one which is becoming every day more appreciated, viz., that of length, with a comparatively light draft of water. She is a capital sea boat, goes to windward well, and is as fast as ordinary yachts of her size. In her construction* I have combined very happily the good qualities of both a sea and a river boat. She has a gentleman's cabin with four berths, a ladies cabin with two, and a forecastle with one; and there is a kitchen range, and all conveniences for living on board for an indefinite period. At sea she is schoonerrigged; but on the rivers her masts are taken down, and one small one, which can be lowered under the bridges, is substituted for her foremast, and on this a small sprit-sail can be set. Thus, when the wind is fair, we sail at a walking pace, and when it is contrary, get out and pull her by a rope along the towing-path. By this mode of travelling we are independent of inns, we take our home and our home comforts with us, go to market for our provisions, and live entirely on board. On Thursday, April 9th of the present year, the day before Good Friday, we started from Redon on the trip which I am about to describe. Redon is a cheerful little town, prettily situated on the banks of the Vilaine, 30 miles from its embouchure in the Bay of Biscay, 50 miles south-west of Rennes. It contains about 6,000 inhabitants, has a railway station, and a basin for shipping; also a college, where 300 youths receive a religious education. It is backed by a high range of hills, capped with fir plantations, and clothed with vineyards and chestnut groves half-way up their sides. A bell-tower, the lofty spire of which can be seen for miles around, stands alone in the centre of the Place, the portion of the church to which it was once attached having been destroyed by an incendiary in the last century. A fine old market-place which would have delighted Prout by its immense roof, dark overhanging eaves, and low massive pillars of blackened oak, has lately been pulled down and replaced by a modern structure. This sort of thing is going on now in Brittany as elsewhere; and in recording the fact, one cannot help expressing a selfish regret that people should be becoming every day more enlightened and more comfortable at the expense of the picturesque. We set our little sprit-sail at 6 P.M., and cast off from the quay. The " we "consisted of my wife, son, and self. There were no paid hands to help work the boat, and no horse to tow it, for the trio had agreed that it would be so much "jollier" to do without them. It was a fine, clear, frosty evening, with the wind from north-east, and right aft. Our sail filled, and we glided noiselessly along. We all stood up on the cabin roof to watch the ruddy sunset, and remained until the purple hills behind the town melted into night. Then the stars shone out brightly, and still we kept on our course until we reached a deep cutting through a hill-side, and there we made fast and lay sheltered for the night. The next morning at daybreak I was awoke by the sound of my son's footsteps on the deck overhead. I got up and looked out. It was fine weather, intensely cold, and the wind still fair. I lighted the fire, boiled the water for coffee, also the eggs and the milk, and in due time we break fasted, one of the party taking it by turns to steer. How jolly it was! Imagine it if you can. We were all as merry as grigs. At ten o'clock we entered the Isac, and said good-bye to the canal. The wind had now risen to half a gale, and we bowled along at a rapid pace. Two barges towed by gangs of men were crawling slowly in the opposite direction. How the poor fellows envied us the fair wind! We were now on a pretty, natural river, with wooded hills on each side, crowned by windmills, and with an occasional village spire peeping out from amongst the trees. It is a very winding little river, the Isac, varying greatly in breadth, and taking many sudden turns. At noon we * At the last moment we are informed by the printer that a portion of the MS. which should follow here is missing. We remember that it described the peculiarities of construction, &c., of Mr. Sutton's yacht.-ED. reached a fine stone bridge at Genrouet, and soon after passed a chateau at Carhail, in which the Prince de Joinville once lived. This we went over on our way back, and then the reader shall hear all about it. Now, the wind being fair, we stopped for nothing, but held on our course "like grim death." By sunset we reached the town of Blain, about 25 miles distant from Redon. Good work, was it not, for a large boat with a tiny sail? At Blain there is a fine old ruined chateau, which we visited on our return trip. See graphotype on page 565. By the merest chance we had followed the fashion amongst yachtsmen, of opening our trip for the season on Good Friday. I did not forget the circumstance. Amongst Protestants that day is kept as a holiday, but amongst Catholics