been ably and indefatigably seconded in his labours by Mr. Macnab, photographer, West Nile Street, who printed and prepared some of the plates, and in whose premises we had the pleasure of inspecting the apparatus. The actual measurement of some of the plates which we saw was 15 inches by 12: the magnified size, as viewed through the lens, was of course much greater.
‘Dr. Taylor suggests that the same mode of viewing stereoscopic pictures in glass, by means of a moving coloured background, might be followed, as it adds greatly to their effect. In this case a flat disc, turning on its centre, and laid flat on a table, seems to be the best form for use. The usual obscure glass used to cover the stereoscopic picture must be removed, and a transparent glass, slightly dimmed, put in its place. Much of the beauty of the effect depends, as a matter of course, on the manner in which the bands of colour and shade are arranged on the disc.’
The principle of the idea carried out by Dr. Taylor has of course occurred to several scientific photographers, and been adapted to various modification of transparent slides. We ourselves proposed to Messrs. Negretti and Zambra the use of coloured glass for the suggestion of colour in the transparent photographs used last year at the Crystal Palace for the dissolving views—the glasses we contrived being pa9int4ed in transparent colours, arranged in various modes, and were to be placed at some distance behind the slides, between them and the condenser. The idea of moving clouds had, however, not occurred to us. We notice that at the Polytechnic Institution (London) photographs of American scenery, by Mr. W. England, are being exhibited during the Christmas holidays amongst the dissolving views; and it is not improbable that this feature of suggesting colour may be introduced there also, as we were recently pointing out to him the advantage of this addition.
1862: BJP Feb. 1, vol. IX, #159, p. 46-47:
Stereographs.
Instantaneous Views of London, &c. Photographed by Valentine Blanchard. London: C.E. Elliott, Aldermanbury Postern.
In our retrospective summary of the past year’s occurrences in the photographic world, we could not forbear remarking upon the very noticeable advance that had been made in the production of instantaneous views. Until lately pictures of this class were rather exceptional: now we find them not only frequent, but published in series of considerable extent, and not confined to the work of one or two but of several skilful operators. Besides Mr. George Wilson, who is a veteran instantaneous photographer, and indeed the originator of a particular class of works of this nature, we have had recently to welcome the debût of several newer hands in this branch of the art. It now becomes our duty to introduce another to the notice of our readers in Mr. Blanchard, whose works are before us, some of them being remarkably Wilsonian in aspect: this is peculiarly the case with Nos. 51, 52, 66, and 87, which are fine studies of clouds and water—and something more than that, for they are charming compositions.
In No. 51, The Thames at Blackwall, Looking Towards Greenwich, exhibits the Greenwich “reach” of the river just after high water, when the said river looks its best, and by association of ideas reminding one of whitebait enjoyed with a few genial companions. A fresh breeze is blowing; witness the direction of several flags, the dancing wavelets of the stream—touched here and there with what a sailor would call “cats’-paws”—and the light clouds scudding across the sky. The centre of the picture is occupied by a barque afloat, “stern on” to the spectator, sails triced up, and rigging all “taut:” she is riding at anchor, and is destitute of cargo—as shown by the way in which she stands out of the water—and has most likely just been taking in ballast from the “lighter” alongside. On the left is a barge, fully-laden, drifting down with the tide; and in the background many low warehouses and workshops on the shore at Millwall, with the tall masts of numerous other vessels in the further bend of the river.
No. 52 is a view taken from the same spot as the preceding, but looking down the Woolwich Reach of the River Thames. A sea-going steamer is in full retreat in the centre, with a thin wreath of black smoke coming out of her funnel, and leaving a narrow “wake” of white foam behind her; the water is agitated by the swell from the steamer, two huge mooring buoys being tossed hither and thither; several colliers are seen at anchor in the distance, with a vessel or two in full sail; the Surrey hills about Charlton and Woolwich form the background; and the whole is well finished by a summer sky, studded with some fleecy clouds.
Perhaps the most eminently characteristic slide taken from the pier at Blackwall is No. 87—High Water—which displays all the bustle of that exciting time at the spot indicated, when dockmasters are driven half crazy, and everybody is in a hurry. Some ships are making the best of their way inwards and others outwards; collisions are imminent; and steamers are threading their devious way in and out amongst the craft of all sizes and vessels of more commanding presence, like Hansom cabs in a crowded thoroughfare. The very sky, too, is in perfect keeping with the scene: A the wind appears to be dead ahead—the clouds scattered right and left in every direction—vessels on every possible “tack,” most having only a few sails set, for the breeze is evidently “stiff.” Just in front is a river steamer in retreat full of passengers: yonder is another coming fast towards us: all is activity and motion. It will be quite exciting to those whose lives are passed much in seclusion.
In No. 87.—Sunset at Greenhithe—we have a marked contrast to the preceding. The camera has been pointed directly towards “the light that rules the day,” which, partially shrouded by a bank of cloud, sinks slowly towards the horizon. It is low tide: the water of the river is scant and sluggish, and a large mass of the black slimy ooze on the banks is exposed to view—not smooth, but scored and twisted by the sharp keels of many retreating vessels and chafing hawsers. From the surfaces of the mud and water the sunlight is reflected in a long, irregular strip. A collier brig, aground, is seen on the left, and another, but half afloat, further down; and a couple of skiffs are being rowed close to the edge of the water, creeping slowly against the stream. There is a warmth and glow about this, with an air of repose, that is highly meritorious; albeit there are two or three trifling blemishes—very trifling—in the negative.
No. 82—Sunset at Greenhithe—is another study taken from precisely the same spot as the last-mentioned; but the sun has sunk lower down in the horizon, and is now shrouded and hidden entirely from view by a bank of dark clouds with torn and rugged edges, charmingly lit up with his last rays. There is a lurid glare from the mud and water, proceeding from the twice-reflected light—no longer in an irregular strip, but diffused widely over the surface. As an art-production this is very fine, and, with No. 87 as a commentary upon it, must be invaluable to a thoughtful art student in demonstrating the ever-varying effect of light and shade.
Nos. 67 and 83 are different views of the celebrated “Warrior,” Iron-Plated War Frigate.
No. 107 is a capitally-executed photograph of a lively scene—a large ship entering the East India Docks, with the Passenger Landing at Blackwall Pier from a couple of Woolwich steamboats.
No. 98—Study of Clouds at Southsea—is a very fine, so far as the clouds are concerned, and the barque in full sail is admirably delineated; but the whole is, as a composition, far too prim and formal.
Some sunset effects at Ryde are so “under-exposed” that there is far too much “room for the imagination” left to suit the popular taste at least.
There are numerous instantaneous street views in the metropolis, but, as a transition one from the preceding class, we may first notice No. 125, The Houses of Parliament, from Lambeth. This slide is more satisfactory out of, than in, the stereoscope. A “wherry,” with four rowers and a steersman, are seen crossing in front of the “New Palace:” Westminster Abbey also is visible on the left. But there is an absence of sharpness about some parts of this subject, where its presence is a desideratum, that is somewhat disappointing: there is also a little evidence of marginal distortion that is not pleasing. Still there are points about this slide that will, no doubt, render it a favourite.
Of the street views in London we must candidly admit that they are not equal to some of Paris that we recently criticized in these pages; but it must not be forgotten that the atmosphere of London interposes difficulties from which the exponent of scenes in the French metropolis is altogether emancipated. It would not, therefore, be fair to judge them both by the same standard. There are, however, some other faults about these that are not due to the inferiority (in a photographic sense) of the atmosphere, and at the existence of which we are a little surprised. We allude especially to some of the points of view selected; for, if a proportion of these were owing to the choice being what is popularly known as “Hobson’s,” others of them were certainly not in that category. However, we are glad to find a photographer who has the courage to attempt so difficult a task as that of the delineation of scenes in London streets.
Of all before us we prefer that of The Royal Exchange (No. 85), which gives a view not only of the Exchange, but of the whole vistas down Cornhill and Threadneedle Street, with the immense number of passengers both on foot and on vehicles of all descriptions which are constantly to be found in these thoroughfares. Photographically the slide is excellent; but artistically it is somewhat deficient. The sun is shining, and is located directly behind the spectator, and the two thoroughfares already named, branching right and left, too completely balance one another, while a line dropped from the “grasshopper” vane of the tower would pass through the apex of the gable over the entablature, and bisect the Wellington statue to a hair’s breadth. We have frequently cast an eye on the very spot, to determine which would be the best point of view for this subject; and we have long since arrived at the conclusion that it would not be found at the first floor window of the Insurance Office, at the corner of Charlotte Row, where we have no doubt this view was taken, but by the Mansion House, at the corner of the west balustrade, which would enable us to include the front of the Bank of England, or the greater portion thereof: the time of day for the exposure should be from two o’clock to half-past two in the afternoon. We may perhaps, be open to the charge of hypercriticism on the slide before us, for it is in all other respects than those indicated very excellent.
No. 114—Hungerford Suspension Bridge—is admirable and unexceptionable on either photographic or artistic grounds.
One without title or number we recognize as London Bridge From Near the Statue, King William Street, with its stream of vehicles, though pretty numerous, wonderfully clear for the usually thronged locality. We regret that this has been taken from the top of a house, as the parapet much interferes with the effect of the view.
There are many othe familiar scenes, as Charing Cross—The Post Office—The Quadrant, Regent Street—Palace Yard—Cockspur Street—Ludgate Hill, &c. But, ere concluding, we would say a word about the latter, which includes St. Paul’s Cathedral from a very unfavourable point of view; and, as we are acquainted with two good ones, we may as well offer the suggestion for future advantage. With a lens of moderately short focus, we believe it would be possible to include a general view of the Cathedral from the first floor window of a warehouse at the commencement of Cannon Street, either at Messrs. Behrens and Blumberg’s, or at the next more westerly one. The second very favourable spot from which to obtain a good view is fortunately a comparatively quiet one: we mean the Southward end of Southwark Bridge.
We have pointed out some few faults, it is true, in the street views; but we must in justice add that there are, on the whole, meritorious, and give an excellent idea of life in the great metropolis.
1862: BJP Feb. 15, vol. IX, #160, p. 65-66:
Stereographs.
Scenes on the River Thames—Views of Vessels of the Channel Fleet—Illustrations of Scottish Scenery.
Photographed by George Wilson, Aberdeen.
It is with much satisfaction that we find Mr. Wilson recording some of the picturesque effects observable upon the surface of the metropolitan river; for, notwithstanding it has been spoken of, disparagingly as “a huge unquiet cesspool,” there are phases of its existence which are well worth the study of both the poet and the painter. Although those who are familiar with the aspect of “Old Father Thames,” and who daily scan his features, might at the first impulse be inclined to say with regard to them—“One day telleth another, and one night certifieth another,”—such an idea would be dissipated in a moment on recalling to memory how different is the appearance presented at the present day to what it used to be some quarter of a century ago. Then there were but few river steamers, and scarcely a solitary sea-going one, to stir up the thick deposit of mud at the river’s bottom by their constant movement. In those days it was not only possible, but also a common amusement with young men of scarcely any nautical experience, to take a boat at “Searle’s” for an hour or two, and row about between Vauxehall and London Bridges, undeterred by any fear of danger, except, perhaps, of a “capsize” in “shooting” one of the arches of old Blackfriars Bridge when the tide was strong. Now, how different! He would be looked upon as a bold man who would do such a thing, and his want of taste would excite no small astonishment; for, truly, a blind man wandering about the road in Cheapside would scarcely be more unsafe, and it would be a strange fancy indeed that could enjoy the unsavoury odour arising from these waters on a July afternoon.
Still, as we have said, there are many glimpses of the picturesque to be had, if taken at the right place and time. Who, for instance, can view without enthusiasm old Greenwich Hospital, with all its romantic associations, and regard otherwise than with satisfaction the noble purpose to which it is now devoted. Mr. Wilson gives us a pretty view of it in No. 326, with a brig in full sail up the river, the masts and sails of which break the monotony of the roof line to the right, while the two domes of the building perform a similar office for the corresponding parts of the left.
The Thames at Greenwich (No. 329) exhibits a scene familiar to those who frequent its banks. The tide is about a quarter flood: on the farther shore are vessels of several kinds—boats, barges, and brigs—lying high and dry; a factory on the left, with a jet of steam from the busy engine showing a white streak against the whitish sky; the rounded tops of some elm trees on the other side of the marsh peep above the bank; in the centre of the stream a brigantine is being towed up by a tug-boat, from the funnel of which a cloud of white steam is “blowing off,”—the man at the wheel being distinctly visible amidships, which is his usual place on board these vessels; on the right, a light boat with a spritsail is scudding across the stream; on the left is a solitary rower making the best of his way to the near shore; between the two is a boat quietly drifting, its occupant standing up and watching the little sailing craft already mentioned; while in the immediate foreground is an empty lighter, only just afloat, which the man at the head is struggling to get into the stream by pushing with the oar against the bottom. All the parts of this subject are capitally balanced and well contrasted: the broken reflection of the barge forms a capital foil to the crisp outline of the craft itself.
In The Thames at Greenwich (No. 331) we have an ordinary sailing barge proceeding up the river just in front of “The Crown and Sceptre” tavern, of whitebait renown, with an undulating background of the trees in Greenwich Park. The tremulous ripple on the water is admirably pourtrayed, [sic] and the vessel itself is none the less picturesque for being old and somewhat weather-beaten, with here and there a patch on the sails, and two or three men on deck, one of them evidently on his way towards the stern of the vessel.
Nos. 332 and 334 are also both capital slides and full of life—the former being especially harmonious and delicate in gradation of tone.
Dropping Down with the Tide (No. 330) is the picture of a brig, fully laden, just starting on her voyage, with her jib and lower foresails having been cast loose hanging in festoons, and a couple of sailors in the foretop in the act of unfurling the topsail—all bespeaking the immediate preparation for speedy flight; while behind, and visible across her bows is a sloop with every rag of canvas that she can show set and bulging with the force of the wind. Here again the harmony of contrast is most effective.
In 327 and 328 we have Barges Coming Up With the Tide: both are good, but the former particularly so—the reflection of light from the water, with its dimpled surface, throwing up vividly the dark sails of the vessels and the houses in shadow on the opposite bank.
Amongst the illustrations of the Channel Fleet are three of H.M.S. “Revenge” that are worthy of especial notice—that numbered simply 318 being the most perfect as a picture. The Revenge is the flag-ship, of 800 horse-power, and mounting 91 guns. The long hull and tall masts, with the tracery of rigging, are well displayed by a background consisting of a bank of snowy, rounded masses of clouds. The low hills on the shore are crowded and studded with numerous dwellings, and the rapid movement of the waters in a steady stream is distinctly apparent. In that marked 318c the point of view is from a different spot; and though the background of clouds is wanting, the black smoke from the chimney of the floating bridge partly obscures the masts and rigging in a very picturesque manner. In other slides we have “The Royal Adelaide,” “Conqueror,” and “Centurion.”
Amongst the Scottish scenes the first we come to is one of those peculiarly beautiful combinations of clouds and water for which Mr. Wilson is so famous. The one before us is Loch-in-Darb, Morayshire (No. 342); and though in a similar style to those formerly produced of the Loch of Park it is superior to the latter in execution and equally fine in selection of subject.
Balmoral Castle, from Craig-an-Gowan (No. 12), is the best illustration of our Sovereign’s Highland home that we have yet seen, and reveals what no other one has hitherto done—the charm of its situation—located as it is in a wooded but elevated valley, with a pleasing view extending over many miles of moorland scenery.
Loch Avon, Banffshire (No. 337), is a singularly wild and lonely spot, more curious than beautiful.
Loch Insch (No. 356) is seen from under the overhanging branches of some birch trees. The slight haze from the water veiling the distant hills is truthfully artistic; but this otherwise fine slide is somewhat marred by the darkness of the foreground—apparently a hay field—which has clearly not received a sufficient amount of exposure.
The Wolf of Badenoch’s Castle, or Loch-an-Eilan, is as singular as it is beautiful. The so-called castle is a fragmentary ruin of an edifice built in the midst of a small lake, and is seen from the shore through an opening between the stems of a cluster of silver-birch trees, more of them being visible along the opposite shore of the lake: the distance is closed in by a range of low hills which tend to add an atmospheric attraction to the composition, the contrast between the near and distant ones being very marked.
Craigellachie Bridge, on the Spey (No. 349), is a scene thoroughly Scotch. The precipitous rugged rock, clothed with a thick plantation of Scotch firs, is washed at its base by the waters of the Spey, across which is thrown a light iron bridge. In the foreground is a clump of trees, amongst which the graceful larch is conspicuous.
Still more national in character, and far more beautiful, are three which we have reserved for a closing notice of this series. Pines in the Forest of Rothiemurchus, Strathspey (No. 353), is the title of a slide of the highest artistic as well s illustrative value. The scene is a gorge in the mountain side, where a gap has been made by the removal of some of the trees for their timber, the lower part of the stems of many others denuded of branches prior to their becoming a prey to the woodman’s axe, the rough and tangled roots clinging in many places to the bare rocks, with scanty soil stored in the crevices, and here and there clothed with patches of fern, while across the tops of the trees the feathery masses of thousands more are seen clinging to the opposite bank of the gorge, clothed in a veil of moist atmosphere.
The “Lion’s Face” Rock, Invercauld, Braemar (No. 48), is equally beautiful with the preceding, but more delicate. At the base of a rounded pillar-like rock is a dense plantation of young fir trees of different kinds, like a mass of green feathers” on the right and left are two firs of sturdier growth and differing varieties; and so perfect is the delineation of the whole, that not only would a botanist find no difficulty in naming them, but the truthfulness of aspect is so great that it is only when the slide is taken out of the stereoscope that one is satisfied that the vivid green colour of the foliage really exists only in the imagination. A copy of this slide should be in every collection.
Another scene in Braemar, The Lum of Dee (No. 144a), is a gem of the first water: we intend no pun, although a mountain stream is a component part of the subject. The stream, though apparently not a turbulent one, has worn a deep channel in the angular rocks which form its bed in a zig-zag course, a handsome stone bridge is thrown across from bank to bank, a few small shrubs and several large pine trees are picturesquely disposed, and the whole scene is viewed between two enormous stems of those natives of the higher and colder regions. On a near projecting promontory of rock a boy is seated, by whose presence a good idea may be formed of the grand proportions of the scene.
A Scottish tour with Mr. Wilson is a treat of no ordinary character, possessing the advantage of being enjoyable at all seasons of the year; and certainly the interest is not diminished if physically you happen, to have gone over the ground before.
1862: BJP Feb. 15, vol. IX, #160, p. 66:
Eastward Ho!
His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and suite, left town per S.E. Railway, on Thursday, the 6th inst., en route for the East. The Princess Alice accompanied His Royal Highness to the Station. The suite in attendance consists of Major-General the Hon. R. Bruce, Lieut-Colonel Keppel, and Major Teesdale, R.W., Equerries; the Hon. Robert Meade, Dr. Minter, the Rev. Dr. Stanley, and Mr. Francis Bedford. Though so short a time has elapsed since Mr. Bedford was specially summoned to Osborne (on the 22nd ult.) and requested to accompany His Royal Highness on this interesting tour, which will extend over a period of five months, Mr. Bedford leaves England provided with every requisite necessary for such an undertaking—duplicate sets of apparatus, a chemical “army of reserve,” &c., &c., most of the heavy cases of which have been dispatched per Peninsular and Oriental Company to Alexandria.
The bare mention of “Eastern travel” summons up a crowd of historic and sacred associations, which ever dwell around the farfamed and almost fabulous East. Horeb, Carmel, Etham, Nazareth, Bethlehem, the Jordan, the brook Kedron, and Hemnon’s vale-names around which are entwinded all the poetry of the Bible—and olive-crowned hills and citron groves—camels and caravanserais—picturesque groups and primitive tents—arid deserts and Bedouin Arabs—the Nile—the Sphynx—the Pyramids—until the mind whirls with teeming images and “thick-coming fancies.”
That Mr. Bedford will come back richly laden from the gorgeous East it would be superfluous to express a hope or belief. It is a matter of congratulation that photography is—with this instance before us—not likely to languish for want of Royal Patronage. We can fairly say, with regard to the compliment to the profession in Mr. Bedford’s person, “palmam qui meruit ferat.”
1862: BJP March 2, vol. IX, #161, p. 91:
Scraps and Fragments: [selected portions transcribed]
CELESTIAL PHOTOGRAPHY.—M.D. van Monckhoven is about to proceed to Italy to superintend the erection of photographic apparatus for the automatic registration of astral phenomena.
VIEWS IN THE PYRENEES.—Mr. F. Maxwell Lyte’s large-sized views in the Pyrenees, recently taken for the French Emperor, are to appear at the International Exhibition amongst the French collection.
PHOTOGRAPHICALLY ILLUSTRATED WORK.—We have recently seen one of the most tasteful publications for the drawing-room table that has hitherto appeared. Messrs. Negretti and Zambra have lately brought out a work on Egypt, Nubia, and Ethiopia, of a small quarto size, illustrated by one hundred photographic stereographs taken by Mr. Francis Frith.—The descriptive letterpress, by Mr. J. Bonomi, is interspersed with numerous wood-engravings, and is further enriched by numerous critical notes from the pen of Mr. Samuel Sharpe. The whole is elegantly bound, and accompanied by a folding stereoscope.
PHENAKISTISCOPIC PICTURES.—M. Dumont has presented to the French Photographic Society a new invention for procuring twelve negatives, showing the successive phases of an object in motion. The end proposed is not only to obtain natural moving stereoscopic images, but also to secure with certainty the best phases of objects in motion in an artistic point of view. The object is effected by a revolving cylinder with twelve facets thereon to carry the sensitive plates, and, by an ingenious contrivance, these are exposed successively only when brought exactly into a position at right angles to the axis of the lens.
LIFE-SIZED PORTRAITS.—We have recently inspected, with considerable pleasure, two half-length life-sized portraits at the establishment of Messrs. Negretti and Zambra, being the likenesses of Mr. Negretti and his wife. They are by far the most effective of this kind ever attempted in this country; and for mural decoration have quite sufficient definition without any aid from the pencil. That of Mr. Negretti is entirely untouched, while that of the lady has the net which confines the hair painted in. The treatment in both pictures is artistic, and the half-tones all that can be desired. We have been informed by M. Claudet that he is turning his attention in the same direction, and has certain productions of the kind “on the stocks,” as the dockyard phrase runs.
On this subject we find the following in the Athenœum:--
‘It will interest English readers to know that the prince of Wales employed some
of his short stay in Munich in sitting to Herr Albert, the court photographer, for one of
his life-size photographs. The portrait of his Royal Highness is to appear in the
Exhibition, and cannot fail to attract attention. We believe Herr Albert is the only
photographer who has produced portraits the size of life: they are certainly his invention,
and we have not yet seen them imitated. The Prince of Wales’s portrait was finished in
five hours’ time, and it is the Prince’s own desire that it is to appear in the Exhibition.’
We think it a great pity that the worthy editor of the Athenœum does not keep himself better “posted up” in matters photographic. We know that he has the opportunity. Were he to do so he would not have fallen into the error of supposing that Herr Albert is the inventor of life-sized photographs, still less that he is the only producer of such pictures. As to the invention, it rests with our countryman and good friend, Mr. F. H. Wenham, who brought the matter before the Photographic Society in 1853 or 1854 (we quote from memory only), and a paper by him on this subject may be found in the Journal of the Photographic Society of the date specified.