it is a rigid fast. I need not say that sentiment and good taste appear to be on the side of the latter, and they tell us as much, and wonder whether our belief in the event of which that day is the anniversary is sincere. The next morning, my son Jack, who is now a strong young fellow in his 21st year, was on the alert again before his father, and again his footstep overhead awoke me from my slumbers. Presently he showed me a great sheet of ice which he had taken from the deck. The weather was calm, clear, and intensely cold. Whilst I was dressing, he towed the boat with the bight of the tow-line, one end being fastened to the bow and the other to the stern, so that no steering was required. This dodge was his own invention improvised for the occasion, and it answered well. In due time the north-easter sprang up again, and again we bowled swiftly before it, stopping nowhere, but making the most of the propitious gale. Once as we swept rapidly round a corner, a small chateau hove in sight, and two young lads and their father, evidently English, rushed out to see the strange yacht on those waters. They had just time for a moment's wonder, and then we turned another corner and were lost to view. Our chimney was smoking right gallantly at the time, and our stove spreading a fragrant odour around; for I can assure the reader we fared well and sumptuously every day of that neverto-be-forgotten cruise. We did not cease going until long after dark; and when we made fast for the night, had done another twenty miles, and were near the entrance to the Erdre, at Quihix (pronounced Keehee). That short spell was towed before breakfast the following day, and then we waited for the breeze to spring up, and waft us the remaining fifteen miles to Nantes, along a river without a towing-path, and which is of considerable width in places, and when the wind is contrary, navigated by means of the bouté or pole. Fancy having to push with boat-hooks, for fifteen miles, a yacht of twenty tons against a head wind! But north-east was fair for us; and the reader will now understand why we had thus hurried on with the fear of poling before our eyes. At ten the north-easter blew stiff again, and away we went, with our little sail, steering along the centre of a river a mile wide, and looking like a ship under jury-masts. Presently we met the steamer from Nantes, crowded with passengers, for it was Easter Sunday, and a holiday. And then came in sight many a pretty chateau upon either bank. Some of these are owned by wealthy merchants of the neighbouring city, but, mostly, I am informed, by Parisians, who occupy them during the summer months. The season for chateaux had not yet arrived, and many of them had their blinds closed. The scenery of the Erdre is decidedly pretty, and that word describes it well. The banks are flat at the northern end, but they become more hilly, and the river narrower as you approach Nantes. It does not wind much, or afford good lines for a picture. I had seen the Erdre before, and was not disappointed in it; but some of the guide-books praise it highly. It is a narrow lake, twenty miles long, with low, wooded shores. There is no current, and in summer the average depth does not exceed four or five feet, so that you can touch bottom anywhere with your poles. There were many yachts and pleasure boats cruising about, and we glided majestically amongst them, as strange an object apparently as if the dismasted bark of Columbus had dropped suddenly from the skies. I doubt whether any sea-going craft had ever been seen upon those waters before. As we glided along in the centre of the stream, with not a ripple at our bow, and scarcely an eddy at our stern, the smaller craft would row alongside, and their occupants exchange a word or two with us politely, with uplifted hats; or cutters with white sails would cross our wake and spy the name upon our stern. These cutters are short boats, with great beam, sharp bows, and a centreboard to make them hold a wind. They carry large illmade sails, with booms cocking up in the air, and jibs bellying open-mouthed like a potato sack. We could have shown them what going to windward meant if we had had out a proper rig. By-and-by we met a little steamer about the size of one of White's steam long-boats for yachts. There are several of these on the Erdre, as many of the chateaux are without good roads of approach, and their owners travel backwards and forwards to Nantes by steam instead of upon wheels. At length the river narrowed to a couple of hundred yards, and a bridge hove in sight, and the lofty buildings of a great city were seen towering above the trees. We passed through a fleet of little yachts at their moorings, and then lowered our mast and shot the bridge. were now in Nantes, and its quays were before us. We It was one o'clock. We had had great luck, having come sixty-five miles in two days and a half, with