1862: BJP Feb.15, vol. IX, #160, p. 67:
Where To Go With The Camera in Yorkshire.* By C. Butterfield
[*Read at a Meeting of the Bradford Photographic Society, February 7, 1862]
If a middle station of life is that which affords the best chance of contentment and happiness, I can imagine no happier, being, nor one more to be envied, than a man of moderate means who can slip away for an occasional day from his business or profession, and can devote that day ardently, and from pure love of the art, to the pursuit of photography in the country. I need not dwell on the pleasure of being borne swiftly along, early on some fine spring or summer’s morning, far away from the smoky town, the noise of whirring wheels, and the hustling of busy crowds. The young day looks bright and fresh, and the air is cool and refreshing, thanks to the rising dew still lingering on the hill-tops ere it is finally drawn away by the advancing sun. there is a charm in our favourite art that I think is found in no other. He who really loves it for its own sake, even if he have long passed the summit of the hill of life and is rapidly nearing the dark vale at the foot, will feel, on such a morning as I have described, that his pulse beats more healthily, his spirits are improved, and, what is worth all else besides, for a few short moments he will feel young again, his thoughts will revert to the days of his youth, he will forget the hard truths a life’s experience has taught him, and the hollowness sad selfishness of the world; youthful hopes and aspirations, long since trampled mercilessly down and lost, will return; the shadow will go back on the dial of life, and momentarily point to the time when all was sunshine, and no cloud had fallen to spoil the beauty of the opening scene. It is worth much to the man of business to experience this, and I know of nothing but photography that will cause him to do so. The artist tastes something of it, but his excursions are the business of his life, and must become, like all other business, monotonous.
There is no doubt that much of the photographer’s pleasure arises from scenery, change, and pleasant associations. All these may have on any ordinary excursion among the woods, fields, and picturesque lanes of this country; but the photographer has, in addition, an occupation, a labour of love. He does not stroll idly on, now plucking a flower, now beheading some tall plant with his stick after the manner of idle gentlemen in general: all very nice, doubtless, especially the feeling of being idle and irresponsible, and having nothing to do. But make the aforesaid stick-bearing individual into an enthusiastic photographer: give him a camera and “legs,” and a box of dry plates, to carry in place of his stock, and you make an idle man into a happy one. We cannot be happy without something to do. Instead of our friend’s eyes being confined to the lane in which he walks, or to the hedge bounding the next field, they will wander round the whole horizon, pry under every ivy-covered arch, and into every miniature glen and watercourse on his route. He will be constantly on the look-out for “bits.” When he finds one his camera is planted in a twinkling, and, having commenced operations, he employs the only bit of idle time he has, while the plate is being exposed, in looking at and admiring the view he has chosen. The hours fly by like magic, and as his happy day draws to a close, and the fading light warns him to pack, up for home, his only regret is that he had not time to expose a few more plates.
There are, I hope, few here who will not heartily sympathise in the little picture I have drawn, and who are not looking eagerly forward to the time when we may once more see the face of the country bright with the flowers and sunshine of spring.
It has been suggested that a series of papers should be read on the scenery of different parts of Yorkshire, especially bearing on those places most suited to a photographer, and I have been asked to contribute. I have chosen for the first subject a district which is, I believe, very little known. I am sorry this should be the case, as I nowhere know scenery more beautiful or more adapted to photography. I allude to the valley of the Ure, from the neighbourhood of Ripon northwards towards its source. I visited the district in the spring of 1857, and it is my purpose this evening to give you a short sketch of the route and the objects of photographic interest, in order that any one choosing the same ground for the coming summer may have some little idea as to what he may expect.
Starting from Bradford by the first train—as all photographers should—I booked first for Ripon. Most of you have been there, no doubt, and seen Studley Park and the noble Abbey of Fountains. I need not dwell on these, except to say that all those who have not been there ought to go at once, and those who have been there already will not, I am sure, need any aid from me to recall the place to their recollection. I may however mention, in passing, that the abbey was founded by Thruston, Archbishop of York, in 1132, and is perhaps the finest ruin in England. Leaving Ripon it is necessary to return for a time to those primitive and uncivilised conveyances called coaches, because as yet the village to which I am bound has escaped being run over by that screaming iron civiliser—a locomotive. There is something very strange now-a-days in travelling by coach, but very pleasant in fine weather, especially to a photographer. Giving him credit for an artist’s eye, he is not sickened by the eternal straight line bounding his course: the road takes curious whims and fancies—now a dip into some pleasant hollow—now over the brow of a hill when common sense would have suggested going round the foot—now taking a sweep sideway for no purpose, apparently, unless to go as near as possible to that cool, fresh-looking little stream. I have a very foolish fancy about these old roads. I like to think that when they were first made there was not such an awful amount of science s at present—not so much squinting through weird-looking, spider-legged theodolites; not so much planning and staking, and working by line and rule, then as now. I like to fancy that roads were once footpaths, and that those paths were once green fields or pleasant woods. I can then understand how the want of a track, perhaps from one farm or homestead to another, should create that track, and how friendship or desire of companionship thus linked together these two places. No need of line and rule for this and one sees at once why the path should diverge from the straight line if a pleasant stream diverted the first visitor’s attention. I cannot account for the strange vagaries of some roads on any other principle.—To return, however. Half-way between Ripon and our first stage is Tanfield, a nice village vegetating on the river’s bank. There is nothing much of photographic interest there excepting, perhaps, an old gateway called Tanfield Tower. It is the only remaining relic of a once princely mansion belonging to the Hanleys. The entrance gate is now fitted with a door in front and read, and is used for a stable or for something equally as ignoble. Sic transit, &c.: now up, now down. From the gate, whence aforetime marched high-born ladies and gallant knights, now struts a dunghill cock, in his own estimation just as proud and stately.
Mounting the box-seat again, and travelling a few miles further, I came to my destination for the night—the village of Masham. (I beg pardon, I believe it is a market town.) Now as it was, I should say, nearly nine o’clock at night, I found almost every one in bed, even in the inn I stayed at. Luckily a moderately intelligent commercial traveller, who had wandered so far out of his course, was just as averse as myself to going to bed at nine o’clock, and so we managed to put off the evil hour to something like our usual time.
At no very great distance from Masham is Hackfall. I drove to the place next day. There is some little difficulty in obtaining permission to photograph it; but it is astonishing what a little oil, judiciously applied, and a silver key, will do. The officials were determined utterly to ignore my apparatus. The place is rather too artificial for my taste, still there are undoubtedly some very fine views to be obtained from occasional points: possibly, however, I may have been influenced to a certain extent by the fact that on the occasion of my visit the day was not so fine as I could have wished.
After leaving Hackfall I returned to Masham, and then passed successively through Bedale, Leyburn, and Wensley. At the latter place there is, or was, a fine old tree on the village green, which reminded me very forcibly of that beautiful picture—An English Merry-making in the Olden Time.
Passing onwards I came to the ancient castle of Bolton, which is in good condition, as far as the walls are concerned at least, but does not make a very good picture in consequence of the scarcity of trees in the neighbourhood. A view, however, should be, taken if for nothing else than the fact that the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots was at one time confined there. I subsequently saw and lay on the very bed tradition says she once pressed. I must not omit to mention here the magnificent falls of the Ure. Some traveller—I forget who—calls these second only in beauty to the falls of the Nile: as a matter of course there is a great difference in the width. The falls of the Ure make a very beautiful picture for the stereoscope, especially when the water is low. The stratum consists of flat slabs of limestone, which appear to have been worn away into a kind of low terraces or steps” the water pours down these in succession with a force proportionate to its volume, which varies considerably at different times. It is, I believe, these very falls which Turner painted, and which painting has since been lithographed.
At the close of the day I arrived at a place called Nappa Hall. Here I took up my quarters for a few days, within easy distance of some of the wildest scenery in Yorkshire. One need never be at a loss here for views: every mountain ours into the valley some tributary rivulet, tumbling through wild-looking gorges and over precipitous ledges of limestone. There is Wærdraw Force, with its unbroken fall of 100 feet into a deep basin—the slow work of ages. One of the most beautiful pictures conceivable is produced here when the sun is shining in a proper direction. The force with which the column of water descends from the rock above creates a continual mist which, under the rays of the sun, exhibits a splendid iridescent appearance never to be forgotten if once seen: pity it cannot be photographed! Then there is Mill Gill Force, Whitfield Force, Gale Force, and a host of other nameless falls—a detailed description of all of which would be too wearisome.
Wensleydale, the valley through which the Ure winds its way towards Ripon, is little else than a series of views from one end to the other. Clumps of dark picturesque firs break and diversify the prospect, and contrast finely with the masses of limestone rock which continually crop out to the surface. The distance is distance indeed—clear and sharply defined. Miles and miles away the whole district is such as a photographer would delight in. Some of the views for large plates are worthy the camera of a Fenton. But, as it is very probable that he will not visit them, let those who live nearer essay to take them; and, even if they only partially succeed, I am sure they will never regard their “Tour in Wensleydale.”
1862: BJP March 15, vol. IX, #162, p. 107-109:
Celestial Photography.
Presentation of the Gold Medal to Mr. Warren De la Rue, F.R.S., &c., by the President of the Royal Astronomical Society.
The following interesting and eloquent address was delivered by Dr. Lee, President of the Royal Astronomical Society, on the 14th ult., on the occasion of the presentation of the Gold Medal awarded to Mr. De la Rue, chiefly in consideration of his eminent services to astronomical science in perfecting the use of photography as a means of automatically recording certain celestial phenomena:--
Gentleman,--In the Report which has been read to you, you have been informed that the Council have assigned the gold medal of the Society to our worthy Secretary, Mr. Warren de la Rue, and, as is the custom, it is now my duty to explain to you in a few words the grounds of their decision.
You all know that for many years Mr. De la Rue has devoted the energies of his mind, a large expenditure, and such leisure as he could abstract from the complicated cares of an extensive and well-known commercial concern, to the earnest cultivation and systematic pursuit of practical astronomy, and that he has been one of the most frequent contributors to our evening meetings upon a variety of subjects, all requiring much knowledge, skill, and labour in their treatment.
Discoveries in the regions of science so crowd upon us in our own times that valuable inventions and striking results soon fade from the memory, and are lost in the brilliancy of those that rapidly succeed them.
I must therefore request your indulgence whilst I lay before you what it is that Mr. De la Rue has done to entitle him to receive, and the Council to award, the highest honour which it is in the power of the Royal Astronomical Society to bestow. Mr. De la Rue has not only conducted the usual observations which are made at most private observatories, but he has directed the resources of a rare mechanical genius to improvements in the most approved methods of polishing the speculæ of reflecting telescopes, and perfecting the mechanical arrangements by which operations of such refined nicety are performed.
On this subject there can be no higher authority than Sir John Herschel, who, in an article On the Telescope, published in the Encyclopœdia Britannica, says: “Such is Mr. De la Rue’s mechanism, which has afforded very admirable results in the production of specula thirteen inches in aperture and ten feet focal length, the perfection of which is enhanced by his practice of bestowing the same care and precision on every step of the figuring of the speculum from the grinding, the smoothing on a bed of hones—or rather a slab of slate cut into squares carefully brought to the same figure—and to the figuring of the polisher itself, which being thus previously rendered almost perfect, the speculum is saved the rough work of having to figure the polisher for itself on every occasion of repolishing.”
But it is in celestial photography that Mr. De la Rue has made his most important discoveries, and displayed an unfailing fertility of mechanical invention.
Wisely acknowledging the growing vastness of the several departments even of the same science, he has latterly, in a great measure, restricted his researches to the delineation of the various aspects of the heavenly bodies through the medium of photography.
It is only by acknowledging and adopting the principle of the division of labour that great results can be obtained, either in the pursuits of commercial industry or abstract science. The days of the admirable Crichton have lone since passed away. Indeed, Lord Bacon himself, in the Novum Orgonum, well observes, in anticipation of the influence of this general principle:--“Then man shall begin to find out their own powers when all will not essay to do the same things, but each man will employ himself in the work for which he is most apt.”
Mr. De la Rue’s claim to the special notice of astronomers, as a delineator of celestial objects through the medium of photography, does not rest on the absolute priority of his application of a well-known art in a new direction. It is rather based on the fact that by methods and adaptations peculiarly his own he has been the first to obtain automatic pictures of the sun and moon sufficiently delicate in their detail to advance our knowledge regarding the physical characters of those bodies, and admitting of measurements astronomically precise.
Admiral Smyth informs me that the late Mr. Bond, of Cambridge, in the United States, in the year 1845, with the assistance of Messrs. Whipple and Bond, obtained good pictures of Lyra and of Castor, and that in this year Signor De Vico made an unsuccessful attempt to photograph the nebulæ in Orion.
Mr. Glaisher, writing in 1851, as reporter upon Philosophical Instruments in the great Exhibition, Class X., and upon Mr. Bond’s daguerreotype of the moon, taken in 1850, and which was placed in the Exhibition of 1851, says upon photography:-- “Let us now view photography in its application to science—a process by which transient actions are rendered permanent, and which enables Nature to do her own work, or, in other words, which causes facts permanently to record themselves—is too well fitted for the purpose of science to be long overlooked; but the difficulties to be overcome in its application have been and still are great, and the results proportionably [sic] few in number. We consider, however, that the commencement of a systematic application of the photographic process to the purposes of astronomy is indicated by the daguerreotype of the moon, by Mr. Whipple; and great, indeed, will be the benefit conferred upon astronomical science when we obtain permanent representations of the celestial bodies and their relative positions, through the agency of light.”
Enlarged copies of Mr. Bond’s photographs were laid before the Royal Astronomical Society in May of the same year. At the meeting of the British Association of Science held at Ipswich, in July, 1851, under the Presidency of the learned Astronomer Royal, a daguerreotype of the moon was shown to the members of the mathematical section by Mr. Bond, assisted by Mr. Whipple, from the image formed in the focus of the great equatorial of the Cambridge United States Observatory; and his Royal Highness the Prince Consort, whose loss we now so deeply deplore, was present on the occasion and inspected the daguerreotype.
On the subject of the connexion of photography and chemistry with astronomy some interesting remarks appear in the admirable lecture on the sun, delivered by the respected Professor Walker before the British Association for the Promotion of Science, under the Presidency of our esteemed member, Mr. Lord Wrottesley, in 1860, at Oxford.
There are several references to celestial photography in the various volumes of the Comptes Rendus which can only be brought to your notice in the form of notes.
Respecting this photograph of the sun, the index of the Comptes Rendus has been searched all through under the heads of “Arago,” “Photography,” “Soleil,” “Fizeau,” Foucault,” “Daguerreotype,” and “Faye,” and no mention has been found whatever of the sun picture in 1845, and there has not been found any reference to it excepting the plate in the body of the original work itself.
It was the sight of these very promising photographs of Mr. Bond’s which first gave the impulse to Mr. De la Rue’s labours in this direction. In 1852 he availed himself of the collodion process invented by Mr. Archer in the preceding year, and succeeded in obtaining a good picture of the moon. In 1853 Professor Phillips obtained Talbotypes of the moon at York. In 1854 lunar photographs were secured at Liverpool under the supervision of Mr. Hartnup. In 1855 the Rev. J. B. Reade, who has distinguished himself in photography, obtained special notice and honourable mention at the Paris Exhibition for his photographs of the moon. Others, also, have been taken at Rome by Signor Padré Secchi; at Brighton by Mr. Fry; and in the vicinity of London by Mr. Huggins. All these photographs possess merits of their own, and give decided promise of future and greater success.
Admiral Smyth, in the Speculum Hartwellianum, pp. 249-250 and 285, speaks of Mr. Bond’s labour in celestial photography, particularly pointing out that, in 1857, a photograph was sent to the Astronomer Royal taking in the whole field between Mirza and Alcor, with such exactitude as to show their angles of position and distances.
Mr. De la Rue’s success in obtaining photographic pictures of the moon, possessing great sharpness of definition and accuracy of detail, is owing to the happy combination of a variety of causes. Possessing a large mirror of such exquisite defining power that but few existing telescopes equal it in accuracy of definition, and brought into figure by his own hands, and by peculiar machinery of his own contrivance, he was at once freed from those imperfections in the actinic image which are of necessity inherent in the very best refractors, corrected the most accurately for chromatic dispersion.
Mr. De la Rue at first had no clock-work apparatus to govern the motion of his telescope, and he discontinued his selenographical experiments until he had removed from Canonbury to Cranford—a change of residence which, for the interests of astronomy, he had for some time previously in contemplation. He then furnished his telescope—his own in a double sense—with a clock-work apparatus, which, from time to time, has passed through numerous alterations, and is still in course of improvement. The mechanical problem before him, as the Fellows of this Society well known, was one of extreme complexity; for not only must the motion of the clock-work be perfectly smooth and equable, but it must also be capable of acceleration and retardation to keep pace, so to speak, with the ever-varying velocity of the moon in the heavens—a variation compounded of its diurnal motion and its ever-changing velocity in its orbit.
Lastly, by a rare and happy combination of chemical with mechanical skill, the time necessary for the exposure of the collodion film was materially shortened. The final result is this:--That images of the moon, have been repeatedly taken in the focus of the mirror, admitting very considerable amplification, and exhibiting details on the moon’s surface sufficiently clear to admit of delineation under a microscope provided with a camera lucida, and thereby furnishing materials for more accurate selenography than has heretofore existed.
Neither must we altogether omit that, by stereoscopically combining images of the moon taken in different phases of her librations, Mr. De la Rue has brought to light details of dykes and terraces and furrows and undulations on the lunar surface of which no certain knowledge had previously existed, and which I have had the pleasure of seeing in his observatory at Cranford.
I must now turn to a department in celestial photography where Mr. De la Rue stands alone. I speak of heliography. In April, 1854, Sir John Herschel, in a letter to Colonel Sabine, recommended that daily photographic records of the sun should be obtained at some observatory. Accordingly, the Royal Society placed at the disposal of the Kew Committee a sum of money to promote that object, and Mr. De la Rue was requested to administer the grant.
It becomes necessary to mention that Arago, in his elegant and popular work on astronomy, translated by two eminent Fellows of our Society, states that MM. Fizeau and Foucault, in 1845, obtained a photographic image of the sun and two spots on its disc, delineated with much apparent sharpness and accuracy; but, however this may be, it is certain that no uniformly successful method of taking images of the sun had been devised until Mr. De la Rue took up the problem for investigation. But, great as had been the difficulties in obtaining a really accurate and available picture of the moon, they sink into insignificance when compared with those which had to be overcome in the photography of the sun.
To obtain any automatic picture of the sun’s photosphere available for practical purposes, it was found necessary to institute a series of preliminary experiments before actual operations could be successfully commenced. At first, nothing but burnt-up and solarised pictures could be obtained by any method that had hitherto been devised, or with any the least sensitive of the media that could be procured. Now, with the help of the Kew photoheliograph, as devised by him, and described in volume XV. Of the monthly notices, heliography is the easiest and simplest kind of astronomical photography. The method devised by Mr. De la Rue will enable any photographer, of common average skill to take excellent heliographs. Professor Selwyn, of Ely, succeeds in getting pictures of the sun with the apparatus made for him by Mr. Dallmeyer, after the pattern of the Kew photoheliograph.
Mr. De la Rue announced, at the last meeting of the Society, that by app-lying the stereoscope to the examination of the sun’s disc—as he had formerly done in the case of the moon—he had discovered that the faculæ on the surface of the sun are to be found in the outer or highest regions of the solar photosphere.
Mr. De la Rue has invented an ingenious micrometer, and which he has lately exhibited at one of our meetings, by means of which he fully confirms the hypothesis that the coloured protuberances belong to the sun, and render it almost certain that the commonly-received diameters both of the sun and moon require a correction.
More recently still photographic pictures of the sun have been obtained, not only exhibiting its well-known mottled appearance, but showing traces of Mr. Nasmyth’s “willow leaves,” and, by the aid of the stereoscopic pictures, rendering it certain that the faculæ are elevations in the sun’s photosphere.
I need not enlarge on the wonderful discoveries which have been made, and the astonishing results that have been obtained, by Newton and his successors in this the most fertile and exact of all the applied mathematical sciences, neither would it become me, an humble but zealous worshipper of science, to hazard conjectures as to the future progress of astronomy; but I may, perhaps, be permitted to remark, that while our great national and public observatories—indeed I ought to say those of the civilised world as well—are day to day adding to that enduring record of the transient phenomena of the heavens which will enable future ages to reach the final finish and last perfection in the calculation of the tables of the motions of the moon and the planets—to eliminate any element of error, however minute—and to detect any latent perturbing force, however feeble its effect—yet it is to private observatories, and to observations made in the remoter regions of starry space, that we are chiefly led to look for new discoveries. It augurs well for the future that there is no lack in our own day of such establishments, or of accomplished observers to use them . It is almost, if not altogether, needless to bring before you the names of Sir James South, Admiral Smyth, Lord Rosse, Mr. Lassell, Lord Wrottesley, Mr. Davies, Mr. Carrington, and a host of others familiar to many of you. The elliptic motions of binary stars round their common centre of gravity, the colours of others, the discovery of new planets, the calculation of cometary orbits, the laws of change in the variable stars, the sudden burst upon the sight of some stars and the gradual evanescence of others, will afford for many generations suitable and exhaustless subjects of sustained astronomical research. The instant splendour and gradual decay of certain stars is one of the most wonderful facts recorded in the history of astronomy. It was Hipparchus who first, I believe, noticed the sudden appearance of a star of singular brilliancy before unknown. By this strange discovery he was urged to construct a catalogue of stars visible to the naked eye, “that posterity might know whether time had altered the face of the heavens.” In 1572, Cornelius Gemma observed a star, in the chair of Cassiopea, transcending Venus herself in brightness.
The art of photography is of the very highest importance in the promotion of exact science. It stereotypes, so to speak, for the use of all time to come, the present aspect of the heavens.
As astronomical observations ranged in tables record the present positions of the heavenly bodies, so photography registers their present aspect. It may be that the pictures of the sun now taken will enable future ages to test the prediction of the poet—
‘The stars shall fade away,
The Sun himself grow dim with age,
And Nature sink in years.’
I trust that I am not guilty of a breach of confidence if I mention (though I am not authorized to do so) that Mr. Babbage, who was one of the original members of this Society in 1820, and one of its first Secretaries, has informed me that, although he feels that he has not sufficient acquaintance with photographs, as well as with other subjects, to enable him to do justice to Mr. De la Rue, still, in his opinion, the additions made by Mr. De la Rue to science are fully worthy of any acknowledgment which a medal may indicate.
I cannot resist taking the same liberty with the opinion of Sir James South—who also was one of the original members of the Society in 1820, and a member of the first Council and President in 1829 and 1830, and the founder of the noble Kensington Observatory, which will for ever immortalize his name—who says that, “in his opinion, the decision of the Council of the Society in decreeing its medal to Mr. De la Rue meets with his approbation, and he heartily approves of the decision.
I am permitted by the Lord Chief Baron, Sir Frederick Pollock, the President of the Photographic Society, and who has been for many years one of our esteemed members, to mention that he maintains a great respect for the labours of our medalist and of their results, and a high opinion of him as a man who is singularly devoted to science.
An old and invaluable friend remarks—in writing on the merit of Mr. De la Rue—that “he has turned the eye of photography upon the sun, and has brought away results which no other eye could see. When by smoked glasses, dark glasses, or reflection from water, you diminish the light of the sun, you proportionally diminish all other light, and the red horns—the protuberances—cannot be seen; but when there is a total eclipse of the sun, its light is stopped, and the mountains in the sun become visible. Mr. De la Rue has availed himself of ingenious contrivances to overcome difficulties.
I am permitted by Sir John Herschel—who became one of the original members of the Society on the 12th January, 1820, and was one of the three first Secretaries under the Presidency of his illustrious father, and himself President in 1827—to mention that Mr. De la Rue has deserved exceedingly well the medal of the Astronomical Society by his admirable execution of those large and highly-finished specula which he has wrought and polished by machinery, invented and constructed by himself; and which, though grounded on Mr. Lassell’s rotatory principle, is by no means a servile imitation of Mr. Lassell, inasmuch as several distinct improvements have been introduced, tending to distribute the polishing action more equally over the whole surface of the metal. One of these improvements consists in his interposition of a plate between the supporting plate and sliding plate of Mr. Lassell’s traversing slide, which being made to revolve causes the traversing movement of the speculum to take place—not across the same diameter of its area, but at every stroke across a different diameter; and he also obviates the irregularity of the motion of Mr. Lassell’s polisher on its centre by governing that rotation by mechanism, instead of leaving it to be determined by the excess of external over internal friction. Both seem to me to be very judicious and real improvements.
Of course I need not to you record Mr. De la Rue’s merits as an artist, manifested in his beautiful representations of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars; nor as a photographer, in attacking with so much perseverance, skill, and excellent success, the difficult problem of solar photography, which he has carried out on a very large scale in projecting spots on a disc a yard in diameter.
Mr. De la Rue’s photographic depictions of the red protuberances at the eclipse in Spain, I suppose, are considered decisive as to their belonging to the sun. And his photographs also show other evidence of very extensive atmospheric luminosities, which greatly enlarge our ideas of the material extent of the sun’s atmosphere. He has also obtained stereographs of the faculæ, and verified Nasmyth’s “willow leaves,” &c., &c.; and a paper giving the result of his labours during the eclipse expedition to Riva Bellosa has been presented to the Royal Society, and is to be considered in March of this year.
The Rev. Charles Pritchard has communicated his enlightened idea of the splendid discoveries which may soon be revealed to us. He informs me that Mr. De la Rue has made that certain which before him amounted to no more than a hope, by showing that pictures of the sun and moon could be taken possessing accurate and delicate and measurable detail. He has shown that there is now the strongest ground for hope that, by the aid of photography and the stereoscope, the “rose-coloured prominences,” above the photosphere will be ultimately and at all times made visible as existences above the other portion of the solar atmosphere, just as the faculæ have been made prominent already.
The depth of the sun’s spots may also be hoped now to be brought into tangible view.
The different planes of Saturn’s rings will also come into relief, and we may soon hope to know, by the same stereoscopic aid, whether the belts of Jupiter are or are not portions of his dark body, or clouds in his atmosphere above.
We may hope, also, ere long to see the mountains and elevated continents of Mars rise up into solidity before our delighted gaze.
If, then, we take collective note of all Mr. De la Rue’s long and varied labours since the 14th March, 1851, when he became one of our members—such as the perfecting of the figures of mirrors, the graphic observations such as the perfecting of the figures of mirrors, the graphic observations of the planets, the incomparable photographs of the moon, the invention of the photoheliograph, the observations on the solar eclipse, the invention of the new method of obtaining numerical data, the application of the stereoscope to the examination of the surface of the moon and afterwards to that of the sun—sure am I that the Society at large will unanimously approve of the award of their medal made by the Council.
(It may, however, be said by some ingenious critic that photography is only an art which bears but indirectly on the promotion of astronomy, and that the reward of its successful manipulation is rather the province of those Societies to confer which cultivate the art of photography or the science of chemistry. But I cannot allow of the justice of this view.
What should we now say of the early Fellows of the Royal Society if they had delegated Newton, when he invented the telescope that bears his name, to the Company of Spectacle Makers for his meed [sic]of praise?
What should we now think had the barren honours which grace scientific discovery been denied to such mechanical inventors as Hadley, or Dolland, or Sir William Herschel, or Lord Rosse, or Lassell? With them the name of De la Rue, I feel, will hold no inferior place.
Mr. De la Rue, in compliance with a resolution of the Council, I have the pleasing duty of placing in your hands the highest tribute to merit which they have it in their power to bestow. The instruments made or improved by you—the important uses to which you have applied them—and the liberality with which you have communicated the results of your discoveries to the public—all indicate, in the opinion of the Council, a mind highly cultivated, the energy of which has been directed during many years to the attainment of scientific perfection.
But the immediate cause of their approbation is your unceasing efforts and delicate manipulation in reducing the new and wonderful art of photography to astronomical purposes, and in rendering chemistry an assistant to astronomy.
May Divine Providence, “the high and lofty One, that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is holy”—may “the Great First Cause least understood” bestow upon you health and intelligence, and every social blessing, in order that you may be enabled by your thoughts and words and actions to continue to augment His honour and glory, and the benefit and the happiness of all our fellow-creatures; but, as I am in private duty bound to pray, the more especially for the benefit and happiness of your brothers—the members of the Royal A stronomical Society.
1862: BJP March 15, vol. IX, #162, p. 111:
My First Photographic Trip to the Country.*
By a member of the Edinburgh Photographic Society
[* Read at a Meeting of the Edinburgh Photographic Society, March 5, 1862]
Now that a few bright peeps of our friend the Sun give us promise that we shall soon have photographic weather again, perhaps the story of my first attempt at photography beyond the range of my dark room may afford a few hints to those young amateurs who have, as I had at that time, rather more enthusiasm than judgment, and more headstrong belief in their own capacity to overcome the difficulties inseparable from out-of-door photography, than a knowledge of what they consist.
In Scotland we are not allowed many holidays, and most of those we have are carefully christened by our orthodox shepherds “fast days.” If the name has anything to do with the acts performed on those days, it must be on the principle of a lucus a non lucendo, as in general they are rather looked forward to s days to be enjoyed and marked with a white stone.
The particular day to which I draw your attention was commenced by me in anything but the spirit of fasting, although if you had been at my shoulder during the time consumed in “doing” breakfast you would have said I was making preparation for a very prolonged fast day: sans doubt there’s no breakfast for a hungry man like a Scotch one. The preliminaries having being gone through, and the meteorological department attended to for the twentieth time, I took a 1st look to see that everything was right and in its place.
As my field roll may be of service in many respects, on Dr. Colverwell’s principle of “What to eat, drink, and avoid,” I will annex it. It consisted in the first place of a home-made collapsible camera to suit my three-inch Ross lens. I had the notion I could do most of those little matters far better than the makers; and, although my camera was clumsy, it was at least satisfactorily made, and answered its purpose well. It was light; and although not very portable, could yet be packed away easily enough in my capacious tent, which was made in this way:--I had a stout box, about 32 x 23 x 7 deep, which had done duty in sketching before, and I arranged four light iron tubes about half-an-inch external diameter, and about twenty-nine inches long, which were made to fit into keepers at each corner of the box, on the top of which four pillars the lid was fixed in the same way. The lid, by-the-bye, had about one inch of the seven in depth nailed all round the edge of it in which the upper keepers were fixed, and which allowed of four stout hooks-and-eyes being screwed on outside which fixed the while affair together after everything was packed inside. On the outside of the bottom of the box I had the feet hinged: they were exactly like the four legs of an ordinary kitchen tab le, but lighter, and with no top rail at the hinged junction of them with the box, but both had for rigidity bottom rails about eight or nine inches from the spikes. One of the pairs of legs, however, was made to hinge inside the other, and the bottom rail of the widest one was a piece of light hoop-iron to allow both to be flat on the bottom of the box when not in use; and when in use, with its iron spikes driven into the ground, and the legs projecting beyond the line of the box itself about six inches on each side, it looked the very picture of stability, as indeed it was. I have tried many forms of tent, but that is the best I have yet seen for a journey. You might, as I have done, pack in it a Kinnear’s 12 x 10 camera, two boxes, with glass sufficient for a fortnight’s or a month’s journey, bottles, chemicals, baths, and—wash-houses I was going to say—but my cistern was a half-gallon camphene jar, made of zinc, square in form, into which I got a small gas-cock soldered, and with a champagne cork in the top, it formed a cistern fit for a prince—a flat Wedgwood-ware bath for the silver, another for washing (I objected on principle of gutta-percha), 20-ounce bottle of silver solution, 12 ounces of iron developer, crystals of hypo. ad lib., chamois leather and cloths, and any quantity of ounce-bottles of all the other things that might be needed for a journey to the Holy Land, or anywhere else beyond the reach of chemists. By-the-bye, my utmost proposed stretch was less than three miles, to a picturesque castle which had been for some time the residence of Queen Mary and her court.
Well, revenons à nos moutons: just as I had completed my preparations, I heard the well-known footsteps of my friends, Emerald Green—whom we nicknamed “Hercules,” from his strength (of neck)—and Flake White, who rejoiced in the soubriquet of the “Corinthian,” from his possessions of a remarkably “knobby” head of hair, which we insisted he dressed into the shape of the architectural capital from which he derived his classical cognomen. After the usual compliments were passed, the “traps” looked to, and the weather scrutinsed for the twenty-first time, we prepared to start.
I omitted to say that our tent or developing-box had two stout portmanteau kind of leather handles made to fit the hands. Green was a short wiry fellow, and he and I took the handles quite stoutly; and you can hardly conceive how conceitedly we stalked off with the mysterious box of appurtenances, all the small boys round about offering to give us a “lift” if we’d take them with us. One impudent young scoundrel was sure he’d be able to do as well as “Hercules:” (sic) another insinuated that we should spoil all the “fotygrafs” if we didn’t take him with us. But with an air of contempt and proud consciousness of superiority, we moved on “with the wide world before us.” By the time, however, that we had proceeded about 250 yards we found it wouldn’t balance. Well, we’d change hands—so—pretty good for the next 150 yards or so. “I say, ‘Corinthian,’ take a life here: this is rather heavy,” says Hercules. “All right! Here you are!” The camera-stand is handed over, and the “Corinthian” becomes porter, while after a bit I begin to feel considerably used up. “The box ain’t properly balanced: the handles are not in the right place. Bah! we’ll take a rest,” says I. “This is rather queer! A rest before we have got to the toll-house (said toll-house being within a quarter of a mile from my door)! We rested, and shortly started again, but we had’nt (sic) gone much farther till the “Corinthian” proclaimed it to be “deuced heavy!” “Suppose we try it upside down”: I interjected: “it may balance better, especially as the handles seem to have been fixed on rather low, making it top-heavy; perhaps it will trim better.” No sooner said than done: of course the hooks are strong enough, so off we went again. “Ah! that’s better. That’s something like the thing: it balances better now.” And so we proceeded for about a score of yards, when—must I say it—crash went the box, out flew baths and bottles and lends and camera, and “in the twinkling of a bedpost” the road was converted into a negative printing-bath. The silver bottle broke, and made a nice mixture with the developer, and the small bottle of pryo. Assisted the whole to make a mess of inky blackness known to those who are fond of trying mixtures. The fabulous quantities of different kinds of collodion that disappeared in the smash I am afraid to speak of in case I should not be believed; but those who have gone out for the first time, fully provided against all failures, will be able to estimate it. We stood fixed in astonishment, and our feelings had well night developed themselves into despair when I started up with “Why dwell on it, boys?” in with the debris!” and in the whole—not the broken-lot went.
1862: BJP April 1, vol. IX, #163, p. 137:
Foreign Correspondence. Paris, March 27th, 1862. [technical sections omitted]
Mr. Warren De La Rue having forwarded to the Academy of Sciences the photographic pictures and designs executed under his direction on the occasion of the eclipse of the 18th of July, 1860, M. Faye (one of the first and most urgent in recommending the application of photography to such observations) has just presented to the Academy an interesting report thereon. He insists upon the importance of an idea suggested by your talented fellow-countryman, and which would give an additional value to the reproductions in question.
The distance of the planets is so great that they always appear completely flat. It would be impossible to apply to them the usual stereoscopic process; for, even by placing oneself at two opposite extremities of the earth, the angle obtained would be insufficient. Instead of varying the point of view, Mr. De la Rue varies the instant of observation. In this manner it is the object itself which changes place and not the apparatus. Two images of Mars obtained at two hours’ interval correspond, for that planet, to a rotation of about thirty degrees. It is as if the photographer had made so much of the circuit round the planet in order to obtain the two photographic images. When placed in the stereoscope the two images produce a very striking effect, of which I was enabled to judge the other evening, as two copies had been presented to the French Society of Photography.
At the same meeting (Friday, the 21st), the President read the report of the Committee charged with the awarding of the prize for carbon printing processes, which had been offered by the Due de Luynes. The whole prize (2000 francs) was adjudged to M. Poitevin. The committee proposed, however, that a medal of 600 francs should be given to M. Fargier out of the funds of the Society, for the modification introduced by him into the original processes.
A numerous collection of views, groups, and types was presented on the same evening. These had been taken in Nova Zembla, by a French missionary, Father Gavet. They are far from being perfect in execution; but the wonder is that they could be taken at all in such a climate, and in a country where a journey of 400 leagues is necessary to procure the most indispensable substances. As to their subjects these pictures are interesting.
A staff officer, M. Champlonis, who was in the Syrian expedition, brought back some views which he had taken on what he calls wet-dry waxed paper. When he has sensitised his paper, he puts it wet between two sheets of blotting paper, taking care to place first in a double sheet of white paper. In this manner the prepared paper is maintained in a certain degree of humidity, which is advantageous in a warm country. Before developing he again puts the sheet into the aceto-nitrate bath.
M. Potteau—whom I have already had occasion to mention in speaking of the collection of types of the human race, which he has continued with perseverance—has just presented to the Academy of Sciences a new and curious reproduction. It is a copy of the bones of the paw of a Plesiosaurus, which were found, separated, in the environs of Havre. M. Valenciennes—your scientific men are so wondrously patient!—succeeded in reconstructing with these bones almost the entire hand of the gigantic Saurian. M. Potteau has reproduced the specimen very skillfully, and with that mathematical precision which scientific subjects demand.
At the late Photographic Exhibition in the Champs Elysées the fine pictures sent by M. Albert, of Munich, attracted much attention. They were large portraits and ravishing copies of drawings by Kaulbach. It appears that during his stay at Munich the Prince of Wales posed at this artist’s studio for a natural-sized portrait, which is to figure at the Universal Exhibition. M. Albert makes use of the amplifying process with the convergent light, and employs Woodward’s camera. He operates upon iodide of silver, and develops with gallic acid.
Some time ago there died a M. Sarvageot, who was celebrated for having made a choice and immensely valuable collection of artistic curiosities. During his lifetime, even,. He had offered it to the Louvre Museum, on condition that he should remain its curator, as he wished to enjoy to the end of his days the pleasure of contemplating and caring for his beloved rarities. The Administration iks at present having the museum engraved in its entirety. To secure greater accuracy, the artist charged with this important work has decided to employ the heliographic process of Mr. Nièpce de St. Victor. It will be one of the most important works which photography has aided to produce. Ernest Lacan
1862: BJP April 15, vol. IX, #164, p. 146-147: (cont. from March 15)
My First Photographic Trip to the Country
By a Member of the Edinburgh Photographic Society.
We retraced out steps. No jubilant contempt for the small boys this time! No turning up of our mental noses at their juvenile jokes! We had over-exposed ourselves too much for that. Fortunately for our peace of mind we found that they had moved away on their holiday-making—some to church and some to play. In twenty-five minutes from the time of reaching home we were off again with an entirely new batch of baths and solutions, lightened considerably of many of the superfluities, and the bottles and general impedimenta distributed as much as possible among our pockets; for we began to discover the truth of the axiom in physics, “that it is not so much the actual weight, but the concentration of it in one spot, that crushes the bearer,” be he human, equine, or ruminal.
Our developing box was lighter, and we were much heavier in spirit when we again started. But the slight breeze that awaited us and the bright sunshine which tempered its coolness made our walk very pleasant. Before we had got one mile of the three that we had promised ourselves, notwithstanding all our care, we began to need a rest; and where could we more pleasantly spend an hour than in the little village of Bonnyneuk (a place of about a dozen houses)? Besides, it was so picturesque, and the number of “bits” to be had so many, that we cheated each other into the belief that we must try a plate or two, were it only to see if the new stuffs would work. Was there not a new bath (Hennah’s, by-the-bye), and new developer, and untried collodion, and so on. On a willing mind persuasion acts easily, and we in a few minutes pitched our camp in a pasture field facing a highly-picturesque corner of the village. There was a partly broken-down outside stair, on which an “auld wife” sat nursing a baby, and a thatched gable, some cats on end, a barrow which had come to an untimely end, several farm tools, and a whole legion of juvenile joskins. Up we set the box on its legs: the rods were fitted, trays placed and everything made ready for the yellow cloth being thrown over it, when—O tempora!--one of the urchins pulled the “Corinthian’s” coat, and quietly asked for a “hapenny work o’sugar bools!” Think of the immaculate Flake White—the knobby “Corinthian”—the R.A. of a year or two hence—being taken for a peripatetic vendor of children’s “goodies!” It was too much. With an expletive more emphatic than polite he requested the youngster to be off; and as we heard the colloquy we burst into such a hilarious jolly fit that he was fain to join in our guffaws. But before we were well done with our laughter, up comes a deputation of the older children to know what we did sell if not “sweeties?” It was no use saying that we had nothing to sell, for, if we had nothing to sell, what did we need with a stand?” We stood our ground against the host of inquisitive questions, and got the yellow cloth—bright with all the glories of gamboges or chrome—drawn over the stand.
I may mention that we had a firm opinion that all the books must be wrong in recommending black cloth over the yellow. Was I not great in chemical authority? and did I not know that yellow had no actinic action? And if so, what was the use of working in the dark? besides, had I not tried the box in my own room, to the great detriment, I confess, of sundry “anti-macassars,” &c? So of course it must be all right.
To work we went. “Hercules” got the picture focused and the figures arranged with the help of the “Corinthian.” I got the plate ready and exposed it. I must here abridge all the difficulties we had of explaining to the said “figures” that we only wanted a picture of them—a matter we could hardly get them to understand. The ancient dame with the child wanted to know what we could want wi’ a pictur’ o’ auld John Tamson’s byre an’ granary? and as for herself, what wad she do in a picture? The picture was exposed, and I disappeared, head and shoulders, into the tent, and developed a fair-looking picture, which, however, appeared remarkably white, and when brought to the light and fixed showed a dense veil of fog. Then came the usual string of interrogatories. Was it the bath? or the developer? or the collodion? We tested for each, and still no results, or rather not a whit better, till, trying a last plate, and holding my head up, wondering what could be the matter, and staring right up, I felt somewhat astonished to meet some direct rays of the sun through our immaculate new yellow cloth. Peste! was it not annoying to lose two hours of the best of the day and have no results? However, to work we went, and wrapped a large plaid round it, leaving here and there a corner for light; and now we found the work go on well. The next plate after that was all right, but, on consulting our watches, as well perhaps as our inclinations, we found there was no time to go to our old castle; so we moved our camp a little nearer, and having succeeded in interesting one of our villagers by portraitising her eldest and youngest “hopes” as accompaniments to “a cottage door” group, we got a roomy dark place used as a hen house to employ as a dark room, and plenty of water. We proceeded to make the best use of our time. I need not detail the whole of the plates covered, but will mention two. We had succeeded in getting a picture of an exceedingly fine patriarchal goat, which by some occult means had persuaded himself to stand steadily and quietly for a couple of minutes beside the girl who held him. It was a superb picture, with the corner of a lately-shorn wheat field, a ragged thorn, and the mountains beyond looming hazily in the distance: everything about it was perfect, even to the apparent browsing of the goat, which after all was only the old patriarch stretching his head to reach the grass—a feat which he did not accomplish. I proceeded with the development, and had brought it just about right: one more drop of silver and it would be complete, when—birr—splutter—went one of our good dame’s hens, which had been on the roost unknown to any of us, right over the plate I held in my hand, and need I say that the “counterfeit presentment” of our friend the billy-goat was obliterated in the flapping of a wing. This was a complete disheartener. We announced to our friends that we would take but one more picture, and then be gone. There was a general demand among the villagers that we should take their “pictures:” so we agreed to try a group of an many as chose to stand, they having been very kind to us.
“Now is the chance for you my future R.S.’s,” said I. “Show your power of skilful disposition of figures: you never had such an opportunity!” To work we all went: they to arrange and dispose the material, I to get the plate ready. When this was done, and our favourite the goat put just in the proper place—(you should have seen the patriarchal gravity with which the bearded and long-horned gazed with his mild eyes at our preparations, looking all the time as humble as a sheep)—I uncovered the lens, and stood with my back to the group, for fear of disturbing any of them. I had been in this position for twenty-five seconds (I like to be particular), when I heard a shout from Emerald Green of “Look out, camera!” I have turned, but it was only in time to see the goat, which had broken from the little girl, running full tilt against the person of the “Corinthian,” who stood beside our developing box. Down went he and it, and, in the rush forward to save it from destruction, I kicked the legs from the tripod, tripped myself over the prostrate form of Mr. Flake White, and received the weight of the lens and camera on my legs, which saved it, while all else was apparently smashed. “Hercules” lifted me up (after the camera, by-the-bye): the “Corinthian” managed to scramble from between the lid and legs of the boxes, and found himself but little the worse. My knee was sprained. The tent was not injured, the shock having merely jerked out the supporting rods and caused it to collapse; but the negatives we had taken that day were in it, and, with the exception of one, were all smashed.
I can say no more. I leave you to imagine the picking up of the pieces—the limping home crestfallen—and, when there, having to describe how all the results of our long-boasted first day’s photographic trip had “vanished, nor left a wreck behind”—save the lesson we received!
1862: BJP April 15, vol. IX, #164, p. 155-156:
Scraps and Fragments. [selections]
CARTES DE VISITE.—We have been favoured by Mr. H.P. Robinson, of Leamington, the author of Fading Away, Red Riding Hood, and several other ideal art-photographs, with two of the most charming productions in the carte portrait style that we have hitherto seen. Besides being excellent as portraits and as photographs, they are truly works of art.
PHOTOGRAPHIC GOSSIP.—At the Architectural Exhibition a Mr. Skidmore has been trying—with some share of success—to prove that all stone architecture has been originally derived from metal architecture, some of his principal witnesses being photographs.—It is said the celebrated sculptures of the fine old Worcester Cathedral are to be “restored;” and as restoration, in a case where so little remains, must literally mean the substitution of modern works as near the originals as guesses can take them, we ask anxiously has any one negatives of these interesting and invaluable relics of England’s earliest art? Such negatives are likely to be earnestly asked for by architects and archæologists.—The present discussion about the site of the Holy Sepulchre, carried on in the Art World by Mr. Fergusson and Mr. Walter Thornbury, might be very much simplified by the production of photographs from the localities disputed about.—Speaking of the Art World, it is not a bad comparison that in which photographs of Halifax Chapel—form under-exposed, unsatisfactory negatives—are likened unto “smoked glass.”—We wonder who will photograph the opening ceremonial of the International Exhibition?—Ought we not to get a photograph of the beautiful State Paper Office before they pull it down?