scarcely an effort, wafted swiftly by the wind. After shooting the bridge, the river forked and passed round the two sides of an island covered with logs of timber and heaps of building materials of all sorts. Beyond it were crowded quays, floating lavatories, and barges without end. A quiet spot on the banks of this island tempted us, and whilst we were debating what to do, the Rover, of her own accord, and with the weigh which she had on her, made towards it. The spot was reached without further trouble; and after making fast, I jumped ashore, and sought the owner of the timber yard to ask his permission to lie alongside. My request was granted with invariable French politeness and good nature; but Monsieur was warned that the yard had a gate which was locked against all comers between the hours of five in the morning and nine at night. I comprehended the caution, thanked my kind friend, and we parted with many smiles and with uplifted hats. Thus installed alongside the chantier on the Ille de Versailles, in the celebrated city of Nantes, I will take leave of the reader for the present. But stay, let me add a few more words. I cannot let Christmas pass without wishing my reader's a right merry one and a happy new year, and at the same time expressing my gratitude to the proprietors of this journal for the liberal and gentlemanly treatment which, as a regular contributor to its pages, I have uniformly received from them. The journal itself I like more and more, for the honest and independent spirit in which it is conducted, and I feel proud to be connected with it; moreover, if, of the three photographic periodicals which I receive regularly every Saturday evening, it is always the first which I open and read, that is not because its pages are nicely cut for me, or because it contains one of my own articles, but because I gather more instruction and amusement from it than from both of the others put together. Besides which, there is a sympathy between me and the other regular contributors; and although we rarely correspond, yet we all seem to view things photographic through the same medium. With Mr. Wall's notions on art photography, as expressed in his recent reviews of the exhibition of the Photographic Society, I entirely agree. Mr. Seymour's pencil jottings are charming. Mr. Dawson's accounts of his experiments in questions which especially interest me are most instructive; and as for the shrewd, funny "Gossiping Photographer," his notions are often the counterpart of my own. Thus our minds seem to be in harmony, and my connection with THE ILLUSTRATED PHOTOGRAPHER has been all along most agreeable. May it long continue! As for my own shortcomings, I am painfully aware of them, and beg the reader to forgive them for the sake of the pains I really take to do my best in his interest; but I much fear that my "foibles," "eccentricities," and "enthusiasm" are incorrigible, and that he would be no gainer if they were not. Then a right merry Christmas and a happy New Year to all who are connected with THE ILLUSTRATED PHOTOGRAPHER, from the subscribers and proprietors downward to the dingiest of the printer's devils; and may we all pull as heartily together next year as we have done this. (To be continued.) THE CAMERA. BY EDWARD B. FENNESSY. HILLY winter comes along, shaking the leaves off our trees, pelting our windows with rattling hail-showers and whistling melancholy waits through the chinks and key-holes of our doors. Our camera and tripod lie up in harbour, like a goodly three-master who has furled her sails in many a distant land, where her anchor rested deep amongst the coral rocks, and her pennant floated high above the coco-palms, and the lagoon was so calm and clear that the line where air and water met was scarce seen, when in blended azure and light the bark seemed suspended above fantastic grottoes, where the sea anemone spread its long pink feelers, and the star-fish displayed its five trembling rays, and the pearly nautilus rose and sank, and the madrepore flashed, and creations of joy, mailed in silver and gold, played tournaments amongst the forest of tangled weed. Or again, with anxious hearts and careful ward, she has been glistening, emerald, crashing icebergs; where those who where roaring waves toss the mystic, neared their native land, with eager, yearning gaze sought the horizon vainly all day long for the piling land-clouds, till night came, when, piercing the surf, and gloom, and haze, they saw, like the beaming eyes of Mercy, the faithful glimmer of the harbour light. Next morning's sunshine revealed the pleasant city, gilding its towers, and steeples, and fanes, invoking the longing traveller to hope, to gladness, to rest, to thankfulness. Here, like that docked ship, lies the camera, with unglossed varnish, battered sides, and tarnished brasses; but as that brave Argosy came freighted with the varied spoils of