PHOTOGRAPHING THE PWOERS BELOW.—It is rather interesting to find that wherever human enterprise and energy create extraordinary monuments to their own honour and glory, photography is sure to have something to do with the matter. In the first trial journey of the contractors along the new underground railway in London, the notabilities—parliamentary, civic, commercial, &c.,--in accordance with the above principle, were duly and properly photographed upon reaching the terminus—prints from the negatives taken being eagerly sought after as mementoes of the novel if not perilous transit.
GREEK AND EGYPTIAN PHOTOGRAPHS.—Messrs. Colnaghi, Scott, and Co. are about to publish a splendid series of photographs, made in Egypt and Greece, by C. G. Fountaine, Esq. These are taken from admirably-selected points of view of the countries in question, and present the ancient remains and famous localities with impressive grandeur. The effect chosen for representation is generally a softer one than that preferred by Mr. Frith in his noble collection. The Rock Temple of Abou-Simbel; the Eastern Colonnade of Philæ; the Hypæthral Court and Hieroglyphic Wall at the last place—are rendered with the greatest force and delicacy. Not less delightful are those from Karnac, Edfou, and Luxor,--Athenæum.
MOON PHOTOGRAPHS, SILVERING GLASSS, &c.—The following remarks, copied from the American Journal of Photography, are by Mr. Rutherford:-- “My study and practice of the application of photography to astronomical purposes began in 1857. In that year I made my first stereo. view of the moon. In 1858 I succeeded in producing perhaps the most perfect view yet made. Since that time, although I have often attempted, I have not been able to do so well. The chief difficulties under which I labour are the disagreement of the chemical and visual foci of the telescope and the atmospheric fluctuations. Moreover, the moon has north and south motion as well as east and west, and the machinery attached to telescopes are devised only to make corrections for the latter motion. These motions would do but little harm if we had a much more rapid process. Two and a-half years ago I read an article in Comptes Rendu, by Foucault, in which he advocated a reflecting telescope of which the reflector is a silvered glass mirror. He claimed, with Steinheil, that all but three per cent, of light would be reflected by such a mirror. Mr. Fitz and I at once attempted such an instrument, and the work was soon completed, with the exception of the silvering of the mirror. The tube is thirteen inches in diameter and ten feet in length. The whole instrument, now complete, weighs thirteen pounds. The telescope is of the Cassagranian style. The silvering was done this winter, after a week of study and experiments. The solution was thirty-two ounces of water, in which seventy grains of ammonio-nitrate of silver were dissolved, and the necessary quantity of milk sugar added for the precipitation. About one-fifth of the silver was deposited on the mirror in half-an-hour, the rest precipitating on the sides of the containing vessel. Since the instrument was completed there have been but few suitable evenings for a trial, and those at an early hour. But, on account of the trembling of the earth in the city, I am afraid that any success is hopeless. These movements are greatly multiplied in the reflecting telescope. This is the only difficulty with the new instrument, for it gives good definition, and thirty-six times more illumination than my refractor.”
1862: BJP May 1, vol. IX, #165, p. 170-172:
Places of Photographic Interest in Yorkshire* (*Read at a meeting of the Bradford Photographic Society, April 2nd, 1862)
By C. Butterfield.
Bolton Bridge.
Who has not been to Bolton Bridge—my theme for this evening? I should like to see the man—at least if he is a Yorkshireman, not a Hottentot—and has the full complement of eyes and limbs. Whether the subject be trite or not, Bolton Bridge must be “sung,” and I will fulfil the task to the best of my ability. You will not complain, provided always I use my best endeavours to convey information. Any amusement that may squeeze in, like little boys in a crowd between the legs of the big ones, will doubtless act like jam to powders, and help you to swallow the other.
Bolton Bridge! What recollections of nights of preparation and days of pleasure these words bring before me!—chequered, alas! as all out-door pleasure in England must be occasionally, by remembrances of mornings giving fair promise and ending in rain and disappointment. But, then, rain falls everywhere sometimes, except in Paradise: so Bolton Bridge may be pardoned. Pic-nic parties and photographers are very apt to growl at rain; but they should both remember that showers rhyme to flowers, and they can’t in reason expect one without the other.
Your first real entrance into Bolton, whether you come from Skipton, Harrogate, or Addingham, you may consider as taking place at the bridge itself; and, to mark the fact, the Commissioners of Roads have kindly placed a toll-bar ingeniously situated so as to catch you whichever way you come—of course more for your guidance than for the paltry pence. (I should like to know what the summer’s receipts are at that bar!) Here, then, is the bridge from which the village takes its name. Every photographer looks at the arch and wishes he could take a picture of it—the river (the Wharfe) seems to flow so nicely underneath! It cannot be done, however. Taste revolts at its stiff outline, look which way you will.
Supposing you to have started early in the morning you will, no doubt, be hungry; or, if not, you can “do with a glass of bitter.” Well, if you are disposed to be lofty in your ideas and prefer a hotel to an inn, you will remain on the west side of the river: if, on the contrary, you are a sensible man and alone, or with a male friend or two only, you will cross the b ridge to the east side and fine yourself approaching a long, low whitewashed building, yclept [sic] the “Red Lion.” Whatever kind of a beast that may be, you will find nothing beastly inside. The rooms are low, certainly, and old-fashioned—can such a thing exist as a real inn new-fashioned?—but the glimpses you get of juicy Yorkshire hams and baskets of freshly-laid eggs swinging here and there from the dark oak rafters, will lighten them up wonderfully; and, if you are partial to being waited on by a near, blooming, country girl, instead of a whey-faced man, garnished with a white napkin, your good taste will be gratified.
After your breakfast, or “bitter,” or what not, light your pipe—mind I said pipe, not cigar: no right-minded photographer of pedestrian intentions ever brings cigars with him—light your pipe: walk through the passage: if you are tall, stoop or your head and a particularly low beam will become introduced to each other. At the end of the passage is a door always open, and going through you will find a smooth level of green turf: call it a garden if you will—it has the charm of one, though I can hardly tell whence the charm comes, as it is mostly turf, unless the pleasure arises from the purely rural look of everything around, and that freshness and beauty so grateful to a town dweller. A few minutes rest here, then fetch your apparatus, pass through the wicket in the garden wall and into the fields beyond: keep along the course of the river for some distance, and, on rising a somewhat steep but short ascent, you will find a seat just where you want it, which you can sit down upon and recover your breath, if you have lost it, and meanwhile look at the prospect beneath you. You are sure to photograph it—for the stereoscope at least; and very nice it looks. Beneath your feet and flowing towards you lies the river, at a little distance a line of stepping-stone strung across it: by the way, when I was there last one of the steps was rather a long one—about three yards—a stone having been washed away. To the left of the stepping-stones stands the old abbey or, more properly, Priory of Bolton, Justin the only place any right-thinking man would have put it—a sort of promontory made by a good-natured bend in the river. Perhaps abbeys were thought of in the creation scheme, and these little places left, just as coals were buried, because they would be wanted. If I am wrong, never mind, the monks knew what was right, and took good care to have it.
We are only looking at the Abbey yet, however; but go down the hill through the short wood, cross the stepping-stones, and mind you don’t slip: its not pleasant getting wet and having to go to bed till your clothes dry on such a day as this. Ah! here we are! Now this is worth coming for! Who would not be a photographer? But, stay: just sit down on the edge of that mouldering old stone, and let me tell you something about the holy ground you stand on, that you may not run irreverently about and carry home a box-full of views and no knowledge. Listen while I tell you how Bolton Priory was originally not at Bolton at all, but at Embsay, a village yet lying between Bolton and Skipton.
The Priory was founded in 1120, and transferred to Bolton about thirty years after; because—so says tradition—the grandson of the founder (commonly called the “Boy of Egrement”) was drowned at a place shortly to be described called the Strid or Stride. Grief for her only son made his mother a willing listener to the suggestions of the Prior and Canons that Bolton would be a pleasant place, and near the scene of her son’s melancholy death. The translation took place, and Bolton Priory was reared up. Century after century passed away, and Prior after Prior enjoyed his days and nights undisturbed; but a time came and also a man who lacked gold, and who looked with greedy eyes on the fair domains of Bolton. The decree went forth; and in 1540 the last Prior, Richard Moone, voluntarily abdicated and resigned his charge into the hands of Henry VIII, first “defender of the faith.” Two years afterwards he sold the site, together with three lordships, seven manors, and sundry advowsons, lands, and tenements, for the sun of £2490, to Henry Earl of Cumberland. Our favourite Bolton did not appear to be highly valued then, even allowing for all difference in the value of money.
Now that you have patiently listened while I spoke, rise from your seat and follow me round the old place, keeping your eyes wide open for the best points of view. Is not the churchyard a beautiful spot? A holy quiet rests over it, seeming to impress every one. It is not often you see any so insensible as not to give way to quiet and peaceful thoughts in this place. Even children hush their laughter and speak low, seeming to feel the influence of the past upon them. It appears almost a sacrilege, but there is one view you must take from here, and for which purpose you must introduce your camera amongst the graves of generations passed away. The view I mean is one looking across the river, and having for a background a peculiar scarp on the hill-side, bare of vegetation, and finely contrasting with the rich green of the foliage around: more than this, the contrast is not lost in the photograph.
After giving due time to the abbey let us take to the road, and, keeping near the river, walk onwards till you see a sweep in the path to the right (mind I don’t mean a chimney-sweep), leading to a wooden bridge over the stream. Take my advice, cross this bridge, instead of going the usual way straight forward. You will be well rewarded by the numerous bits of river-side scenery you will meet with: besides, I want you to have the advantage of a convenient place I found for trying the result of your plates (if dry) and learning how the exposure has been. Immediately after crossing the bridge turn to the left over a style; and mind, if there are two paths, always choose the one nearest the river. About half-a-mile or more from the bridge you crossed, you will take, as I told you, the path to the left or nearest the river, and you will directly after feel quite sure you are wrong, as there scarcely seems a road at all, only a projecting ledge of rock. Instead of being quite wrong you are just right, and you will see immediately, in the face of the rock, a low aperture. Now, if you happen to have with you such a thing as an end of wax candle, light it and move onwards into the darkness of the cave—if you choose to call it so. What the place has been I cannot say; but it penetrates under ground about ten yards, and, as there is a bend in its course, you have a natural dark room and a river of clean water at the door. I almost always take the necessary articles and develop one picture there to see that all is right, and I advise you to do the same.
I once met with a very annoying accident near this place. In climbing a crumbling bank I slipped and fell. My prepared plates were encased in a grooved dark box; but the weight of the plates dashed against the lid, forced it open, and let in our great enemy and best friend—light! I instantly covered the mouth of the box with my cap, utterly regardless of contusions received in the fall. All the plates I had were contained in that box, and I was determined to save them, if possible. Luckily, the place was rather dark, and what light there was would not be very actinic, in consequence of the dense foliage around. I found, on reaching home, that my plates were no worse, with the exception of a slight shade at one end, which I had margin enough to be able to cut off.
After ascertaining at this cave that your plats are all right, move forward once more, still keeping near the river, and taking views where your taste leads you. Gradually you will see the river—hitherto a wide stream—growing narrower at every footstep. Flakes of white foam, borne slowly along on the surface, tell of a fierce struggle taking place higher up—a struggle sometimes less savagely contested than at others, but never ceasing. As you approach nearer you hear, borne along by the wind, the sounds of the fight—now low, now swelling higher and higher, till at length emerging from the trees amidst which you have hitherto walked, a clear space open before you—the arena where, for ages before man’[s eye rested on the scene, the air has trembled with the sounds now humming in your ears. You are close by the far-famed and fatal Strid. Around, under your feet, on the ground where you stand, are proofs of the mighty power of the waters. Here are no sharp edges—no pointed angles: the rocks within sight are all smooth and rounded—silent witnesses of the awful floods that in the depth of winter tear resistlessly through this then deserted valley. Now you see why this open space—why these numerous water-worn hollows, many of them as regularly circular as if cut by the hand of man. The river, grown too large for the narrow channel through which it now flows, rushes out on to the rocky plain you stand on, and, in its joyous release from thralldom, whirls, plays, and eddies round the rocks, producing by its action the empty hollows you wonder at, and writing down a lesson for future geologists not likely soon to be effaced.
Halt now on the brink of the rushing water. Let us stand here—just where the cleft stream chafes eternally against the dividing rocks. Although now calm, enough remains to show you what that force could do in anger. Boiling and seething like a cauldron your eye is insensibly caught, fascinated, and whirled round in harmony with the eddies below. Gaze not too long: draw back, ere the brain becomes bewildered and giddy, and you are lured down into the death beneath—certain death it is. Often have I amused myself by dropping in sticks, or tightly-corked bottles, and have watched them for a moment before they disappeared and were seen no more, drawn into the caverns underneath where we stand—caverns won from the solid rock in the lapse of centuries. It was here that the “Boy of Egremont” was drowned; and if tradition speaks truth, photographs are indebted to this Strid for the very existence of Bolton Priory.
If you choose—after what I have said—to jump the narrow chasm, well and good: I do not object. I have often and often done it myself, both backwards and forwards, and familiarity breeds contempt. The jump is nothing; but be sure your nerves are steady and your eye true, that you do not slip on landing. If you do-----I have done with you, and hand you over to the coroner and jury.
Supposing you to have crossed over safely with your camera, &c., climb up the walk on the opposite side, keeping to the right, and almost at the summit you will find a seat placed to look at a fair vista opened out up the river. In the foreground is a sort of obelisk of stone—natural, not artificial—called, I believe, the “Hawk’s Rock;” but I cannot learn the origin of the name. The view is very pretty, and worth taking for the stereoscope.
Walking forward up the river some distance further you will arrive at Barden Tower, a particularly inartistic assemblage of stones and mortar, interesting only in an antiquarian point of view. It was originally a sort of hunting lodge, and, having fallen into decay, an inscription tells us it was rebuilt by the Countess of Pembroke, who was born there, and her work has in turn gone to decay also.
Beyond this tower, up the same side of the river, there is a tributary stream that will well repay a visit, as there are some very pretty falls in the ravine through which the stream runs. Near here, also, are said to be the remains of a village so old that nobody knows anything about it; but it is supposed to have existed some time before the conqueror, and ages before chimneys were invented, as there is the mark of the fire in the centre of what once was the floor of a hut.
But we will leave Barden and its remains, and crossing over the river by Barden Bridge go back on the other side, that we may, lower down, diverge from our course and visit another celebrity of Bolton, the “Valley of Desolation.” There is one road to this which I much prefer, and which seems not much known. Often as I have been there I never yet met any one save a labourer or native of the district. No excursionist or pic-nic parties seem to know of it—no enamoured pair, straying unconsciously from their party, seem to have discovered its recesses. There is little fear here of being disturbed by any well-dressed idlers from Ilkley or Harrogate who have come over for the day, and think, forsooth, a camera is infra dig., and you lose caste by being seen photographing; but we can afford to laugh at such puerilities. When their day’s s0-called pleasure is over, and ours, also, has come to a close, who is to be envied? He who arrives at home jaded by his purposeless sauntering? or he who feels his nerves braced by healthy exercise and natural excitement, and who, moreover, is looking forward anxiously to a further reward in the plates his magic box contains?
But to return. The road I speak of will be easily found by attending to what I say. After passing the Strid in returning towards the Abbey—travelling by the wide road, not the footpath—you will have to cross a stone single-arch bridge over a tributary rivulet. Just before crossing it—on the side nearest Barden—you will see on the left hand, half hidden by overhanging bushes, a narrow path: this path leads direct to the valley of Desolation, and some of the most beautiful vistas in Bolton are to be found on the route. The path winds high up on the sides of a deep ravine clothed from base to summit by the freshest and greenest foliage. The brook below affords some magnificent little bits of wild scenery; but they are difficult to take:--a long exposure and iron developer are needed to bring out the beautiful foreground details. Grand ferns arch their graceful fronds over the stream, while dark rocks frown out from the sides—every nook and crevice being held in possession by some wild plant luxuriant in its damp solitude. It is a treat to a lover of nature to known of this spot. He cannot but be gratified by its solitude and calmness, only heightened, not disturbed, by the soothing perpetual hum of the stream below. Of the Valley of Desolation itself little can be said save that it is the one green place in the midst of what seems more like a world in a state of preparation than anything else. All around, except just in this valley and the road we have come, nothing meets the eye in the immediate neighbourhood but a bare and blasted expanse of country, apparently producing nothing but stones and sheep. As if to heighten the effect, a scathed and blackened trunk, riven and dashed to earth to moulder and decay in some wild winter’s storm, stands bleak and solitary—a witness to the power that destroyed it.
At the upper end of the valley, facing a pretty waterfall, a summer-house has been built—a quiet place enough in summer, but the rustic bridge spanning the stream is held in its place by strong iron chains, telling the silent tale of many a lonely struggle with that element now so gentle and playful, seeming as though a child’s hand might divert its course.
Leaving behind us this out-of-the-way place, let us come once more into the beaten track. Unless pedestrianism be a habit with you, and your limbs have by use become inured to a day’s continuous exertion, you will not now be sorry that each pace shortens the distances between yourself and your inn. Again you cross the wooden bridge—again pass the grey mouldering walls of the old Priory, looking all the more soft under the rays of the westering sun. You give a glance towards it, but your thoughts are bent on other things. Visions of warm preparations of the suspended hams and eggs you saw this morning flit before your mind’s eye, and disturb that equanimity and calmness which the contemplation of such scenes requires. Nearer and nearer looks the bridge, par excellence; and, nestling on one side, you see the long low roof of your much-longed-for resting place. Amongst the smoke of its chimneys, which, think you, is the one surmounting the vast arch of the old kitchen fireplace? I warrant there is something there just now more interesting than all the priories in England! It is sad to acknowledge it, but one’s perceptions of the sublime and the beautiful are sadly weakened by a fasting stomach.
After washing and making yourself comfortable, and having disposed of the viands laid before you, take your pipe and stroll into the garden I described this morning. If you are wise you will not return home to-night, but, after your calm quiet evening is passed, you will retire to rest in the cleanest bed and most old-fashioned bedroom conceivable. There you will find that sweet repose to be earned only by a day of exercise and occupation. Do not commit the enormity of developing any of your plates in the bedroom. Nothing has brought our art into bad report amongst land-ladies more than this dirty practice. Wait till you get home. Mind, however, that you are up with the lark tomorrow morning; and, before the sun has fairly left the eastern shore and started on his voyage westward, go out into the clear morning air (I will allow you a cigar now, if you like), stroll onward to the abbey again, and, in solitude and undisturbed, ponder over the days gone by, ere Henry’s desecrating hand leveled the greater part of the fair fane above you. In this you will want no help from me, nor would a companion be desirable. Farewell, therefore. My task is ended. We may some day meet again, and once more wander in fancy amid the shady paths and quiet scenes of Bolton.
1862: BJP May 15, vol. IX, #166, p. 192-193:
Where To Go With The Camera.
By Our Own Pioneer.
Round About the Cornish Coast.
There are few districts that afford more scope or offer such temptations to the photographer as the “Rocky Land of Strangers”—such being the name given to the county of Cornwall by John Norden, the “chronicler,” of 1586, of whom his rivals said—“He wrote much not to be depended on or found elsewhere.” The term “Land of Strangers” probably referred to the Jews, who were working the tin and copper mines; and some writers of the same period have said—“Where silver or copper is found to be, there for certain a Jew you will see.” However, of this it is certain, were its beauties and capabilities half so generally known as they ought to be, it would be pretty extensively visited by photographers; for its magnificent headlands, bold and wave-lashed bluffs, sea-worn caves, extensive sands, deep and silvery bays, magnificent slopes, and jutting crags, are not to be excelled, and, in many instances, not to be rivaled, on any other part of the English coast; while to these may be added an unlimited series of pictorial beauties in graceful landscape, bold and broadly-defined church towers, quaint old bartons and mansions, stone and timber bridges, and other artistic “bits” well adapted for the “pencil of light,” and forming (as the playbills would say) “a combination of unparalleled attractions.” And now, from the increased facilities of the road and rail, this most romantic and southernmost county in England can be reached “in next to no time.” Having (like the previously-named John Norden) perambulated, viewed, and delineated much of the said county, I purpose—to the best of my humble ability—pointing out to artists and amateurs, and pioneering them to places of note, remarkable scenes, and such objects of interest as may be adapted for photographing and sketching—pointing out how they may be reached, and where the best accommodation may be obtained.
All intending visitors from the south should make for Exeter, by way of Bristol, or by the South-western line through Honiton (the land of “bridal lace”), the said South-western line conveying passengers from London to Exeter for 14s. 3 ½ d., being nearer than the Bristol line by twenty-three miles. From Exeter the line goes on to Plymouth—then to Bodmin, where you can ‘bus it to all parts of the Cornish coast; or, should the tourist prefer stopping a day or so at Exeter and have a look round the “ever faithful city,” he can then go on by omnibus to Launceston, and from thence to any part of the coast desirable.
Twice a week conveyances go from Launceston to Camelford, which would be a good place to fix upon as a central station, visiting in succession Tintagel, Boscastle, St. Teath, St. Breward, Trevalga, Port Isaac, and the far-famed quarries of Bowithick and De la Bole; while the towering crags and spray-dashed peaks of the rock-bound coast—the “home and haunt of the wild sea mew”—are all within easy and convenient distances.
Camelford—from Cam-allan [sic], the crooked river—was a place of note and notoriety previous to the Reform Act, which, to a great extent. As “commercials” say, “shut it up.” The inns and temperance coffee-house offer good accommodation, while at the stationers’ and printers’ every information can be obtained as to the places of note in the district; and if Sir Rowland Hill would like to see a clean, respectable, and good-looking post-office, he had better post down to Camelford. A prestige hangs over the old borough of by-gone days, as being the first place for which Lord Brougham sat in the Commons House of Parliament, and as contiguous to the spot (Slaughter Bridge by name) where King Arthur, of round-table fame, received his death-wound.
A silver gilt mace, used by the Mayors of Camelford in their glorious days of bribery and beer, much defaced and battered, whether from knocking down refractory free members, or repeated callings to order by thumps on the table, or pure accident, is not known. It is remarkably well chased and engraved, of handsome elegant proportions. It remains with some curious documents, in the care of the Town-Clerk, and is well worth the inspection of the antiquary. Some have surmised that the chasing, gilding, and carving of the royal arms, and heraldic national devices,. Was the “cunninge worke” of Elias Gamble, the master of William Hogarth” it is evidently of an earlier period than the date engraved on it.
Camelford from the high ground on the left of the turnpike; the old ivy hall, by the bridge; the old school, from the green; Rough Tor and Brown Willy in the distance; with the sundry old cottages, and gable-end houses in nooks and corners, form broad, bold, and effective objects for the single lens, or for stereoscopic effect. Leaving the town by the Bodmin road, and taking the lane on the left, short round by the turnpike, you come to the Church of Advent, or St. Alhawyn. This makes a good picture from each side, the lofty and peculiar tower standing out in bold and strong relief. Leaving the church and following the cross lane to the Bodmin high road, the “old stone steppes,” and gap of the “Camel-ford” in the river course at the flat of the hollow of the hill, will give two good pictures: that to the right, towards Camelford, of an old mill, water leap, and broken wooden background; while tat to the left gives the far-famed rocky mounds and dashing falls of rushing water, known as the “Devil’s Jump.” This grandly wild and Der-Frieschutz-looking bit of Cornish scenery—immense masses of large-grained granite mixed with the porphyritic—rise in wild confusion on each side of a deep ravine; while huge masses of feldspar and quartz break the rushing of the wild and bounding masses of feldspar and quartz break the rushing of the wild and bounding flow of water, as it tumbles headlong into the dreary waste of marsh and bog, where lies concealed the junction of the granite with the slate. Now, from one of the granite-bound sides of this wild ravine to the other, his Satanic Majesty was said to jump--performing, in fact, the feat of the double trapez, and, therefore, depriving Leotard or Blondin of any claim to originality in that daring act. Passing on to the Bodmin road, a couple of miles will bring you to the “Leather Bottle,” when the turn to the right will lead to Michaelstow Church Town, the tower and steps from the village green making an admirable picture—the distinctive feature of most of the Cornish churches being the open space around them, so that the camera can be planted near or distant, according to the wish of the operator; while the proximity of a cottage or two, and the general civility of the inhabitants, render any assistance or a supply of water for the wet process easily obtainable. Retracing the road to the “Leather Bottle,” a lane right before you, opposite the blacksmith’s shop, leads up to St. Breward, the church founded by William, son of Lord Breward, of Oddcombe, consecrated Bishop of Exeter in 1224. The road to St. Breward from the “leather Bottle” presents many excellent subjects—an old bridge from the ford of the river, with the mine gearing and engine shaft in the distance; an old mill and water course, with the rough boulders and granite crags; and Brown Willy, 1368 feet above the level of the sea, forming the extreme background. The rise at the highest winding of the road brings you to one of those wild and exquisite “bits” that reminds you at once of some of the Continental sketches in the old landscape annuals of thirty years back, when Turner, Harding, Bonnington, and Prout were in full sway.
Looking to the right, the eye wanders over Advent, with its graceful and conspicuous church tower—Camelford and the De la Bole Quarry, to the middle distance below, in conjunction with Lanteglos, St. Teath, and Endellion, filling up the left. Ascend the crest of the hill to the Church Town, when you come upon the mine with its imposing and picturesque array of machinery, windlass and shaft, engine-house, timber, water-courses, stone supports, chains, props, ropes, blacks, and tackle. These, as they seem mingled in endless confusion, make admirable and distinctive pictures. The church tower is a fine specimen of bold rough granite work, while its situation close to the high road, with a bank in front where the camera can be placed, offers every facility for a first-rate view. There are two good inns in the village, and several excellent subjects may be obtained round the church tower and rectory. Returning to Camelford, about a mile from the town on the road to St. Teath, you come to a turn or bend which brings the tower of the church of Lanteglos from out of the center of a fine group of trees—the low dwarfed wall of heavy masonry, the rustic gate, and tangled leafy hedge to the right and left, making up a good foreground. Following the road to the church gate, and ascending the hill on the left, a fine effective picture of the church and rectory may be taken—the old familiar distances of Rough Tor and Brown Willy filling up the back. Following the lane for half-a-mile a gate in the corner of a hedge-row will give a good and telling subject. Three miles from Camelford, on the Wadebridge Road, is St. Teath. At the turn of the new road and up the vale some splendid landscape bits may be obtained; and at the Inn, by St. Kew church tower, civility and good accommodation is found. St. Teath itself and St. Teath church tower will bear taking from several points. Here, as in most other parts of the Cornish district, a multitude of effective little bits will present themselves on every side to the eye of the artist, and are so exceedingly numerous that it is impossible to indicate them all; many of the places being named after saints, martyrs, and confessors, who led the life of hermits in Cornwall and Devon, and are fully described in the writings of Giraldus Cambrensis and William of Worcester.
Leaving Camelford by the upper road, rounding the “Sportsman Inn, by John Coumbe,” and passing the “union,” a couple of miles will bring you to the higher side of the celebrated De la Bole Quarries, an immense excavation in the solid stone, some 350 yards long by above 100 in width, and worked to the depth of some 300 feet. The slate procured is of different quality, according to the depth of excavation: it is divided and subdivided with great expertness by the quarrymen into pieces of suitable size and thickness for roofing and other purposes. This excavated “hive of living industry” is a magnificent sight, and a great variety of interesting pictures may be taken from various points. Permission to do so may be obtained from the resident superintendent at the quarry house. About two miles further on the Boscastle road, a directing board points the way to the “Bowithick Quarries”—of more interest, perhaps, to the photographer than De la Bole, from less liability to interruption, and views being obtained of greater variety and extent. There is an abandoned quarry on the right of the road, with the massive frame-work and machinery overhanging the pit now filled up, and with water, while the sides in many places are darkened and tinted to various hues by the tricking stream pouring down the sides to the depths below. In other parts there are immense blocks of granite, rising to a height of 100 feet or more, and in many instances presenting bare overhanging blocks and longitudinal sections of 20 to 30 feet. These, with the stunted furze growing on and overhanging the tops and points, while the close-creeping ivy clings gracefully to many parts of the rocky faciœ, will give in breadth, boldness, and shadow, pictures with all the force and solidity of Salvator. Five or six different views may be taken of various parts of these gigantic specimens of human skill, enterprise, and toil.
At Trebarmouth, close to these quarries, a small and clean inn affords good accommodation, and several views of the slopes and headlands towards the North Atlantic, may be here obtained—Padstow Point and Newland being within view. It is scarcely possible for a written description to convey an idea of the innumerable points in, round, and about this district. On one side you have an immense hill of slate and granite piled up layer upon layer, with a solitary cottage or hut erected in the midway or on the top. Turn a short distance, and you have immense boulders of granite twenty to forty feet right or left may give you a magnificent bluff, with irregular slopes coming down to the very edge of some immense gully; while in some of the lower portions, under and around the village of Pengelly, the refuse of the quarries is so lavishly piled around, and in such immense quantities, that the spectator might be led to imagine he was viewing the field of the battle of slates after the engagement. For stereoscopic purposes, I believe many of the subjects are not to be met with elsewhere—having the advantage I have before mentioned, that you can place the camera near or distant, and in many instances get a good position on a level with the subject, half-way up, or above; and this, I need not repeat, is a convenience not often to be met with. Four miles from this is the renowned Tintagle, Dundagel, or Bosithney—a place about which an immense amount of fiction has been engrafted on a very small amount of fact. Joseph of Exeter, a priest of the “City of the Red Earth,” and who went with King Richard to the Holy land, as a sort of “own correspondent,” and made on his return Archbishop of Bordeaux, says:--
“From this blest place immortal Arthur sprung,
Whose wond’rous deeds shall be for ever sung—
Sweet music to the ear, sweet honey to the tongue.”
From which it is evident Priest Joseph had heard of old Merlin’s prophecy, the said Merlin being “your dashing firebold man” of that age. The church, castle, island, and waterfall are the great objects of interest. The church, from the open space around and proximity to the cliffs, makes a good object from various points and sundry distances. For near views the massive tower, old Saxon chapel, and Norman doorways present themselves; while in various panoramic views it can be included as a prominent and telling object. In the interior will be found the Saxon chapel-founder’s tomb, piscine, carved screen, font, and interesting specimens of the Anglo-Saxon style of architecture, with some carved “standards” or seat ends. It has been restored, and stained-glass windows introduced, designed and executed by the vicar, an artist and antiquary of much taste.
Arthur’s Castle—sometimes termed “Dundagel,” the Castle of Deceit—is the great “go” of the district. The Kind himself, like Philip Quarle’s monkey, lived such long time ago that many doubt if he ever lived at all; but the castle is certainly a most extensive specimen of rock, ruin, and romance, and must be seen to be duly appreciated. If the panoramic lens and camera were brought to bear upon it, some photographic marvels might be produced; however, with the ordinary instrument, good stereoscopic and other pictures can be obtained. In the village, several old houses offer themselves as well worthy the artist’s notice and attention. Two good inns and several private houses |offer accommodation for visitors, while the key of the “island gate,” or detached citadel of the old castle, can be found at the Mill Cottage. [Cont. June 2, p. 210-212]
1862: BJP May 15, vol. IX, #166, p. 200:
Scraps and Fragments. [selection]
PHOTOGRAPHY AT THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION.—The Duchess of Cambridge with the Princess Mary, the Crown Prince of Prussia, and Prince Oscar of Sweden, each in turn stood on the steps of the throne at the International exhibition, on Saturday, the 3rd inst., surrounded by the members of their respective suites, and admirable photographs of the various groups were taken by the artists of the London Stereoscopic Company. Photographs of the opening ceremony have been forwarded to Her Majesty, as we intimated in our last would be the case, and duplicates have also been sent to desire to H.R.H. the Crown Princess of Prussia.
ASTRONOMICAL PHOTOGRAPHY.—At the last meeting of the Royal Astronomical Society Mr. Warren De la Rue exhibited engravings from negatives of the spots on the sun, taken at his Observatory at Cranford, by his 13-inch reflector, on the 24th September, 1861. The engravings were obtained from the original negative by means of light and electro-metallurgy; the electro-copper block, being absolutely untouched by the graver, was used for producing the printed impression at the ordinary typographical press. The process for obtaining the block was similar to, if not identical with, that of M. Fontaine. A metal plate, being coated with gelatine and bichromate of potash: is exposed under the negative, it is then soaked in lukewarm water to remove the unaltered gelatine, &c.: it is then covered with solution of pyrogallic acid to harden the gelatine, which presents a proof in intaglio. When dry, a solution of gutta percha in bisulphide of carbon is poured on the impression, and a thick sheet of gutta percha warmed on one side is immediately applied and the whole placed under a press. On removal from the press the gutta percha matrix in relief is coated with plumbago, and submitted to the electrifying process.
THE LAW OF COPYRIGHT.—A few weeks back we mentioned the fact of Mr. Mayall having obtained a verdict in an action he had brought for the recovery of certain prints from some of his photographs, which prints he had lent for the purpose of engraving. These prints having been erroneously sold, were copied by means of fresh negatives being taken from them by the purchaser of the prints so lent by Mr. Mayall. We likewise pointed out that the result of that verdict did not in any way establish the existence of copyright in photographs. A rule nisi having been granted by the Court of Exchequer, calling upon the plaintiff to show cause why the verdict he had obtained upon one of the counts of his declaration should not be altered, it was at first expected that the question of copyright would come under discussion; but the Court afterwards expressly stated that copyright was not the point of consideration, and was quite beside the question at issue between the parties. As, however, it seems to be erroneonsly [sic] supposed by some persons that a copyright exists in photographs either by the common law or under the Engraving acts, it may be useful to point out how the matter stands. If any such right is claimable in a photograph after its publication, it can only be by analogy to copyright in books, which the House of Lords has, upon more than one occasion, decided does not exist by the common law, but only by statue. These cases were argued in the presence of the common law judges. Upon the last occasion the Lord Chief Baron Pollock as present, and he expressed a very decided opinion against the existence of copyright by the common law. He said:--“I think the common law cannot create new rights, and limit and define them, because in the opinion of those who administer the common law such rights ought to exist according to their notions of what is just, right, and proper. Weighing all the arguments on both sides, and looking to the authorities up to the present time, the conclusion I have arrived at is, that copyright is altogether an artificial right, not naturally and necessarily arising out of the social rules that ought to prevail among mankind assembled in communities, but is a creature of the municipal law of each country, to be enjoyed for such time and under such regulations as the law of each State may direct, and has no existence by the common law of England. It would follow from this that copyright in this country depends altogether on the statutes which have been passed on this subject.” Again, in a recent case in Ireland, which arose out of a photograph having been made from recollection of an oil picture, The Death of Chatterton, the Master of the Rolls in Ireland said:--“I apprehend it is clear that by the common law copyright or protection exists in favour of works of literature, art, or science to this limited extent only, that while they remain unpublished no person can print them, but that after publication they are by common law unprotected.” It is therefore quite certain that the common law affords the author of a photograph no protection in the shape of copyright after it has been published. The question then arises whether any statute affords him such a protection?> Unfortunately in the present defective state of our laws of artistic copyright there is no authority for saying that any such protection exists: on the contrary, “The Copyright (Works of Art) Bill,” which has passed the House of Commons, and is now in the Lords, expressly recites as a fact, “that by law, as now established, the authors of paintings, drawings, and photographs have no copyright in such their work.” We trust that such an injustice will now be speedily remedied by that bill being passed in such an amended form as is requisite for the protection of all parties whose interests it affects.--Athenæum
1862: BJP June 2, vol. IX, #167, p. 210-212:
Where To Go With the Camera.* By Our Own Pioneer. [Butterfield?]. Round About the Cornish Coast. (*Continued from page 123)
This remarkable ruin (Boscastle), and all connected with it, seems to increase in interest every year. The “Idylls” and popular romance of the blameless King Arthur and his table round have given additional importance to the scene, and rendered it more than ever famous by the gifted Laureate’s creations. Enid, with the “meek, blue eyes;” Elaine, the lily maid of Astolal; evil Vivien, witless Merlin, and sorrowing Ginnevere—come fresh to the imagination while looking on the ruins. The singular romance of old Nordens with respect to the island, and the doings of Utter pen Dragon, the father of Prince Arthur, are fully entered into in the works of Carew, Hals, Whittaker, and Tanner’s Notitia Monastica for Cornwall.
By the side of the cliff, looking towards Penzance and the Gull Rock, the gearing of a slate quarry, called “Gillow” rises, as it were, from the deep; while the dash of wave upon wave, with b road serpentine streaks of woolly foam, can be taken by any instantaneous process with marvellous effect—in fact, the advantage of placing the camera is almost peculiar to this place. The variety of paths and windings in the sides of the cliffs leading to and from the quarries is not to be met with on any other part of the coast: similar effects may be seen, but there is no getting at them. Passing further along the line of cliff, and keeping the tower of Endellion church in view, a second quarry, called “Lamb’s House,” is arrived at. Here, in addition to the bold and massive craigs, overhanging some hundreds of feet, you have the usual quarry appendages of whyms, brattices, stages, pulleys, chains, girders, groinings, platforms, strutts, and supports, all of which form massive and distinct foreground objects. Move about twenty yards to the lefty, and from a mound near the quarry path you have a frine picture of broken foreground, the undulating middle distance relived by occasional bits towards Port Iswaac and Endellion; while, stretching away to the extreme right, Newland Quay, Pentire Point, and the Gull Rock, fill out a most interesting subject. More than a dozen pictures may be obtained between Tintagel and Trebarwith. At the latter the sands and deeply-indented cliffs are truly magnificent. These cliffs rise in some places to an immense height; while darkly-shadowed hollows, of twenty or thirty feet in diameter, break away underneath, giving, in a bright sunshine, powerful contrasts of light and shade. The sands at any time are first-rate objects. If the tide is up, you have the play of waves advancing and retreating on the rock-strewn beach; if the water is low, you have picturesque groups of men shoveling up sand, with boys driving along strings of donkeys loaded with the same in baskets or crates. A smack or fishing-boat close in shore occasionally adds to the picture.
Above Trevarwith Sands is the village of Trenow—a place apparently built anyhow: its quaintness and irregularity make it a great object of interest to the photographer. Cottage gables, of rough rude masonry, with all-on-one-side chimneys and flagged slate tops, are here to be found in perfection; deep windows, broad doorways, with pent-house falls, covered here and there with creeping ivy; irregular broad stone steps, dwarf walls, with old rough oaken gates and palings, and a choice of distances (land or seaward), offer many good stereoscopic bits of effect.
A winding path from the village of Trenow leads down to the new road and turnpike, and, in a distance of about a mile, the artist will find more than a dozen pictures worth taking—the most prominent of which will be Harvey’s Mill from the road, with a high background shutting out any room for sky; the mill and house, flanked with some graceful ash trees; the water-wheel and leet-course a prominent object. Further on to the right, a deserted quarry, somewhat similar to the one described at Bowithick, will make two or more good pictures. Every wind and turn in this road will give some subject of interest.
Leaving the deserted quarry, pass the bridge for about 100 yards, when a sharp turn to the right (up hill) leads to Rockhead. Here, from a gate, two fine views may be had—the first looking towards the sea, with Tintagel Church appearing on the brink of the cliff, the island rising some short distance to the right, the cottages at Trenow, with their picturesque gables and roofs, coming out on the left—Trebarwith in the foreground, with the ravine and valley beneath. Turn round, without moving from the spot, and you have a circular engine-shaft, engine-house, and water-wheel (with large massive portions of rock and slate lying about in confused heaps), a high furzy background completing the picture. Further to the left, a water-wheel of large size, with wooden water-course and timber supports, with the usual accompaniments of mine machinery and mine gearing, may be taken. Here there would be fine scope for the panoramic lens and camera in the sea view, with Tantagel Church in the distance. I have often noticed that when the view has been clear and well-defined, the clouds and sky have been flat and tame, making it a matter of much uncertainty as to getting the view and sky equally good. It is in such cases as this where artists and photographers would find the advantage of tinting in a washed sky to the proofs, or printing in one to suit the view.
The view above described has evening skies, or early morning ones, of great beauty, while the foreground and objects are misty and ill-defined. All these pictures would require a tent for the wet process, as the distance from any cottage or house is too great. Innumerable odd bits of immense projecting rock, covered with ivy and weed--a bend of a road, the rise of a hill, or a gap in a hedge—may be here found in perfection.
Returning to Tintagel, the artist’s attention should now be directed to the subjects near the village. Leaving the lane that leads to the Castle and the newly-built house on the left, follow on towards Boscastle to the first turning, leading to a field or down, called “Rocky Park.” Here is a bold, massive, projecting bluff, called “Willa Park,” with rugged, precipitous sides, ofttimes magnificently illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, giving a glorious picture of solitary grandeur. Further on is Willa Park Point, with an old tower on the top, overlooking the deep, dark abyss, called the “black pit,” and a rugged, precipitous line of coast, dreary promontories, and sandy beaches, with the great point of high cliff rising above 700 feet, the desolate heath, called “Tresparrot Down,” rising upwards of 800 feet above the level of the sea--the immense elevation causing the rough land below to have the appearance of a level surface. From this point the tower of Trevalga Church comes in as a good object for the photographer, though not very noteworthy for the antiquary: it was given by Bishop Brewers to his Chapter of Exeter in 1242.
Passing down to the cliffs below the church another slate quarry will be found, affording several good pictures. In the village are several old Elizabethan houses, well situated for delineation; while near Valency Bridge is a fine rock section, full of contortions, and the carbonaceous mineral to which the colour of slate is attributable. Another immense indentation will be found close at hand called “Bossiney Haven,{ one portion of the rock on the left having an aperture washed through by the sea, that gives it the appearance of a rude pillar and arch. This subject makes two fine pictures right and left, either from the flat sands or a turn in the rocky descent, where there is a most convenient bank of rock and turf to place the camera upon. Two large masses, called the “Sisters,” here stand out detatched from the main, with a fine curl of wave and spray playing about the sides and base: here is good shelter to put up a tent for the wet or instantaneous process. These views, with the broad blue expanse of the Bristol Channel, the restless sweeping and breaking of foaming surge upon the silvery sands, together with the rugged and fantastic indentations of the rocks, give subjects of great interest peculiar to this coast alone.
Passing into the main road, a lane on the left towards Tintagel leads to the far-famed Tresillet waterfall, better known as “Nathan’s Cave”—to antiquaries as “St. Nighton’s Kieve.” A board nailed on a high pole directs to the farm-house where the key is kept. This waterfall is an immense cascade tumbling through a gully in the rocks and boulders from a great height, pitching down to the ravine below in noisy confusion. From the darkness of the recess and overhanging brushwood the light is much obstructed. On the upper part of the bank, and overlooking the fall, are the roofless remains of some old habitation of bygone times, portions of the walls still remaining, covered with vegetation, and the subject of much curious tradition; some conjecturing it to have been a religious cell of hermit or recluse, who devoted himself to a life of fasting and prayer in behalf of shipwrecked mariners. Another account ascribes it to have been the residence of two mysterious ladies who had evidently seen better days, but of whose history all were in ignorance. None knew whence they came or their mode of life. After a few years of solitude and sorrow the eldest of the strangers died, and the survivor was also found, a few months afterwards, locked in the embrace of death, her grey head resting on her wasted, shrunken hand.
Returning to the main road by the valley several subjects p[resent themselves that any good dry process is fit to cope with, as the place is quite free from interruption, and little offering that is at all liable to move—Baker’s Mill and Brown’s Mill, with the overlapping crags, being both good subjects. These places in and about Tintagel and Boscastle have been visited by few, geologists and antiquaries having been the principal visitors to this wonderful land of rock and ravine, metal and moorland. As railways intersect crowded and busy places only, they cannot be expected to penetrate but by slow degrees to those parts of England where the population is small, the towns detached, and the country exceedingly broken and irregular; consequently artists and photographers have but seldom visited this locality of romance and beauty, owing to the difficulty of access.
About three miles from Tintagel is Boscastle or Forrabury, a place of some note in Henry VIII.’s time. Bottreaux Castle was the baronial dwelling of the lord of that name: little now remains but a neglected mound. The new roads that have been cut within the last few years around and about this most romantic spot are highly favourable for photography, as their position and elevation enable the artist to direct the camera towards many capital subjects that could not have been taken from the old low road of former times. The tower of Willa Park Point, built by the late lord of the manor for pic-nic parties, is a capital place to plant the camera and operate with the wet process. In many places around, the rocks fo Boscastle have been washed into caverns of one and two hundred feet in depth by the sea, where parties enter in boats and then light up torches to hunt seals. The church is an object of much interest, with a tower of three stages without moulding or capital--a silent tower, the bells having been lost in a storm at sea within sight of the coast. The rector of Morwinstow, in his poem, the “Sent Tower of Bottreaux,” alludes to the subject:--
“The ship rode down with courses free,
The daughter of a distant sea;
Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored,
The merry Bottreaux bells on board.”
On nearing the land, the pilot heard his native bells at Tintagel ringing out a merry peal, thanked Heaven for the prosperous voyage and the apparent certainty of reaching the port in safety by the evening tide; but the captain, a wild, reckless, Paul Jones sort of fellow, turned his piety into ridicule and desired him to thank Heaven on land, but at sea to thank a good captain. Barely had the words passed his profane lips when one of those fearful storms peculiar to this part of the coast arose, and the ship was driven with fearful violence on the rocky gulph of the black pit, going down with the captain, bells, and crew. The pilot with much exertion swam on shore and was saved. The sound of the bells was heard in the pauses of the storm, like a muffled peal for the fate of the vessel; and now, in the fearful tempests that assail this rock-bound place, the sound of the bells is said to be distinctly heard: so that the silent tower with its legend, is a more useful warning to the living than a full harmonious peal.