foreign lands; so, too, the camera brings us home the transcripts of the charms and wonders of fair and faroff places; for its tripod, too, has anchored on the coral island where the tamarind spreads its delicate foliage and the feathery palm, and the tall bamboo, and the pomegranate with its lithe crimson petals, and the agave with its chalice blossoms, and the citron, and the orange, and the banana make the air fragrant with aromatic sweetness; where the humming-bird and the emerald lizard flit like animated jewels amongst the sword-like aloes, and the cardinal birds gleam like meteors as they glance through the tesselated light and shadow of the pillared banyan. The painted savage emerges from the floral bowers to urge his swift canoe over the sparkling water; and we may, as we admire and transcribe the exquisitely carved patterns on his paddle blade and war weapons, wonder that such elaborate beauty is rather a proof of savagery than an idea of civilisation. Up the sacred Ganges the camera has sailed, picturing the tender beauty of the dusky Hindoo maidens who bathe in its yellow waters, or perpetuating the gaunt ugliness of the misanthropic Fakeer, the ghoul that haunts the mausoleum of the Brahminical saint. It has brought away florid sculptures from the Brahmin temples, and curious portraits of their fantastic idols of Vishnu, Silva, Ningydoe, or Juggernaut, under a glittering dome, with scarlet curtains, silver tassels, and gilded trappings, high up on the back of a stately elephant. The camera has visited the palaces, towers, shrines, and fortresses of Benares, Allahabad, or Delhi, whose gates were shut in 1850 that British valour might become immortal; and where, in 1739, the Persian spoiler seized treasure valued at ten million sterling. At Agra the camera photographed the marble wilderness of the Emperor Akbar, or the superb Taj-Mahal, a tomb of matchless splendour; and in Lahore the camera found another Mogul palace, the finest in Asia, the wonder of the eastern world. Descending the classic Indus to Hyderabad, and hurrying along a screaming railroad, the camera embarks at Kurrachee for Abys sinia. Protected and encouraged by a statesman, a soldier, and a man of science, the camera illustrates the ways and wonders from Annesley Bay to the grim fortress of Magdala, the "billets and bivouacs" of the gallant fellows who climbed the rocks of Senafé, who defiled through the Dongola Pass, and advanced to victory by Ashangi Lat, by places and districts hitherto unknown to European investigation. The circumstances of the march, and topography of the country are vividly before us, more truthfully and satisfactorily told than the eloquent pen of the ready writer could describe. yesterday the artist had given his last touches and removed his scaffold. Linger at Philæ-and to linger is to love-wander through her pillared sanctuaries, explore her secret chambers, portray her forests of wondrous columns, petrified bundles of lotus flowers. On through mystic Egypt, past date groves, mud-walled villages, creaking waterwheels, marshy rice-fields, past seedy shoals, where crocodiles lurk, and papyrus grow, and ibex wade-on, on to where two stone giants sit enthroned, silently watching over a famous city; gaze with them upon the great THEBES-the city of a hundred brazen gates, the city of a thousand rumbling chariots, the city whose greatness Homer sang, and whose glory all the world acknowledged; behold its stupendous palaces, its arrogant temples, its lofty obelisks, its teeming population, its kings, its priests, its warriors, its citizens, its slaves; gaze across the Thebaid; gaze into the western desert; gaze vacantly like the stone giants. Is your heart proud within you? Are you ambitious, or remembranced by your fellow-men, or atoms? Then read a lesson-a lesson that will sadden, and weaken, and dissipate that poor folly. Behold! great Thebes is beaten flat; her glories promiscuously are turned to SAND (Time fills his glass with just such sand) all, all is sand-save those four columned skeletons that rest like the relics of whales upon the lone sea-shore. These are ancient pulpits, where rocks preach sermons, and "stones cry out" to nations of wickedness, and pride, and decay, taking for their texts the words of Jeremiah or of Ezekiel "The Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, saith, Behold, I will punish the multitude of No, and Pharaoh, and Egypt, with their gods and their kings; and will execute judgment in No; and I will cut off the multitude of No." And, O ye brave giants, what Almighty fiat compels you to sit pondering over great Thebes from age to age; surely you remain to illustrate some writing in that Book of books; you strong as mountains, you each sixty feet high, what but earthquake could have broken your godl ke faces. Most surely the inspired prophet foretold, "No shall be rent asunder." an More radiant than the matin song that beamed from the stony lips of Memnon, are the deathless words of Isaiah, let your stony lips tell "the burthen of Egypt. Behold the Lord rideth upon a swift cloud, and shall come into Egypt; and the idols of Egypt shall be moved at His presence, and the heart of Egypt shall melt in the midst of it." Is there not a feast for the photographic enthusiast beneath the gaze of the colonii at Karnac, Luxor, Gournon, Medynet-Abon? Away on the old Nile, in a dahabrah, a clumsy boat, the very counterpart of that painted ages ago on the rock-cut tombs at Beni-hasin; away down the surging, chafing, exciting cataract, a score of stalwart mahogany Copts, they loom above the desert. Here is work for the camera. But lo! the pyramids-white, glistening, and mysterious pulling ropes, dragging oars, shoving poles, shouting, gesti-Let it rest in the shadow of 4,000 years, and picture flights culating, leaping in and out of the seething water, a hundred wild, naked Arabs running frantically along the sandy shoals, furiously clustering on the rocks, buoyant as frogs, swimming through the flashing rapids, panting, yelling, screaming "Bacsheesh! bacsheesh! bacsheesh! Delineate all as you sail along, for Egypt was the cradle of human history and human knowledge, her solemn memorials surround her with an imperishable glory. "All seem to have outlived time, to belong to eternity, for the past stretches back to such dim and remote ages, that we take no count of years and epochs, and in the maze of speculation, fancy that whenever time was, Egypt was; and that so long as time shall endure, so long shall Egypt be. Picture the lofty halls of polished granite of Philæ, the beautiful and the holy, where sacred Osiris sleeps in death, and all the magnificence of architecture culminates; let the camera copy the countless hieroglyphics chiseled in the hard rock; or record the endless paintings adorning the temple walls, and remember to tell the photographers who wrangle about permanent pictures, that here are acres of such, as fresh, as perfect, as radiant as if but of steps ascending to the stars. it has invaded the granite passages at the Gizeh, and the Is there no place secret from the prying camera? See, magnesium light has shown it the tomb-chambers of Cheops. In company with fleet ships of the desert, the camera sailed for the holy places of Syria. It has entered the firmly upon the threshing-floor of "Arannah, the Jebusite.' hallowed precincts of the temple and planted its legs Omar, copied its peerless architecture, all blue and gold, It has imaged the haughty and beautiful Mosque of and emblazoned with Koran texts, its lofty dome and flaunting crescent, that shines like the new moon above one of the noblest fanes in christendom; but for all that, an incubus that shadows the holy of holies, a pall that canopies the footprints of Jesus-it is the "abomination of desolation" standing in the holy place; and where the inspired minstrel tuned his harp to sing "In Judah is God known; His name is great in Israel. In Salem also is His tabernacle, and His dwelling-place in Zion. These brake He, the arrows of the bow, the shield, and the sword, and the battle." The clear voice of the Moslem, on the tapering minaret, rings out" Allah! Allah! Allah! sanctified by Christ and His apostles; but I must furl the there is but one God, and Mohammed is his prophet;" velvet banner, and lie, like the freighted ship, for the fair and the poor Jew, as he kneels, and weeps, and kisses and happy harbour. Then away through sparkling orient the stones of the temple area-those old stones which seas, by sunny Grecian isles, beneath blue Italian skies, the camera has so accurately registered and displayed-far-swelling rivers, emerald plains and silvery lakes, up to with a heavy, bitter heart, "O God, the heathen are the mountain solitude, where the eagles shriek and the come into Thine inheritance, Thy holy temple have avalanche thunders, and the cataract falls-falls until its they defiled, they have laid Jerusalem in heaps. We waters separate into a shower of pearls, or into lines of are become a reproach to our neighbour, a scorn and thin white mist, that sways with the wind, and eager derision to them that are round about us. Wherefore gushing fancy sees the streaming horse-tail of the Aposhould the heathen say, Where is their God? let Him be calypse. known among the heathen in our sight, by the revenging of the blood of Thy servants which is shed." A few of the lower courses of masonry belong to the period of Solomon, and are thought to have supported the platform on which the temple stood; but they are now altars, before which for more than a thousand years the Jew has wailed his impassioned supplication, and tendered his offering of repentance and sorrow, and faith, and hope, whose basement he has literally washed with his tears and truly dried with his hair. But God will yet arise and