There are several inns at Boscastle, and many private houses where accommodation can be obtained. The place is so full of objects fit for the camera that a week might be spent there and many subjects not then be taken. The entrance to the harbour, with Pelley Point to the right and the Old Tower to the left, is a bit perfectly unique in its way, the slate-rock here having been wave-washed into more than the usual jagged forms. Long Island and the Macher Rock—immense detached masses—are a short distance off. A couple of miles or so from Boscastle you come to the church of Lesnewth—very interesting, of Norman, early English, and perpendicular features. Not far from this will be found another church, called “Minster,” in a very picturesque and secluded spot. One fine landscape subject in particular, with a fall of water at least 150 feet—a small foot bridge in the lower part of the valley, a single plank resting on an immense block of stone, rude hand-rail, with a couple of stunted ash trees—makes a good effect for the stereoscope. On the rocky masses, in various parts of the valley, the heath, shield fern, columbine, bergamot, mint, several kinds of mosses, fern-few, wild madder, and a great variety of other plants, grow in luxuriant profusion, and heighten much the effect of the landscape pictures. On Tresparrot Down road are several old cottages of more than usual excellence; and close to the road side the Down itself, with the old finger and directing posts, grassy mounds and furze heaps, with the distant cliffs and homesteads, present some fine distinctive bits, the broken ridges and heaps giving strong shadow and effect to the foreground. Here, in a round of about seven miles, more than one hundred pictures might be taken by any process (wet or dry) with ease and certainty—including subjects of rock, glen, and moorland—not to be excelled in any other part of the kingdom. [Cont. on June 16, p. 236]
1862: BJP June 16, vol. IX, #168, p. 230:
Stereographs.
“The Attractions of a Country Fair.” Photographs by Valentine Blanchard. Published by C.E. Elliott, 5, Aldermanbury Postern, London.
We have seldom experienced more pleasure in the examination of stereographic productions than we have enjoyed with the series now before us, which, in the vernacular of the day, may be appropriately designated a “sensation” series. These productions—recording a phase of country life, albeit familiar enough in our boyish days, now fast passing away—are as novel as they are excellent, and manifestly testify to the skill and perseverance of the photographer, whom we are informed took the negatives during some of the cold days of last March. This is the more satisfactory, as the possibility of delineating crowds of people, in all the4 excitement of a fair, by instantaneous exposure, surrounded by somewhat unfavourable circumstances, is now placed beyond a doubt. These are no mere black patches of outline, like those which are sometimes shown as “instantaneous” pictures, but quite intense enough and full of detail and half-tone. They are not only good for instantaneous pictures, but good unreservedly. We do not affirm them to be perfect, for some few of the figures show movement during the exposure, rapid as it must have been; but good they certainly are—very good—and full of interest.
The first we shall notice is called
Going to the Fair, No. 133, and represents one of the streets in Wisbeach, Cambridgeshire—evidently a main thoroughfare; and near to the footway are numerous open stall belonging to the vendors of “apples, oranges, spiced-nuts, ginger beer,” and other comestibles obtainable at such places. In the centre of the street is a row of booths and shows, while crowds of people, young and old, males and females, throng the intervening spaces. The countenances of some are very amusing, and they would certainly be recognizable by their friends. A few have evidently noticed that a photographer is at work, and are watching his operations: among the last are a policeman and one of the stall-keepers.
Winn’s Travelling Theatre, No. 137, introduces us to the best part of such an establishment—we mean the platform outside—where all the performers in the play and the afterpiece are congregated together in picturesque confusion—the chief tragedian, the “funny man,” the danseuse, the pert soubrette, the high priestess of Thalia, a couple of little girls, and the clown. The artistic (!) background is adorned with numerous striking scenes, supposed to be illustrative of the “play,” and on the left is a side-door open, and showing its construction to be but a light frame of wood covered with canvas: it is kept open by a couple of halberds leaning against it, and several people, evidently part of the audience, are entering to take their places, in order to witness the entertainment. In this slide only a few of the outside spectators are included, but several of the faces amongst them are visible.
The Clown Address, No. 136, is another view of the same “theatre” from a different point, and including many spectators. In the foreground there is quite a small sea of heads, all turned towards the clown, who stands at the head of the gangway, in the act of addressing the owners of the said heads, while pantaloon looks on. Evidently the address is an eloquent one, for it is noticeable in this slide that not a single face from amongst the spectators is turned towards the photographer.
The Female Blondin’s Travelling Circus, Nos. 134 and 135, are two entirely different views of the same subject from opposite directions. The platform, with its background of paintings—in this case representing impossible feats of equitation and gymnastics—is occupied by the members of the company, including the female Blondin herself, a smartish-looking young woman in a white wreath and uncommonly short petticoats, surrounded by several acrobats, including a little girl and two boys, one a mere infant. Several musicians occupy the farther corner behind a huge placard, on which we can distinctly trace the words “Female Blonden” [sic] at the top and “laughable farce” at the bottom. The heads of the spectators of this show are covered principally with little round hats, indicative of female heads beneath. In No. 135 the male part of “the company” on the platform forms a majority, and the “bit of a boy” is seated on the learned pony. Here a placard announces “Admission to the Performances one---?”—the hiatus being caused by the obtrusiveness of a big drum. A man in plain clothe4s is standing at the lower end of the sloping gangway, with arm extended, addressing the spectators.
It must not be forgotten that these views are no mere transcripts of “scenery, machinery, dresses, and decorations” (as they say in the play-bills), got up for the occasion, but are the veritable presentments of actual events.
It needs but little of the skill of “second sight” to predict that these productions will be amongst the most popular that have yet been published; and we can honestly assert that, as a skilful manipulator, Mr. Blanchard has added another leaf to his well-earned wreath of laurels.
1862: BJP June 16, vol. IX, #168, p. [236] (wrongly, “234”):
Where To Go With the Camera.* (*Continued from page 212)
By Our Own Pioneer.
Round About the Cornish Coast.
Those tourists and artists who have time to command may make a variety of studies round and upon Tresparrot Down, where a small inn affords good quarters; and, as many conveyances are often passing by, luggage could be sent on to Bude or Launceston. Groups of sheep, cows, horses, and goats, may be taken on several parts of the moorside; while blocks of three or four cottages, an old barton, sheltered by trees, and broken dwarf walls, fill up the distances. The guide or directing posts about here are, for stereoscopic purposes, better calculated to produce roundness and effect than any to be met with elsewhere; the fingers or boards on which the names of places are painted being very broad, and the lettering bold and clear—black on a white ground—the uprights strong and solid, mostly erected at the fork of two or more roads, with a good way-side cottage, water-well, old outhouse, and a tree or so to fill up the sides; while, in some cases, broad openings in the hedge show in the distance an old church tower and white-washed village. About two miles from the Down, or the inn—which is generally known as “Sparrot Post”—is a place called St. Gennis, which will give a good series of pictures. The Church Town, as it is called, is an admirable subject. It may be as well to note that all places where the church is erected, if there be only one cottage or so, are invariably called “Church Town.”
The St. Gennis Church is a small building of early English character, without a tower,--the west end having a low ivy-bound, pent-house top. This the antiquary may regret, but the artist will like it, as it adds much to its picturesque appearance. The great bluff called “Cambeak,” and the Dazzard Head, with the fine point of Tremoutha Haven, are about two miles from here; but Crackerton is the most noticeable point of all—the broad, deep bay surrounded on one side by slopes covered with verdure, a few jutting craigs, and some goats; the other side having a wild, precipitous, and savage aspect; the bluffs to the right, rising in gigantic proportions, while the left shelve down gently to the old quaint mill, with its timber-leet, and dark water-wheel; the scattered huts of a few labourers and one or two boatmen, add to the scene and form a good point. This view has been (pictorially) spoiled by the erection of a modern house in all the ugly proportions of plaster, red bricks, and the usual stiffness of line and rule: the best thing in its favour is that, from the loft window over the stable many instantaneous views could be taken (permission would be readily granted for using the same), when all tenting would be superseded, and such pictures as the following could be secured: “waves dashing over a sandy beach”—“waves breaking among the broken cliffs”—“rising waves and foam-dashed rocks”—“coasters beating up in full sail,” &c., &c., &c.; or, should the tide be out and the weather calm and serene, an immense expanse of ocean looking towards Lundy Island—sand-gatherers with donkeys, and boys and women hauling in sea-weed—large masses of wreck half-buried in the sand—mossed and darkened sides of huge boulders heaped round and about in that confusion so much desired by the artist—these can be had in perfection; while up the valley rough stone water-courses, old foot bridges, hedges and banks overgrown with briar and yohoung ash, are to be met with at different turns of either the high or low road.
A place called “Wainhouse Corner” is a convenient resting-place. There is plenty of room in the inn, and a good supply of water for any photographic purpose. From here High Cliff may be conveniently reached, computed to be 785 feet above the sea: the wild roaring of the dashing waves and the shrill scream of the sea birds being the only sounds.
The names of many Cornish places begin with “Tre,” “Pen,” and “Pol” – as Tresnewth, Penhale, Polperro—and are so scattered about here and there that numerous interesting little “bits” as pictures of the stereoscope can only be got at by the artist and operator visiting the various little hamlets from directions obtained on the spot. Otterham, about two miles from Winhouse Corner, has much that is available for photography. Three fine views of the church may be taken: it is well situated for the purpose. These may include the rectory, old mill, barton, and various roadside scenes of tangled brake, shady lane, and dock-bound nooks—many of the docks growing about here in clusters of seven or eight feet high. To the east of Otterham, about four miles, is Warbstow. It was here on Warbstow Barrow, an old fortification, with traces of outworks on three sides, that John Wesley preached to assembled thousands. From the summit of this strong earthwork the view is most imposing and grand, and would be a good test for any panoramic lens, as the scene is uninterrupted all round. On one side is the broad expanse of sea, Lundy Island, Hartland Point, Moorwinstow, and a white house called “Chapel,”—build among some trees, and an object in this district for thirty miles round, with the intervening broken masses from Kilkhampton to Stratton; on the other side the eye glances over Bridestowe, Oakhampton, and various villages with their churches and towers, to the Devonshire Dartmoor hills; while sweeping round to the left of Roughtor and Brown Willy you have Launceston, Werrington, Boynton, Whitstone, Holsworthy, and the high and most conspicuous tower of Mary Week Church,--Warbstow dchurch, with Treneglos, lie in the hollow below. A cottage just at the edge of the Barrow road might be used to prepare wet plates. An inn at Canworthy Water can be made a resting-place; and from that the tourist or operator can pass on to Launceston, Stratton, Holsworthy, Bude, and various other intermediate places. [Continued July 1, p.256-257]
1862: BJP July 1, vol. IX, #169, p. 256-257:
Where To Go With the Camera.* By Our Own Pioneer. [by C. Butterfield?] Round About the Cornish Coast. (*Continued from page 234.)
If the artist should determine on rendering his collection of Cornish coast views complete up to Moorwinstow—the most northern part of the county—he can, after taking Canworthy Bridge, and some excellent “bits” round and about Warbstow, proceed on to Jacobstow, keeping Mary Week Tower, a point of sight for many miles round, in view all the way. At the fork of three roads will be found one of the best specimens of the bold and massive guide-posts so peculiar to this county, and so well adapted for the stereoscope.
On turning the road, to the left, the tower of Jacobstow Church comes in view, rising, in fine proportions, from a dark screen of foliage—the rectory gate and overhanging clump of noble elms coming in on the right, and the blacksmith’s shop, dwarf wall, and malting-house making up a good foreground. Several views may be taken in this little wooded hollow, the church forming the principal object in each. Passing a lane by the foot-bridge, and ascending the newly-made road, on stopping at the last gate, by the old ruined cottage, and looking back, a most extensive scene presents itself, stretching from Launceston on the right to St. Gennis on the left. A further walk of about a mile past the road to New Mill, across a road stream, with a good cottage subject in a gully, surrounded with wood, the last turn on the crest of the hill brings in full view the tower of Mary Week. Passing some bars, or wooden gate, and over a couple of fields, you come up to the church itself, with one of the best-built decorated towers in the county: it is well placed for taking, and from many situations will give telling and effective pictures.
The only place in the village of any interest is the remains of the old religious house, founded as a “lodging for masters” by Dame Thomasine Bonaventure, originally a poor girl of the place, employed to tend sheep on Mary Week Down. Her comeliness attracted the attention of a London merchant, who made her his wife. At his death she again married, and again became a widow; when, for the third time, she married, and became the wife of Sir John Percival, Lord Mayor of London, whom she outlived, and retired to her native village of Mary Week, and passed the remainder of her days in acts of goodness and mercy—clothing the poor and releasing prisoners. Her will, bearing date 1512, is still extant, and the well-known shield of the City of London carved over the doorway of the religious sanctuary or “lodging for masters” alluded to.
Mary Week Down, with Whitstone Church in the hollow beneath, will make a very effective subject. On a clear day the panoramic effects around this district are truly magnificent. From the north-east corner of Mary Week Churchyard a most extensive view may be obtained, taking in Bude with its white silvery rows of cottages—the immense headland of Henna Cliff on the north, Stow Point in the extreme distance, Marhamchurch [sic] village and Marham Church itself coming in as good central objects. Retracing the road, seaward, Poundstock, and the rocky beach below the Church Town, will give one or more good pictures; then to Widmouth, a broad expanse of sand, immense bluffs right and left, a good foreshore, with detached rock about the centre, and often good groups of men, horses, and wagons carting away sand. About a mile from this, on the Bude road, is the village of Marham church, a very picturesque spot. From this to Bude itself is one uninterrupted series of interesting subjects, either by the road or canal banks. Much that is good for pictures is b ad for health, consequently many of the old-fashioned, low, quaint-looking cottages and farm-houses that artists and painters so much covet, are being pulled down, and something very healthy, but very ugly, erected in their place.
Bude—with its sands and sea, castle and canal, breakwater and rocks—offers most temptingly to photographer and artist. A resident professional photographer, who has a convenient glass-house and produces some good pictures, will be found civil and obliging to any artist or amateur who may give him a call. The subjects round and about are so numerous and apparent that I can only say look and choose.
A point much in favour of Bude is its quietness. The ships that get in are few, and generally lying in positions on the sand or canal most favourable for photographing. Better and more certain pictures can be obtained here than in larger crowded ports. There all is bustle and confusion, and just as you imagine a good quiet point has been seized, two or three intruders approach to see what is doing, and you find your chance of a picture gone. At Thorne’s establishment a car, drawn by a mule, can be hired, and the operator and requisites for the wet process conveyed to any point he may desire. Pictures of waves dashing over the breakwater, waves breaking across the sands, boulders, and many others if interest, may be secured instantly.
Half-an-hour’s walk across the fields or through the village of Poughill leads to Stratton—a place of considerable note from the contests that took place between the Royalists and Parliamentarians. There are plenty of inns to put up at—from the “Tree,” by Mrs. Ash., to the “Ring of Bells;” or good anchorage and stowage may be had on board the “Ship.” For so small a place, the number of public-houses is large: perhaps the proximity of the salt water makes the inhabitants thirsty. A general view of the town from the hill below the Union, the church tower standing well out from among the various buildings, with high banks thickly wooded, broken ground right and left, will give a capital picture, every part so situated as to be capable of being brought out in fine relief. Another good one can be obtained from Stamford Hill, the spot where the great engagement of 1642—between Cornish Royalists, headed by Sir Beville Granville, and the Cromwell party, headed by the Earl of Stamford—took place. The spot may easily be recognised, as it is close to the road; a tablet erected against the mound records the circumstance. From this situation a fine panoramic expanse lies open to view. Marham Church, with the high ground about the “incline,” to the left; Flexbury and Poughill, with its church and tower, to the right; Bude Castle-house and the line of white cottages ending with the “Falcon,” make a middle distance, backed by the grassy downs and slopes; while bearing away to the extreme right, are Bude Haven, Sir Thomas Acland’s cottages, the breakwater, high and deeply indented cliffs with look-out tower on top, a sloop or two anchored in the channel or high and dry on the sands, with an immense expanse of bluff and headland receding away in the extreme distance, the great North Atlantic Ocean closing all in, with a sunset, in particular, of unsurpassed magnificence.
The tower of Stratton Church, from the front of the “Ring of Bells” and from the Launcels Road, taking in some good cottages and trees right and left, is worth securing. The inside of the church will also photograph well, having the favourite points, plenty of room, and plenty of light. A fine monument can be included of a knight in armour, Sir Ralph de Blanchminster.
About a mile on the Kilkhampton road is a most picturesque old mill, the approach to it being down a very steep road. The old stone bridge overhung with ash and wild briar—the rough run of water, with the mill just seen between the trees—is an excellent specimen of quiet effect. Equally good would be a near view of the mil. Before leaving Stratton a visit might be made to Launcels, and pictures taken of the church from the lych gate, with the fine overhanging trees, and the interior with the carved speccot [sic] pew.
On the road to the “Red Post” is a turning that leads to the “incline”—an immense mass of engineering ingenuity used for raising up the boats and barges from the Bude canal to the higher one that passes on to Holsworthy, Tamerton, and other places in Devon. The immense pieces of massive machinery, in chains, pulleys, ropes, and blocks, stand out in well-defined clearness. It is a first-rate subject, and if you take into consideration the expanse of landscape, distance, rock, and sea that could be included in connexion with it, a scene equally good and extensive it would be difficult to find elsewhere. The boats as they come up the incline and slide into the upper canal—with the men guiding and uncoupling the same—is an interesting scene’ though these boatmen have not the brigandish cut of the Birmingham canal men, as they lean, pipe in mouthy, on the wooden companions of Crawley and Co.’s flying fleet.
An inn—the “Red Post”—close to this will be found clean and comfortable; and a short journey past the blacksmith’s shop at Launcel’s Cross, through Grimscott, will bring the tourist to Kilklhampton, some four or five miles north-east of Stratton. The church, the scene of Hervey’s Meditations, has been lately restored by Lord John Thynne, the rector’s father, and numerous noble descendants of the Grenville family have contributed a splendid series of “in memoriam” stained windows. The old carved pulpit is a fine specimen of handicraft, while the arches of the three aisles are supported by pillars of slight and elegant proportions. There is a noble tower and west doorway; but the great point of attraction is the south entrance, with the Anglo-Norman semicircular arch with its bold, zig-zag moulding. I much question if a successful photograph could be taken of it, on account of the arch being in a porch. I have known such subjects, on trial, to be found impracticable. The village views, with old houses and tower, are good.
The distance to Stibb, Sandymouth Cliff, and other parts of this interesting coast is but trifling—some two miles or so; while in the deep hollow of the valley is a little sheltered spot, called Combe, close to the sea, and from its peculiar situation well arranged for photographing. It is worth a visit, and is only a short distance from the remains of the once magnificent abode of the Grenvilles, called Stow. About three miles further north is Moorwinstow Church, and Moorwinstoe Church Town—the most northern point in Cornwall, about ninety miles from the Land’s End. In this parish is the source of the Tamar, which, after pursuing a southerly direction for nearly forty miles, galls into Lynher Crreek, and forms the great harbour of Hamoaze at Plymouth. The Lynher, Looe, Fowey, and Fal, with the Alan River and Dosmery Pool, would offer to photographers a mine of artistic wealth. The situation of the church at Moorwinstow is peculiarly romantic—close to the cliffs, with cottage and old lych-gate at the entrance. The east end, including the great point and bluff, and the west, taking in the Elizabethan vicarage, are good and effective subjects; so also is the broad down, with the irregular group of cottages in the corner. At this time of the year the play of the sunlight and shadow on the ocean views and wild cliffs of the Cornish coast are broad and varied, while the same applied to its moorland and river scenes constitute the very poetry of landscape, and may be met with in endless variety from here to the Land’s End, and from the Land’s End to the Rame Head. From this Exeter can be reached by the North Devon Railway, or a coach may be taken from Bude to the Copplestone Station. [Continued on July 15, p. 275-276]
1862*: BJP July 15, vol. IX, # 170, p. 271*-272:
[* “1861” and “27”, both in error in journal, instead of “1862” & “271”]
Stereographs.
Australian Botanical Illustrations, &c.
Photographed by Frank Haes. London: McLean, Melhuish, and Haes, 26, Haymarket.
The educational value of the stereoscope is perhaps one of its most striking features as presented to the mind of the philosopher, and the last one noticed by the ordinary observer. The former views it as a powerful engine with which he can both acquire and convey information, the latter regards it as a delightful toy; and, what is no less singular, they are both right in their respective estimates, only that each one perceives but half of the truth: indeed part of its value consists in the fact that it cannot assume without instructing, nor instruct without affording amusement at the same time—not that it in any way resembles those nondescripts which are constructed to do double duty, performing each one imperfectly, but is rather to be likened to charity, which benefits both giver and receiver, and sheds a collateral blessing into the bargain.
We have run somewhat “off the track,” as our American friends would phrase it, but it is a natural accident. We have frequently desired to know something about the aspect of Antartic vegetation, and behold we have benefited by what was certainly not intended for our gratification when originally executed.
Slides such as these before us must be of immense advantage to botanists. Stereographs, besides preserving the forms of vegetation in the most perfect manner, enjoy the additional excellence of presenting not only the fac simile of the living specimen of a plant, but convey at the same time an incontrovertible record of its surroundings—a point of no mean importance to a just estimate of its position in vegetable economy. But we must leave moralizing, and write a few words about the several slides themselves, and firstly we notice.
The Tree Fern (in the Botanical Garden at Sydney), the connecting link between the ferns and the palms. This is a beautiful specimen of photographic skill, taken under favourable circumstances, the foliage as feathery, albeit as crisp and sharp, as in nature, with a pleasing background of various trees and shrubs of the exogenous class.
The slide to which we particularly allude is that one in which a fine specimen of the tree fern is growing on the sloping bank of a narrow slip of water, with a younger plant just beyond, and the stem of a tree, akin to the willow in form, immediately behind it. There is another slide upon which a similar plant is depicted; but though good in execution it is not equal in composition to the one we have especially indicated.
The Bourbon Island Palm is a very pleasing specimen, with the gracefully-fringed fan-like leaves contrasting well with the small white-flowered herbaceous plant directly in front of it. The background of this is, to our fancy, somewhat marred by the stopping-out of the sky.
The Striped Aloe, apparently an Agave, is a magnificent sample of its species, picturesquely located, surrounded by numerous small flowering plants well known in this country, such as the fuschia, alyssum, petunia, &c., and backed by a glorious denizen of the forest in full leaf—the chequered light falling upon the broad fleshy leaves of the aloe giving increased value to the high lights of the same, which are brilliant without hardness, and mark the plant as most prominent of the group before us.
Most unfamiliar, yet attractive, is the Norfolk Island Shade Tree, consisting of a somewhat rounded mass of enormous, dark and shining crisp leaves, in form not unlike those of the beech tree, but upon a gigantic scale. This is a highly attractive slide.
The Lilacæ Nutans is the prominent object of another slide very picturesque in treatment. Besides the singular aspect of this principal feature in the group, the contrasting foliage of the neighbouring specimens is very happy, as is also the effect of light and shade in the whole.
The Madagascar Poison Nut Tree is too much under-exposed, and consequently too “hard” in effect, and the group of Gum Trees (Eucalypti) not well defined. The East Indian Wild Date Trees are also somewhat under-exposed.
For an example of the elegantly grotesque in the vegetable kingdom there are few things that can surpass the Filices Playcerium Grande, located at the fork of the main stem of a large forest tree. There are several other objects in this slide worthy of attention: the whole combines well, and the photography is excellent.
Appended to the preceding are two Views form the Sydney Observatory—one looking towards Botany Bay, embracing a long range of subject, but somewhat deficient in the distant parts, the other looking north-east.
We can recommend these slides as worthy of a place in the collections of those desiring to possess illustrations of the various parts of the habitable globe, as well as to those who make more special selections for the purpose of promoting the study of natural history, particularly as regards the botanical branch of the subject.
1862: BJP July 15, vol. IX, # 170, p. 275-276:
Where To Go With The Camera* (*Continued from page 257.) Round Launceston. By Our Own Pioneer.