have mercy on Zion, and gather the scattered flock like a tender shepherd to His sacred fold, and the peace, power, riches, and the intelligence the Israelites acquire in this age, is a circumstance of most suggestive significance. Perhaps their call may flash before them in words of conviction, like the blazing letters before Belshazzar; perhaps the import of those mysterious writings, graven by their wandering ancestors in the rocks of Sinai, may yield up their secret treasures before the penetration of cultured intellect. Those rocks, inscribed under the shadow of that mountain where God appeared and Moses received the Commandments, must surely have a purpose and hold a mission of ineffable mercy. Even as I write, the surveyor's instrument triangulates the deserts of Zin, and the camera is busy in the Wady Mukatteb (the written valley). May not a second Daniel arise to read the words traced by another finger of light? Under the direction of the Palestine Exploration Society, the camera has gathered many treasures; its tripod stood amongst the rose-bushes of Sharon, and pressed fragrance from the lilies on Gilead; it has brushed the dew of Hermon, and rested under the cedars of Lebanon; it has ascended Tabor, the Mount of Transfiguration, and Carmel, the mount of Elias; its plates were bathed with the water of Jordon, and its negatives washed with the fountains of Jericho; it has been in Bashan, and wandered through the plain of Jezreel to visit the sweet valley of Nablous (Sechem), where the bulbul sings all night long, and thousands of feathered minstrels warble all day amongst the orchards and groves of apples, figs, olives, myrtles, almonds, vines, citrons, and pomegranates, and countless bees gather honey from the bright flowers that fringe a cool, sparkling stream of delicious water, a valley that seems to retain its loveliness, to show how fertile Samaria once was, and how choice was the portion of Ephraim before his "glory flew away like a bird." The camera brings us the configuration of the sun temples at Baalbek, and even the portrait of Baal himself, copied from a huge medallion in the ruins of Rukhleh. We have views of Accho, Baneus, Askelon, to remind us of the chivalry of the Panim Knights, and the glory of Cœur de Leon. And here are transcripts of Chorazin, Bethsaida, Capernaum, to tell us the "love" that has come upon them; but here is the Mount of Olives, and the print showing every fissure, and crack, and stain in the cupola of the temple that enshrines Calvary, and the sepulchre where the body of Christ was laid; and here is the picture showing us the meretricious grandeur of the hallowed interior; but oh! wonder of wonders, strange type of immortality and unforgetfulness, this searching, prying, all-seeing lens has counted the countless tombs in the valley of Jehosaphat! Let the camera do homage to the cold Jungfrau, who wears on her virgin brow the silver horn and the snow horn. Clear as the sun sparkle round her, like a constellation, the Eiger, the Witterhorn, the Falhorn, the Schrickhornlet the camera picture all their dazzling brightness, and bring away an image of love pure and immortal. The camera, which climbed the Nilic mounds which potent Cheops has built, has sailed up to the heavens along the Alabaster pyramid which God has raised, and from the summit of Mont Blanc photographed all the argulets that rise around like glittering spears, whose feathery pennants are the flying clouds, the Grands Mulets, the Mère de Glacé, the deep valleys, the dizzy heights, the awful crevasses, the snow, the ice, the rock, the lake, the river, the spreading panorama of matchless wonder, of tremendous sublimity, has been gazed upon by the recording eye. Hanibal, Charlemagne, Napoleon crossed those mighty passes, and shall not the camera show the track of valour? Shall it not record the fearful precipices, the savage rocks of naked granite, the stony, verdureless wastes, the yawning horrid fissures, the ice-ribbed torrent, the deep snowdrift, the sheeny glaciers, the snow-peak's blinding white, the avalanche's resistless force; and shall it not paint the Augustinian_monk, with the courtesy and manners of Louis le Grand, and the meekness and piety of Saint Bernard, who has left the soft Italian plain, and forsaken the shelter of the bright Swiss valley, and sought this howling wilderness of rock and storm, only that he might bestow godlike hospitality to the desolate, the weary, the benumbed, the hunger-stricken traveller. The space at my disposal will not permit me to tell how the camera sailed to India and Arabia, to record the phenomena of the eclipse; how it flew through the air in great balloons to tell of battle-fields, and descended the sea in diving-bells, amongst the rocks and fishes; how it showed the marks on the strong targets at Shoeburyness, and even caught the image of the flying ball and of the sulphurous flash; how it