At the present time, Lanson, Launceston, or Dunheved—the town of the swelling hill—possesses considerable interest from the fact of the Duke of Northumberland’s property, the fine old park at Werrington, with the mansion, having been purchased for H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, as a shooting-box; and there is a rumour that the Northumberland property in the borough has been purchased also—a good omen for the future of the neighbourhood. With this, and the link of railway about to be carried out, the old town may revive and again look up. To reach Launceston there is the omnibus from Exeter, the coach from Bideford, and various conveyances from Tavistock and Plymouth; and a choice of inns and boarding-houses to stop at when there. Should the artist prefer picking up something by the way, he can halt at Oakhampton, if coming from Exeter, and will find the following worth his notice:--Oakhampton from the bridge, taking in the old chapel and bell turret; ruins of the castle, and others of more or less interest. Seven miles further is Bridestowe, with the remains of a fine Norman gateway leading up to the church. To the east is Sourton Down, with the church coming in as the principal object. Some cottages, and a dark moor backing the quarries, about here, are good busy subjects, full of interest. One between Lew Down and Bridestowe—from the great extent of excavation and its numerous sections, engine-house and offices, with all those adjuncts of broad and narrow plank-ways, stops, supports, and fine contrasts of light, shade, and colour, from the deep and uneven breaking up of the rock—will offer several peculiar and excellent pictures. The place is close to the roadside, with ample choice of situation for placing a camera or fixing a tent.
At Lew Down there are two good inns, and many good subjects around: the church of Lew Trenchard, the old house at Sydenham, with its church and monuments erected to the memory of the Tremaine family.
Some two miles on the Lifton road is an old gateway, leading through a well-wooded avenue to a place named Hayne, in a small but finely-wooded park: it was here the unfortunate King Charles rested and secreted himself on the failure of his cause in Cornwall. The interior has much old carving, in good preservation, and one room is said to be in nearly the same state as when the fugitive monarch used it. At Lifton there are many good subjects. The church and town seen through the arch that forms the tramway of the lime quarry—a view with extensive distance to the north-west, from the high ground leading down to Poulston Bridge—is a varied combination of wood and water, with Launceston Castle looming high up in the distance: it is in this said looming that the old castle and its formidable keep of terrible strength comes out in a way that defies rivalry.
Over Poulston Bridge you are out of Devon and
into Cornwall. The town of Launceston fully bears out to the artist and
photographer that the “good is not new, and the new not good.” Here all the
good is old and time-worn; the new, stiff, formal, and matter-of-fact. The
Church of St. Mary’s, in the centre of the town, is a remarkably fine building,
highly decorated, with an elegant Gothic tower, and fine porch with well
sculptured ornaments. On the stone carving running round this church are a
quantity of shields, containing about 152 letters, one letter to each shield.
It is in praise of St. Mary; and, when read on from the commencement, gives, as
each letter follows the other, “Ave Maria gratiæ plena Dominus tecum sponsas,”
&c., &c., till the laudation is complete. In various views this church comes in
as a most telling object. The castle, or rather the magnificent ruins, are
finely adapted for either the pencil or camera. At various distances it assumes
very peculiar shapes; and the keep, situate on an immense mound, looks like a
cylinder springing out from a large globe—the high ground on which it is placed
giving a double elevation to this noble wreck of perished greatness and bygone
times. The close views may be comprised in the Gateway, the Witches’ Tower at
the south-east angle, and the ruined walls of and around the keep. From the
archway and entrance to the town from the east there is a fine view of the
castle: the keep as a middle distance—St. Mary’s, with its elegantly traced
tower, on the right—St. Stephen’s by Launceston, as it is termed, conspicuous in
the extreme distance, backed by the extensive chain of downs near Egles-Kerry,
that extend across the country from Launceston to the Bristol Channel—in the
centre of the foreground the old arched gateway, with its deep mullioned window
laced around with ivy, dark slate roof, and vane, high old-fashioned chimneys
rising here and there in satisfactory situations—the projecting sign-board of
the low roofed inn-remains of the old town wall, with its broad coping of rough
masonry—with the bold overhanging foliage of some fine trees right and left—fill
up and complete a very interesting picture. Another good point is from Newport
Bridge, coming in from St. Stephen’s. here the keep rises most majestically
over and above the surrounding houses—St. Mary’s Church, now on the left, with
castle and keep standing out against the sky, clear, well defined, and
uninterrupted—the foreground composed of low thatched houses, some fine poplar
trees, and the old three-storey building at the entrance to the tan-yard—the
rough masonry of the parapet of Newport Bridge coming in right and left. Let
the artist now turn his back to the castle, and, instead of going up the hill
to St. Stephen’s, turn sharp round to the right, following the narrow road for
about 200 yards, when he will come to a high bank on the right of a lane, and
from this there is a most extensive and busy view of old Dunheved, differing
entirely in aspect from the two previous ones, the steepness of the town being
clearly indicated by the houses rising line above line, and again bringing out
in towering bold relief the ruined ivy-bound remains of a thousand years. The
Church of St. Thomas—old and time-worn—with many cottages and ancient houses,
the tower, and some old gables reflected in the stream, will form a good
subject. On the crest of the hill is St. Stephen’s, a building of the sixteenth
century, with a Gothic tower of noble and elegant proportions, in a situation
that will afford near or distant views. Opposite the church is an open space
where the fair is held, from which spot many good views may be secured; and
directly in front is an inn, from the upper windows of which some good
instantaneous pictures might be taken, as a room could be secured for preparing
the plates. A short distance farther on, to the right of the main road, a broad
gate, with more pretence to strength than elegance, leads into ‘Werrington Park,
a place that dates from the time of William the Conquerer.
For studies of trees, detached or in groups, there are few places in England to
be named with it. On the right of the lodge as you enter, a road winds up an
immense embankment or wooded terrace, ending in a sort of nondescript erection
termed a triumphal arch. The architectural pretensions of Werrington House are
contemptible, but the woods, glades, leafy screens, noble avenues, and all that
combines the beautiful in nature with the secluded, is to be met with here in
perfection and profusion—the river winding like a snake of silver through the
centre of the park, and thereby placing one part of the estate in Devon, the
other in Cornwall. From the terrace several fine pictures can be taken,
including the house of the Devon side, the church to the left on the summit of
some rising ground, overlooking the two conspicuous mounds called “Wilsworthy
Barrows,” with North Tamerton on the right, while below on the plateau of the
park stands the house—mean and insignificant in itself—but the fine dark masses
of foliage, relieved by the intermingled meadows and grassy slopes, the stone
bridge and river, gigantic trees of some centuries growth, will furnish pictures
with reflected tones, ærial distances, and compound masses of landscape beauty
rarely to be met with. From the high terrace mentioned the operator can place
the camera at pleasure and select a variety of points, a convenience and
opportunity that no other place can offer. The lower part of the park is
equally rich in scenes of sylvan interest, either from the bridge, the drive to
the mansion, or pathway to the church. From this path, sheltered by immense
clumps of trees, interesting groups of deer may be taken. We lately saw some
fine specimens taken from an avenue of bending boughs, a leafy thicket fringing
the slope down to the winding river’s edge, while on the sun-lit mound of grass
and flowers many of the herd were quietly feeding. The church is on the top of
the hill: it originally stood close to the mansion, but was removed, piecemeal,
from there some eighty or ninety years back, and re-erected in its present
position. In the jumble of reconstruction and rebuilding it has, externally and
internally, established a sort of architectural order entirely its own. The
interior is like a large white washed and plastered room, with a flat ceiling to
match. In each side wall, north and south, is a recess, to be reached and
entered only from the exterior: these are the pews for Werrington House. The
pulpit is the only accessory that gives any idea of a church. There is some
fruit and flowers carved in wood over the altar most exquisitely rendered—worthy
of, and probably by, Gibbons. The font is also finely cut in marble: it was a
gift of the Percy family. The exterior has something of the appearance of one
of the toys built by children from blocks and pieces taken out of a box and
termed “architectural models;” while in a niche of the tower, as if to prove the
truth of the saying, “nothing new under the sun,” there is a “steel shirt”
of one of the dukes of Cornwall. The church, both inside and out, will make
pictures, if not artistically good, decidedly curious. In removing this
building from its position close to Werrington House, the graves and homes of
the dead could not be removed, consequently the greater part of the lawn of the
above-named mansion is on the mouldering bones and dust of hundreds of a bygone
age. At the present day the removal would not have been allowed. A short
distance from where it now stands is a place called “Ladies’ Cross,” said to be
the spot rendered famous as the scene of meeting between King Edgar and the
beautiful Elphreda, the daughter of Orgarius, a renowned Cornish duke.
Yelm Bridge and Yelm Quarries—the moss-covered boulders and woody ravine on one side of the bridge, with the quaint, gabled houses and fine trees on the other broken rocky foreground and dash of the stream as it darts from one huge mass of granite to another—will give several varied and interesting subjects. A week or more may be spent round Launceston and the neighbourhood by amateur or professional photographers, and a great number of first-rate subjects a secured.
1862: BJP July 15, vol. IX, #170, p. 276-277:
Photography for Travellers and Tourists,* (*From Macmillan’s Magazine) By Professor Pole, F.R.S.
It is the natural wish of most persons who visit a new locality to bring back pictorial representations of the scenery; and this want is usually met in one of two ways—either by published views or by sketching. In well-frequented places, published views are generally to be had, and command a large sale; and the accuracy of these publications has of late been much increased, and their circulation much promoted, by the more general introduction of landscape photography, and the great increase of professional practitioners.
But the facility of obtaining views in this way is not without its drawbacks. In the case of engravings, both the accuracy and the artistic merit may be anything but satisfactory; ordinary photographs, though they must be tolerably true, may not represent the particular objects, or show them in the particular way the purchaser may desire; and it need hardly be said that there are vast numbers of localities visited by both travelers and tourists, particularly the former, where neither engravings nor photographs are to be found, and of which it is, for that very reason, most peculiarly desirable to get accurate views. To meet these difficulties, the only resource has usually been hand-sketching. Now, the power to sketch well is undeniably one of the greatest advantages a traveller can possess; but, unfortunately, though drawing is now one of our stock school accomplishments, only a small minority of those who travel are able to transfer efficiently to paper what they see; and even in favourable cases, though clever and artistic pictures may be produced, the faithfulness of the representations must always be more or less uncertain.
Doubtless, the idea must often have occurred to almost every traveller, what an advantage it would be if he could himself take photographs, where he likes, of what he likes, when he likes, and how he likes. But such an idea must soon have been dismissed, from the supposed incompatibility of this with ordinary travelling arrangement. The usual notion of photographic operations comprehends a fearful array of dark rooms, huge instruments, chemical paraphernalia, water, and mess, which no sane person, out of the professional photographic guild, would think of burdening himself with on an ordinary journey, and which only a practiced adept could use if he had them; and so the idea of a traveller’s taking views for himself on his tour is generally dismissed at once as an impracticable chimera.
Now, it is the object of this article to show that such a view of the matter is a delusion, and that any traveller or tourist, gentleman or lady, may, by about a quarter-of-an hour’s learning, and with an amount of apparatus that would go into the gentleman’s coat pocket, or the lady’s reticule, put himself or herself into the desirable position we have named.
It is not our intention to write a treatise on photography; but we must state generally what the operations are, in order to make our explanations intelligible.
The process, then, of taking a photographic pictures consists essentially of three main divisions, namely—1. Preparing the plate; 2. Taking the picture; and 3. Developing the image; and the most common and best known arrangements of these is as follows:--A glass plate of the proper size is coated with collodion, and made sensitive to light by dipping in a bath of a certain solution. It is then, while it remains moist, placed in a camera obscura, and exposed to the image formed by the lens; after which, but still before the plate has had time to dry, it is taken out, and treated with certain chemicals which have the property of developing the image so obtained. The plate is then what is called a “negative;” from which, after it has been secured by varnish, any number of impressions, or “prints,” may be taken at any time.
Now, it will be seen, by the words we have printed in italics, that, according to this method of operation, the whole of the three parts of the process must be performed within a very short space of time; and, since the first and third require to be done in a place to which day light cannot enter, a dark room, supplied with a somewhat extensive assortment of chemical apparatus, must be provided close to the place where the picture is taken. This method, from the necessity of the plate remaining moist, is called the wet process. It is always employed for portraits, and has the advantage not only of great beauty of finish, but of extreme sensitiveness, requiring only a few seconds’ exposure in the camera.
The wet process was the first, and, we believe, for some time, the only collodion process in use. But, in a happy moment, it occurred to somebody to inquire whether it was really indispensable that the plates should be kept moist during the whole operation; and it was found that, by certain modifications of the process of preparing them, they might be allowed to dry, and that some time might elapse between the preparation and the exposure, as well as between this and the development. The immense advantage this promised to landscape photography led to extensive investigation; and several processes have now been perfected which will secure this result. Plates may be prepared at any convenient time and place, and may be carried about for months, ready for use at a moment’s notice; and, after the picture is taken, they may also be kept some time before development. The only price we pay for this advantage is the necessity for a little longer exposure in the camera; which, for landscapes, is of no moment at all.
The bearing of this discovery on our more immediate subject will be at once apparent, as it gets rid of the necessity of providing, on the journey, for the preparation and development, with all their cumbersome and troublesome apparatus, and limits what is necessary to the simple exposure, or taking of the picture. And another advantage of still more importance follows from this—namely, that the plates may be prepared and developed, not only in another place, but by another person. The knowledge, care, and skill required for photography, as well as the stains and all other disagreeables attending it, refer almost exclusively to the preparation and development; the exposure to take the view is an operation of the simplest kind, which anybody may learn in a few minutes, and which is attended with no trouble or inconvenience whatever.
Limiting, therefore, the traveller’s operation to the taking of the picture, let us consider what this involves. The first question which affects materially the portability of the necessary apparatus is the size of picture to be taken. We are accustomed to see very large and beautiful photographs of scenery and architecture; but these would be impracticable for the traveller, as the dimensions of the plate increase so materially every portion of the apparatus. Differences of opinion and of taste may exist as to the degree of inconvenience it is worth while putting up with; but the writer of this paper, after considerable experience, has come to the conclusion that the smallest size in ordinary use—namely, the stereoscopic plate—is by far the most eligible one for travelling. The object is not to make large and valuable artistic pictures—that we must always leave to the professional man—but it is simply to preserve faithful representations; and this may be done as well on the small as on the large scale, and with infinitely less trouble. For, though the size is small, the delicacy of detail procurable with well-prepared plates, even in a large extent of view, is something marvelous, as may be easily seen in some of the magnificent stereoscopic views that are to be had in the shops; besides which, the stereoscopic effect gives an air of reality to the view which greatly enhances the value of the representation.
The camera for taking stereoscopic views has now been reduced, by ingenious contrivances, to a very portable size. The one used by the writer is nine inches long, five and a-half inches wide, and three inches high—about the dimensions of a good-sized octavo book. It weighs a little over two pounds, and hangs by a strap round the neck in walking with no inconvenience. The stand folds up into a straight stick, which is carried easily in the hand. A stock of eight plates, in slides ready for use (sufficient generally for a day’s operations), go into two folding pocket cases. The tourist can thus walk about without the slightest sense of incumbrance, and is prepared, at any moment, to take a perfect stereoscopic view of anything he sees—an operation which will occupy him from five to fifteen minutes, according to the light, and the time he may take to choose his position.
Considered as adding to the baggage of the traveller, these things are hardly worth mentioning—as, with the exception of the stand (which travels well in company with an umbrella), they will all lie snugly in a spare corner of a portmanteau. Of course, however, a stock of plates must be added. A dozen of these, with appropriate packing, will occupy about eight inches long, four inches wide, and one and a-half inches high; and from this the space occupied by any number it is proposed to take on the journey may be easily estimated. Suppose there are five dozen—a pretty fair allowance—these, with camera and all complete, will go into a very portable hand-box, or into one of the small black leather bags now so common.
If the operator chooses to go to a little extra trouble, it is highly satisfactory to be able to develop the plates on the journey, which may conveniently be done in the evenings, at a hotel or lodging, and the apparatus for which adds very slightly to the bulk of the preparations. A small case of bottles, five inches square and two and a-half inches thick, together with one or two small loose articles, are all the author takes with him. The development of a plate takes five or ten minutes, and is a process easily learnt; and the satisfaction of being able to see, the same evening, what one has been doing in the day, is quite inducement enough to do it. But still, we repeat, this is not necessary, as the development may be left to another person and to another time.
We think we have shown how every traveller or tourist may be his own photographer, with much less trouble and difficulty than is generally supposed; and we must add that this is no untried plan. The writer of this article has been much in the habit of travelling; and, for years past, when he has gone on a journey, the little camera has been put into the portmanteau as unassumingly and as regularly as the dressing case. It has traveled in all sorts of countries, and has cast its eye on scenes which camera never looked at before: it has been a never-failing source of interesting occupation and amusement, and has recorded its travels in hundreds of interesting views, some of much excellence, and very few otherwise than successful.
But it may be asked—since the advantage and usefulness of this plan are so undeniable, how is it that we do not see it in more frequent use? Simply for the reason that the dealers in photographic apparatus have never yet had the enterprise to establish a manufacture and sale of dry prepared plates in such a way as to ensure their popularity.
The manufacture and sale of photographic apparatus and chemicals is now becoming a very large branch of commerce; but many of the large numbers of tradesmen who prosecute it appear to have a much more earnest view towards the profits of the business than to the advancement of the art; for, since the death of poor Mr. Archer (to whom we owe almost entirely the present state of photography, and who lost a fortune in its improvement), nearly every advance made has been by private individuals. We must not be misunderstood. There are many people who profess to sell dry plates, and these may often be found to possess many of the requisites they should have; but few can be depended on, and none combine all the qualities which are necessary to give the system the full benefit of its inestimable value. Some will not keep long enough before exposure; some will not keep at all after exposure; some fail in sensitiveness; some spoil soon after they are opened; to say nothing of the constant liability to stains, irregularities, blisters, and all sorts of troublesome and annoying defects, which not only spoilt the operator’s work, but—what is of more importance—destroy all reliance on his operations, and so discourage him from undertaking them. We are not sure whether some dealers may not be obtuse enough even to encourage defects, from the short-sighted notion of increasing the sale; but this we can say—that we know no maker who will guarantee the sincerity of his wish to make good plates, by consenting to allow for them if they turn out bad ones. If this state of things arose from imperfection in the art we should not grumble, but could only urge improvement; but this is not so. It is well known that dry plates can be made, satisfying all the conditions we have named, and which, with care and system in the manufacture, might be rendered thoroughly trustworthy. It is only the indolence or obstinacy of the trade that prevents their becoming regular articles of commerce.
We do not wish, however, to discourage the traveller who may wish to adopt this admirable aid to his wanderings; for the object to be gained is so important that it is worth striving a little for. In the present state of the matter, he must either learn to prepare his own plates—which, after all, is no great exertion—or, if he buys them, he must at least learn to develop them, and must, at the same time, lay in with them a certain stock of patience and temper to meet disappointment; and we can assure him that, even at this price, he will find himself amply repaid. But we again urge that the case ought not to stand thus. The application of the dry processes to portable photography offers a boon almost inestimable to, but yet quite unappreciated by, the traveller and the tourist; and it only needs the zealous and earnest co-operation of the dealer, by so conducting the manufacture as to render it perfect and trustworthy, to raise this application into a branch of commerce of an extent, importance, and profit, little inferior to any in the trade.
1862: BJP, Aug. 1, vol. IX, #171, p. 292-293:
Where To Go With the Camera: Round About Exeter. By Our Own Pioneer.
Summer time has now more than arrived: bud, bough, and all the various delicate foldings of Nature’s leafage are thoroughly developed and out. The most glorious part of the four seasons is gladdening alike to youth and age. World-workers of the pent-up cities and towns are glad to escape for a few weeks, or even for a few days, and wend their way up and down glens hemmed in with hazel and bright green sward, gaze at the lofty pine, rest beneath the silvery beech, or court the noonday shade afforded by the spreading branches of the gnarled and vigorous oak. Many amateur photographers are now glad and ready to avail themselves of the few spare days at their command to seek fresh subjects for their folios and collections. The best known and important places have to a great extent been worked out and done over and over again. Taking pictures of such is consequently no novelty. On the production of a proof to astonish a friend, it is rather annoying to be met with the remark—“Oh! I have seen that place before. Tom Cyanide was there last year, and took some splendid views.” Or—“Oh! I’ve seen that in shop windows.”
All this is unpleasant; added to which, crowded places are high charging places, and that is also unpleasant. I therefore purpose to point out a series of “nooks and corners,” and a variety of picturesque spots that have not been overdone, that may be conveniently and easily reached, where the operator will be free from interruption and annoyance, and where clean and homely accommodation is to be met with on fair and reasonable terms. Exeter I again select as a starting point; and, as a popular authoress, the daughter of a celebrated artist, has pronounced Devonshire cottages to be objects equally worthy the attention of poet, painter, or the lover of the romantic, few places can offer such effective samples as the “land of the red earth”—Devon, the garden of England. The best specimens are quickly vanishing. Speculating builders and improving landlords, with the increasing extension of the rail and iron-way, are great destroyers of thatch roofs and cob walls: photographers should, therefore, be on the alert, and secure some few remaining good bits before they are gone for ever. Should the tourist come on by the Bristol and Exeter line he would do well to stop at the Tiverton Road Station, where he will find a comfortable and convenient inn; or at Samford Peverell, on the road to Tiverton. The church, from the banks of the canal is a good subject. A couple of miles further there is another church—Halberton—a fine building of the fourteenth century, restored some years back, principally at the cost of one of the sons of Sir Thomas Ackland. A mile to the left, beyond the church a turn in the road leads to the canal banks, some short distance from Tiverton, with several excellent subjects on the way, backed by the Black Down hills, and an extensive and magnificent view of Taunton Vale., Tiverton (the town of two fords) is celebrated for its grammar school, church, castle, lace factory, and from having been represented in Parliament for so many years by Lord Palmerston. There are several good inns, and some clean, well-conducted refreshment houses. Blundell’s School, founded 1604, is world-famed, well situated for taking, and makes two good pictures. The fine Gothic Church of St. peter dates from the fifteenth century, is highly ornamented externally and internally, with a decorated south side chapel of the date 1518. The church tower rises to a great height, and from the top presents a fine panoramic view of the surrounding district. Good pictures may also be got from the river banks. The remains of the castle (an old gateway with ivied walls and towers), formerly the abodes of the Earls of Devon, is a fine architectural specimen of the prevailing style of the twelfth century: it stands close to the road on the north side of the town, and will yield three or four good subjects, as will also a new church built within the last few years. The lace factory, Lowman Bridge, Tiverton Bridge, from the river banks, the tower of St. Peter’s in the distance—not forgetting Greenway’s Almshouse in the high street—are also worth taking. The late John cross, the talented and successful painter of some of the prize cartoons for the Palace at Westminster, passed much of his time at Tiverton, and painted many of his best pictures there.
Exeter, some thirteen miles from here, can be reached by taking the Bickleigh Road, and passing on through Stoke Cannon and Rewe. At each of these places much that is good and effective may be taken. Or the road from Tiverton to Cullompton may be followed. This place is situated on the River Culme. The Church of St. Andrew has been restored within the last few years: a building of the fifteenth century, with a finely painted and carved screen, and decorated aisle on the south side, built by John Lane, 1528. From the grounds of the vicarage it makes a good picture, with every facility for placing the camera either there or in the High Street, from which a fine view of the massively built and highly-decorated tower may be obtained.