expressed the pictures of the tiniest microscopic creatures-the Infusoria, the Diomids, the Vulva, the Diatom; how it has recorded the stars and clouds, and registered hydrostatic instruments; how it has printed and displayed, like an illuminated map, the big harvest moon shining in the high heavens, like a harbour light showing, above the sea of life, the path to everlasting rest, the haven of never-ending joy. "In Thy presence is fulness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." But I must restrain my erratic pen, and ask the courteous reader to consider my imaginary Argosy arrived, and all her rich freight displayed upon the wharf of knowledge. How inscrutable and past finding out are the ways of Providence! Many to whom wandering through those genial scenes would be a glory and an inspiration, “in whose souls they would unseal ceaseless fountains of beauty," are, by poverty and care, excluded; whilst too often those who have means and leisure are the vain, the unimaginative, the empty; and yet the longing spirit, unchilled by penury, may soar above its sordid surroundings, if only it has taste and feeling for those beautiful, and true, and varied transcripts supplied by the generous camera. But whether we wander with the camera, or I would still like to linger with the camera in the track follow in imagination those who do, let us, as we gaze upon the bright pearls gathered to gem the brows of the dusky daughter of Science, remember the radiant words suggested by the silvery souvenirs of travel, "In all thy ways think of Him, and He will direct thy paths." TIZZIE TIGHT'S TOUR. BY F. J. JERVIS. IZZIE TIGHT was a banker's clerk, "Like the sweet south, came o'er his soul" Of his exchequer, can see His Muse inclines to country air, By close confinement made too weak, For a cheap trip unto the north; In suit of well-shrunk heather tweed- With polished tube beneath his arm, Safely arrived ayont the Tweed- He with his lens secured the The instrument's exploding And, as she was allodial, She ran from him a-loading. "I'll venture half-a-crown,' he cries, "I photograph her yet!" His wager none of them would take, His well-developed faith and hope A railing at the march of time He seeks the Great North Rail line, And takes his ticket by the mail, Which some slow coaches malign; Not by the Government ExpressThose penny-trative creepers, Where penitential, wide awake, You curse the wider sleepers. Alas! alack! oh! well-a-day! What has he been about ?His London cronies all came in, But not one view came out! Transactions of Societies.* THE SOUTH LONDON PHOTOGRAPHIC SOCIETY. City of London College, Dec. 10th, 1868. THE REV. F. F. STATHAM, B.A., F.G.S., IN THE CHAIR. THE minutes having been confirmed, various photographs were exhibited by Messrs. Fox, Cocking, and Simpson; the latter also brought forward some specimens of Dr. Liesegang's paper pyroxyline, and some fine examples of Mr. Blair's new process of carbon printing with but one transfer. Mr. How exhibited some beautiful specimens of photographic slides, which could be produced at a very cheap rate for the magic lantern; and Mr. Fox a new kind of mount, having a white centre and a tinted border. An electric lamp, supplied by means of six cells of a Grove's battery, was exhibited by Mr. Gammage. Mr. SEBASTIAN DAVIS, acting probably upon a hint thrown out in these pages, proceeded to open a discussion on THE CAUSES OF PINHOLES IN DRY PLATES. In his remarks, Mr. Davis did not treat the subject in any very exhaustive 'or comprehensive spirit. He said it was possible to have plates in which such defects were due to the posed immediately on removal from the bath, they would not after preparation of the films, when, had the plates been exhave occurred, and proceeded as follows:-"The subject is vexatious, as it is almost impossible to remedy the defect in "Sometime upon the sea to the finished negative after treatment. When examined mag And so he took their Bet. gaze," Like Philip Festus Bailey, He bid to each sequestered vale A sea-requested vale. "Where the rude north wind's airy force" Our rock-bound coast opposes, He watched the early sunlight rise,- A brick-See Plato's architypal man; also Tennyson's "man foursquare to all the winds of heaven." Slang frequently draws its definitions from philosophy. nified, they will generally be found to present distinct characteristics: the one a circular transparent ring, with a small opaque spot in the centre; and the other, irregular transparent patches. "The causes which produce these pinholes are doubtless manifold-some understood, others not. I shall first take for consideration a cause to which I have distinctly traced their The Transactions occupy so much space this week that we are compelled to postpone our report of the last meeting of the Associated Arts Institute, the continuation of the London Society, and several other Society reports.-ED. |