Bradninch, a short distance from the Hele Station of the Exeter railway, has a couple of good subjects in the old church and rectory. King Charles was here in 1644, and remained at the latter place for some time. Hele Station, with the paper mills, is a good subject; while across the line, to the right, about three miles, you come to Killereton Park, the seat of Sir Thomas Ackland, but which presents no particularly noteworthy features. Poltimore House, the seat of Lord Poltimore, is close at hand, offering a good distant effect; while the church and old Alms-Houses are very good subjects. Bramford Speke, not far off the road, gives some good bits in old cottages and hedge-row scenes, the church and tower coming in most effectively in the distance. Some few years back to was a familiar name to all readers of the current news of the day, in the celebrated case of Forham and the Bishop. Exeter is now close at hand, where the tourist can please himself as to remaining, or make his way down Fore Street Hill, and on to the banks of the ship canal, bound for a point called Turf, where the said canal commences, and to which place the Corporation of the “ever faithful city” repair to enjoy themselves—a sort of Greenwich whitebait house, with the advantage of fresher air and fish obtained from purer water. The subjects to be met with will be:--The old turreted tower of Alphington Church, backed by the lofty Haldon Hills; Exminster and station, with a broad expanse of marsh—one of those picturesque buildings, erected on the South Devon line, to carry out the atmospheric plans, and generally known as Brunel’s “follies;” Topsham, with its square-towered church rising from a compact mass of houses; if high water, a few small craft at anchor under the town walls—if low, a vessel here and there heeled over on one side, with wagons and horses, &c., &c., and the usual busy scene of loading and unloading.
There is also Powderham Castle and park, the seat of the Courtenays, Earls of Devon—the park, some nine or ten miles in circumference, having extensive wooded glades and magnificent groups of trees and deer. The Castle itself is supposed to date from the time of the conquest. On the line, slightly to the left, we come to Starcross, a place that has within a very brief period risen from mud and mussels into cleanliness and consequence. Close to the station there is another of the “follies” that comes in well, either from the sea-wall or beyond the jetty, taking in the long strip of marsh and sand, called the Warren—the sails and masts of various small craft coming out well in the distance. On the right are Powderham Church and Vicarage, with the Belvidere or Prospect Tower, rising from the wooded heights behind. Looking towards the city, a low long Canaletti-sort of effect is seen—the Norman Towers of the old Cathedral, dating from 1050, rising in clear relief against the sky. From the solid line of buildings surrounding St. Leonard’s and Heavitree, the high ground of Honiton cliff stretching away to the right, the left filled in by St. Thomas’s and the neighbourhood—these, with the lights and shadows of a sinking sun, on a clear summer’s evening, with a variety of objects and masses reflected and reversed in the clear water of the canal, present a scene which, for beauty and effectiveness, it would be difficult to surpass--reminding one forcibly of the works of Callcott, Callow, and the younger Clint.
1862: BJP, Aug. 15, vol. IX, #172, p. 310-311:
Stereographs.
The Inundation in the Fens.
Photographed by Valentine Blanchard. London: C.E. Elliott, 5, Aldermanbury Postern, City.
A calamity such as that which lately befell an agricultural district in Norfolk by the busting of a sluice is one not easily to be forgotten, not is the interest concentrated upon the submerged district confined to the suffering inhabitants alone; for, apart from natural sympathy with those who are literally washed away from their homes, there was considerable excitement but recently existing relative to the question whether the engineering skill engaged in attempting to repair all the mischief which ensued would prove equal to the task involved, and for some time the issue appeared to be extremely doubtful, several failures in attempting the damming out of the water of the German Ocean having been experienced before success was achieved, so far as to prevent the repeated irruptions which had occurred at every successive high tide since the catastrophe.
Of course until this important first step was gained, no possibility existed of the release of the flooded district, extending over an area of about six miles in length and four miles in breadth, from the domination of the waters; but, this once attained, the remainder is but a work of time.
It was a happy idea of Mr. Blanchard to secure such incontrovertible witnesses of the devastation as the series of sterographs [sic] now before us. They will tell their tale of truth when time sufficient shall have elapsed to make oral or written testimony liable to the suspicion of exaggeration; and for this reason many having a personal interest in the calamity will be glad to avail themselves of the opportunity now offered of securing some at least of the specimens. But these will not be the only claimants for them; for unpromising as such a class of subjects would at first sight appear to be when regarded with an eye to the picturesque, yet under the influence of Mr. Blanchard’s skill s an operator for “instantaneous” effects, and as viewed by his camera, they certainly do exhibit artistic excellence in a very considerable degree. For instance:--
No. 150. (Sunset After a Storm), displays a wild waste of waters roused into a miniature sea by the wind, the wavelets tipped by a golden glow of light streaming from under the rugged masses of stormy-looking clouds. A solitary boat, with a mast around which the sail is brailed up, with two passengers, floats in the middle distance, and, far away at the horizon, trees and buildings are just dimly seen, breaking the monotony of the line, while in the foreground a post and a couple of rails stand out of the water, testifying to the shallowness of the temporary ocean. The boat’s motion has a little marred the sharpness of this specimen.—Again:
No. 156 (A View Looking Towards Smeeth-Road Station, Sunset) is something more than the name alone implies. In this we are looking across a narrower portion of the lake. The waters are tranquil, and evidently very shallow, for the long grasses show their more aspiring heads above the water in two or three series of lines. On the left foreground is a boat in full sail, sharp and distinct as can be desired, containing a couple of men. In the middle distance are three or four haystacks standing partly out of the water: beside them a boat is being rowed away from the spectator, the oars stretching right and left. A long strip of land to the left stretches half-way across the distanced, interrupted by but a single house, while the other half of the background is well broken up with houses and elm trees, lopped in the barbarous fashion so common in our hedgerows. A few light clouds bestrew the sky, and behind one the sun has partly sunk down, leaving about three-quarters of its orb visible through slightly veiled, and this is “led up to,” as it were, by a slight additional strip of light upon the water. It is a charming slide, full of atmosphere and picturesque effect.
The View From the Middle Level Bank (No. 151), with the Methodist Chapel in the distance, shows a farm-house and homestead, rendered untenable by a couple of feet or so of water in the basement. The straw-yard enjoys just sufficient elevation to afford a dry footing; and here are a couple of youths in conversation—one sitting on the railing, the other standing opposite to him, with the skirt of his coat blowing out in the wind.
Neaps Farm, Evening (No. 148), is very characteristic of the scene. A square unpicturesque-looking house standing in the water, which reaches up to just below the lower window-sill, is backed by a barn and surrounded at some little distance by trees and hedges, showing above the water, while a boat with five persons in it has just sailed through the nearest hedge. The land is seen just like a thin line across the water in the distance.
No. 153 shows The Broken Sluice—the shattered remains of the frail protection against the waters of the sea.
There are several excellent views of the Coffer Dam, in which may be seen the “navies” at work throwing in the bags of clay, the pile-driving engines, blocks and pulleys, engineers superintending, panels being slide into their grooves, waters surging and foaming through the openings, displaying scenes of bustle and animation which few could look upon without interest. Two of these are especially excellent:--No. 153, in which a group of celebrated engineers is comprised; and No. 155—that in which there are three men in the foreground (for there is another slide bearing the same number and description though quite a different scene). The one to which we particularly allude is most admirable as a photograph, of great interest to engineers, harmonious and full of detail and half-tone, clear, distinct, and effective.
Appended to each slide is a short extract from The Times, descriptive of the scene of the inundation, and written in the month of June last, which, as an appropriate conclusion, we may with propriety quote. It is as follows:--
A brief description of the present inundations may not be considered out
of place here. A glance at the map of England will show an immense district lying between the hilly parts of Norfolk and Lincolnshire, and extending across the northern parts of Cambridgeshire. This large area is intersected in various directions by drains or artificial rivers, the object of which is to carry off the superabundant water into the natural or tidal rivers. A hasty glance at this district, during a rapid journey by rail, will at once reveal its noteworthy characteristics. A vast plain presents itself to the eye, with nothing to break the monotony but an occasional farm-house, or a row of stunted willows, with here and there the tall shaft of some engine busily employed in throwing the water from the drains into the regular channels leading to the rivers. The whole of this district has been reclaimed from the sea in comparatively recent time, and as, consequently, it is all below high water mark, the outlets into the rivers are guarded by sluices that have hitherto been considered models of engineering skill. They are constructed to let off the upland waters, but to prevent the tide from entering. The cause of the present calamity is the bursting of the latest of these magnificent erections—the sluice built at St. Germains, where the middle level drain empties itself into the Ouse. This drain was formed some sixteen years ago, to carry off the water of an inland sea called Whittlesea Mere, and has been so successful in its operation that the whole area of the old sea is now under cultivation. The scheme was however strongly opposed by the landholders in Marshland Fen, the scene of the present inundations, for the drain came across their lands, putting them to serious inconvenience without any corresponding benefit, for it did not drain their land in the slightest degree. At the time of the formation of the drain, we remember an old man saying, “They will have no difficulty in draining Whittlesea Mere, but the day will come, mark my words, when they will have a Marshland Mere instead.” This prediction, though laughed at at the time, has now come to pass; for, on the breaking of the sluice which guarded the outlet, the tidal waters rushed into the drain and filled it from bank to bank. Every one saw that the banks could not sustain the extra pressure; for the drain was in the position of a basin, so full that another drop must make it run over. At the weakest point, accordingly, the water spurted through like the stream from the hose of a fire engine, and in a short space of time there was a gap a hundred feet across, and a torrent of water rushing over the unfortunate land; and a district of six miles long by three and four broad, which a few weeks ago might be considered as the most fertile in England, is now a salt water lake four feet deep.
1862: BJP Oct. 15, vol. IX, #176, p. 381-382:
Stereographs.
Instantaneous Views of London.
Photographed by Valentine Blanchard. London: C.E.Elliott, 5, Aldermanbury Postern.
It is generally acknowledged that “the proof of the pudding is in the eating.” We have lately seen called in question by a correspondent, Mr. Augustus Webb, resident in India, the correctness of principle involved in the use of bromides in the collodion as accelerative agents, especially adverting to Mr. Blanchard’s experiments on the subject as unsatisfactory on account of the commingling of salts with different bases. Now, although there is reason in the objection so far as regards generalizing from too limited a number of strictly comparable conditions, we apprehend that were our Indian friend to have an opportunity of inspecting the specimens now before us, he would acknowledge the practical efficiency of Mr. Blanchard’s operations, whatever he might think of his theoretical notions.
The following quotation from Cowper appended to the slides of this series is very apt—
“’Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat,
To peel at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd”—
Especially as applied to the first slide which we take up, viz.,--
No. 191, The New Cattle Market, Holloway, in which are seen butchers and salesmen in considerable numbers, bargaining and handling the sheep, many of which are packed in the various pens. A cart with the tail-board hanging down ready for the load is in the foreground, and between the shafts stands a patient-looking white horse, with more bone than muscle, in an attitude that military men style “at ease.” The background is occupied by the square central clock-tower, the base of which is surrounded by the several counting-houses and banking establishments peculiar to the locality. One marked character of the scene must not be omitted,--the adornment (!) of the iron struts of the lamp-posts with the coats of the drovers.
From meat to vegetables is a natural transition, so that Covent Garden Market (No. 183) follows in appropriate order. This is a well-executed representation of a familiar scene. This is a well-executed representation of a familiar scene. Near the west front of the building may be seen a life-like group of market people surrounding a stall on the right, wagons filled with the well-known round baskets containing fruit and choice vegetables, horses with bags on noses taking their early feed, boys “loafing” about or on the look-out for a job.
The Floral Hall, Covent Garden (No. 184), is not quite so satisfactory a picture: the great contrast between the strong sunlight and consequent deep shade has been heightened, and the effect impaired by rather too much intensification of the high lights.
From Convent Garden to Charing Cross is but a step. There are two slides in which the statue of Charles I. is included,--No. 177 being a view of The Strand looking easterly, and showing the corner, by Northumberland House, where the omnibuses pause to take up passengers, two of which were performing that operation during the exposure of the plate; and there are several persons in the act of climbing up, or just preparing to do so. There is a trifle of over-development in this specimen, and a little distortion of the architecture from turning up the camera. No. 180 is taken from the same spot as the preceding, but looking more to the left-hand, and taking in St. Martin’s Church. No. 179 is another view of St. Martin’s Church and a portion of Trafalgar Square, one policeman and several boys evidently watching the operations of the photographer.
The National Gallery, from Pall Mall (No. 176), also includes a front view of St. Martin’s Church. This is a capital slide. Numerous foot-passengers and some vehicles are well scattered about, including many going up and coming down the steps of the National Gallery; two fruit hawkers, with their barrows, are standing close beside the kerb-stone; and three or four long ladders are leaning against the house on the left, next adjoining to that in which the annual exhibitions of the London Photographic Society are usually held.
Of Waterloo Place, Regent Street (No. 175), Great George Street (No. 174), and, St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster (No. 172)—the two last including the clock-tower of the Houses of Parliament—we have nothing special to remark. Victoria Street (No. 171) is interesting, from its including a view of Westminster Abbey, and the moving figures in this slide are capitally caught.
The Church of St. Mary Le Strand (No. 186) is taken from a spot not far from Somerset House, which is just visible on the right hand; and the busy traffic of that locality is well represented, though the shadows are somewhat too dark.
Temple Bar (No. 187) is truly excellent—a stream of cabs, omnibuses, and carts pouring through the narrow gorge, the very numbers on some of the vehicles being distinguishable, and the two statues against the upper part of the ancient gateway clearly defined. The tower of St. Dunstan’s Church is seen over the gateway, and nearly in a line with it an impertinent little chimney-pot is doing its best to help towards the smoke-begriming process to which all our London edifices are necessarily subjected.
The General Post-Office, St. Martin’s Le Grand (No. 194), is not quite so happy in execution; but Holborn Hill (No. 195), though a little too dark, is characteristic of that busy thoroughfare.
New Oxford street, looking east (No. 196), is, however, first-rate in execution. Omnibuses, carts, cabs, wagons, and foot-passengers in shoals, in active movement, are all “arrested.” One “Hansom” cab alone, in the right-hand corner, is blurred in outline, and this seems to have come suddenly round the corner into the view. In the immediate foreground is a man, without his coat, wheeling a barrow, his left leg poised in mid-air, in the act of stepping; just in front of him is an omnibus, on the back panel of which is observable the placard, “All the way, 3d.;” and on the outside front seat, to the right, is a gentleman wearing a white hat, with a black hat-band; while on the other side of the driver a passenger is evidently turning to address him. One individual in a black suit, with his hands in his pockets, and looking on excellent terms with himself, is sauntering towards the spectator. The whole scene is full of life, and the photography leaves nothing to be desired.
We have one view of that very ugly edifice, The International Exhibition, the east front, taken from the Cromwell Road (No. 185). A number of visitors, male and female, are crossing over from the corner by the South Kensington Museum, and several policemen are standing in attitudes peculiar to the species—that is to say, very wide awake, and on the look out. There is a little too much contrast between light and shade in this slide.
Three river scenes deserve some notice:--The Port of London, evening (No. 146), a scene on the Thames, just below the bridge. Some heavy clouds, with light-illumined edges, contrast well with the glare from the uneven surface of the water, reflecting the indirect light of the setting sun.
The Seamen’s Floating Hospital, off Greenwich (No. 147), presents some picturesque cloud and water effects, but is rather out of focus.
Study of the Thames (No. 197) is an admirable photograph, and represents the south side of the river bank between Southwark and London bridges—time high water, when lighters innumerable and other craft are moored close alongside the various wharves, ready to be unladed in due course. St. Saviour’s Church is seen above the buildings on the right hand; and on the left a sailing barge has just made a tack. From the foot of the Surrey side of London Bridge the small passenger steamer has just started on her voyage, and across the bridge a perfect forest of masts is observable, with a puff or two of black smoke showing the whereabouts of certain steamboats.
We can cordially commend these capital illustrations of the metropolis to all desirous of possessing records of out-door life in the modern Babylon.
1862: BJP Oct. 15, vol. IX, #176, p. 385:
Section A. Friday, October 3.
On Autographs of the Sun.
Professor Selwyn exhibited and described a series of “Autographs of the Sun,” taken by Mr. Titterton, of Ely. These pictures are the same as those in the International Exhibition, on the north wall, in the gallery of Philosophical Instruments. He called them autographs, as the term photograph he thought too general. The instrument with which they were taken was a camera attached to a refracting telescope, arranged so as to obtain an instantaneous exposure. The Rev. Professor here produced the autographs taken during a series of very fine days, from the 25th of July to the 4th of August, 1862. Thee days are remarkable not only as having ripened the harvest, but because the sun then exhibited a number of fine spots. The last day was the most interesting, the great spot being just at the edge of the disc. The same group appeared in the autographs of August 19th to the 25th, reduced, however, to one spot. Sir John Herschel was the first who suggested this application of photography, and it was at his instance the elaborate instrument in use at Kew was constructed, of which the contrivance shown by Professor Selwyn was a simpler adaptation. Some very important phenomena are exhibited in these autographs. The spots on the sun take about twelve and a-half days in their passage across its face, and generally make their appearance at the part answering to the tropical belt of the earth. The dusky edge of the sun, too, is plainly perceived. But as it was suggested that the sides of the camera might produce this difference in light, Sir John Herschel proposed taking a picture in such a manner that the edge of the luminary should appear in the middle of the plate. In the autographs taken in this way the dusky edge is still very apparent, no diminution whatever of the comparative light having taken place. The reason for this dusky edge is from the sun’s possessing an atmosphere. By means of these autographs the faculœ can be very clearly discerned: these, he suggested, were waves of light, thrown up higher than the general surface, and answering to the cavities which formed the spots. The learned Professor then concluded with a few pertinent remarks upon the more extensive knowledge of the sun which might ultimately be obtained from these very interesting experiments.
The Rev. F. Howlett described his observations of the disappearance of the large spot (24,000 miles in diameter) on August 4, by which it appeared that at the times when the two autographs taken that day showed a visible depression in the limb of the sun there was still a streak of light between the spot and the sun’s edge—by the first measurement twelve seconds in breadth, by the second four seconds.
1862: BJP Nov. 15, vol. IX, # 178, p. 428:
Stereographs.
Illustrations of the International Exhibition. Photographed by W. England.
London Stereoscopic Company, Cheapside.
If the budding leaves of spring excite the feeling of hope and pleasure in anticipation, the many-tinted hues of autumn have a charm of their own, embellishing the lingering beauties of the past glorious time of sunshine, and rest on the memory like the last sweet notes of some ravishing melody. Perhaps we value more the autumnal beauties because they hint at, rather than tell of, those of summer; and if they be not quite so intense, they are at least free from the heat, oppression, and glare necessarily accompany the latter—the light is not so blinding nor the shadows so deep.
Mr. England’s stereoscopic pictures of the Great Exhibition of 1862 are to us the autumn leaves as we like to regard them—that is, as links that bind us to the past without remorse, rather than as presages of the coming time of leaden skies and dreary darkness. We don’t value “the house that Fowke built” and its contents as a whole, and many of its associations are anything but pleasant, especially those in connexion with the mismanagement under which our own art-science suffered; but we cannot deny the existence of innumerable brilliant gems of art and industry, nor ignore the memory of some pleasant hours spent over them, and we would gladly forget the heaps of uninteresting rubbish, trophies (!) of soap, toys, preserved beef, candles, and the hundred-and-one miscellaneous articles to be met with in any of the ordinary shops, not only of the metropolis, but of every provincial town. We would forget also the closely-packed crowd, the weary waiting to see in turn some favourite object, the stifling heat, the hideous structure itself, the din of the “ringing out,” and above all the horrid scrambling, scuffling, worrying job of getting home, with a couple of hours; ride, when thoroughly tired and wanting one’s dinner. There were times when it was possible to view even the best things in comfort, and there were not a few things that it was a comfort as well as a pleasure to view. To many of these Mr. England introduces us anew, under no forbidding aspect of a blockade of eager sight-seers, but with a way cleared specially for the favoured spectator, as if he were a noble scion of royalty. We say nothing about the necessity of a clear space in order to be able to appreciate the statuary, as that is self-evident; but many of the smaller articles, beautiful in themselves, receive an added charm of no slight extent by being viewed as grouped in harmonious contrast, and how is it possible so to view them when the spectator is thrust up close against them? Numerous groups of this kind are—or rather were--scattered all over the building, although the grouping of the whole was anything but satisfactory, while some of the courts were little better than miserable dens. Some objects require to be minutely and closely scanned in order to be able to estimate their value (we do not mean commercially), and to this end what can aid us better than a first rate stereograph? It happens that we are able to pick out one specimen that illustrates both of these propositions, viz.—
No. 112, Engraved Glass, Venetian Pattern, exhibited by Naylor and Co. This is a splendid slide. A flower-stand and a water-jug of what is designated as “jeweled glass,” of quaint old pattern, are surrounded by vases, goblets, carafe, claret jug, and wine glasses, of elegant forms and magnificently engraved, the whole of the details of the design being distinctly visible, while the brilliancy of the crystal glass is wonderfully reproduced, and the entire group artistically disposed.
Again: No. 125, Porcelain and Majolica Vases, by Duke and Co., is a marvelously effective slide. The similitude of the ancient pottery is so perfectly accomplished that it is difficult to believe in the absence of colour. Indeed, it was not until we had carefully examined the specimen by daylight, out of the stereoscope, that we became thoroughly convinced we had been viewing an untouched copy.
Akin to the foregoing is No. 70, The Austrian Court, representing the stand numbered 1368 in the official catalogue, on which is displayed a magnificent group of ornamental Bohemian glass vases, &c.; but here, though the elegant forms are given, the gorgeous tints of the originals interfere sadly with the photographer—the red, white, and clear glass being duly recorded, but the blues and the gilding, which we know to belong to some of the specimens, and which (knowing it to be there) we can detect by close scrutiny as having produced some effect upon the sensitive film, have not made an impression equivalent to that which they do in nature. It is not so much the absence of colour that is felt in cases such as these as it is the translation of its proper effect into light and shade that is wanting.
As an illustration of the immense value of the stereoscope in presenting the real appearance of objects, No. 96 is noteworthy. On first looking at it in the hand, we mistook it for a group of elegantly embossed silver articles; but the moment it was viewed in the stereoscope, it stood revealed as ceramic ware, being in fact Majolica Ware, exhibited by the Marquis Ginori Lisci, of Florence. They are glorious specimens of this quaint and highly-prized class of productions.
No. 110 represents a Group of Vases, &c., in Dresden Porcelain, in the Prussian court, that is pleasing both as a picture and as a stereograph. It is, perhaps, to be regretted, that instead of the natural distant background, a plain curtain was not interposed to prevent the eye from trying to penetrate beyond what it is desired to fix the attention upon; but the various peculiarities of the strongly contrasting specimens are well indicated, and the difference between the polished and unpolished surfaces strikingly shown. Space will not permit us to indulge father in description of illustrations of other kinds of subjects on the present occasion; but we hope to return to the subject in a future number. We can but say, in conclusion, though the number of different views taken is very large, we covet nearly all: they are the productions of a master hand.