Accordingly, on a certain night, at eight o'clock precisely, I went to the White House, and was admitted without hesitation. On reaching the door of the reception room, I gave my card to the district marshal, who conducted me to President Pierce, to whom I was introduced. I was received with a hearty welcome, and a shake of the hand. Indeed, I noticed that he had a kindly word of greeting for all who came. Not having any very important communication to make that would be either startling or interesting to the President of the United States, I bowed, and retired to the promenade room, where I found numbers of people who had been "presented" walking about and chatting in groups on all sorts of subjects--political, foreign, and domestic, and anything they liked.

Some were in evening dress, others not; but all seemed perfectly easy and affable one with another. There was no restraint, and the only pa.s.sport required to these _levees_ was decent behaviour and respectability. There was music also. A band was playing in the vestibule, and everyone evidently enjoyed the _reunion_, and felt perfectly at home. Never having been presented at court, I am not able to make any comparison _pro_ or _con_.

There is also an observatory at Washington, which I visited; but not being fortunate enough to meet the--what shall I say?

"astronomer-royal," comes readiest, but that is not correct: well, then, the--"astronomer republic," I did not see the large telescope and other astronomical instruments worked.

The photographic galleries were all situated on Pennsylvania Avenue, and they were numerous enough. At that time they rejoiced in the name of "Daguerrean Galleries;" and the proprietor, or operator, was called a "Daguerrean." Their reception rooms were designated "saloons," which were invariably well furnished--some of them superbly--and filled with specimens. Their "studios" and workshops behind the scenes were fitted with all sorts of ingenious contrivances for "buffing" and "coating" and expediting the work. Although the greatest number of mechanical appliances were employed in the Daguerreotype branch of photography, art was not altogether ignored in its practice. One house made a business feature of very beautifully coloured Daguerreotypes, tinted with dry colours, quite equal to those done in Europe. Another house made a feature of "Daguerreotypes painted in oil;" and the likeness was most admirably preserved. I saw one of the President, and several of the members of Congress, which I knew to be unmistakable portraits. Although the Daguerreotype was most tenaciously adhered to as the best means of producing photographic portraits, the collodion process--or the "crystaltype," as they then called it--was not neglected. It was used by a few for portraits, but chiefly for views.

Having seen all that was worth seeing in the city, I made excursions into the country, in search of subjects for the camera or pencil.

Georgetown, a little way from Washington, and its picturesque cemetery, offer several pretty bits for the camera. Arlington Heights, the Long Bridge, and many nooks about there, are sufficiently tempting; but of all the excursions about Washington, Mount Vernon--a few miles down the Potomac, on the Virginia side--is by far the most interesting. Mount Vernon is the name of the place where General George Washington lived and died, and is the "Mecca" of the Americans. Nearly every day there are pilgrims from some or all parts of the States to the tomb of Washington, which is in the grounds of Mount Vernon. They visit this place with a kind of religious awe and veneration, and come from far and wide to say they have seen it. For, in truth, there is little to see but the strangest-looking and ugliest brick building I ever beheld, with open iron gates that allow you to look into the darkness of the interior, and see nothing. I took a view of the tomb, and here it is:--A red brick building, squat and low, of the most unsightly design and proportions imaginable--resembling one of our country "deadhouses" more than anything else I could compare it to. It was stuck away from the house among trees and brushwood, and in an advanced state of dilapidation--a disgrace to the nation that had sprung from that great man's honest devotion! Over the Gothic entrance is a white slab, with the following inscription on it:--

"Within this Enclosure Rest the remains of General George Washington."

The remains of "Lady Washington" lie there also; and there are several white obelisks about to the memory of other members of the family.

The house itself is a "frame building" of two storeys, with a piazza running along the front of it, and is on the whole a mean-looking edifice; but was probably grand enough for the simple tastes of the man who dwelt in it, and has hallowed the place with the greatness and goodness of his life. The interior of the house looked as if it had once been a comfortable and cozy habitation. In the hall was put up a desk, with a "visitors' book," wherein they were expected to enter their names; and few failed to pay such a cheap tribute to the memory of the father of their country.

The grounds, which were full of natural beauties, had been allowed to run into a state of wild tangle-wood; and I had some trouble to pick my way over broken paths down to the riverside again, where I took the "boat," and returned to the city, touching at Fort Washington on the way. The day had been remarkably fine; the evening was calm and lovely; the silence of the river disturbed only by the splash of our paddles, and the song of the fishermen on sh.o.r.e as they drew in their laden nets; and the moon shone as only she can shine in those lat.i.tudes. Nothing could denote more peace and quietude as I sailed on the Potomac on that lovely evening. There was such a perfect lull of the natural elements--such a happy combination of all that was beautiful and promising--it seemed impossible for such a hurricane of men's pa.s.sions--such yells of strife and shouts of victory, such a swoop of death as afterwards rushed down those valleys--ever to come to pa.s.s.

Such sad reverse was, however, seen on my second visit to the Potomac.

The narration of the stirring scenes then presented will form a picture less peaceful and happy, but unfortunately intensely real and painfully true.

My second visit to the Potomac was paid after the lapse of several years, and under very different circ.u.mstances. When the Capitol echoed loudly the fierce and deadly sentiments of the men of the North against the men of the South. When both had shouted--

"Strike up the drums, and let the tongue of war Plead for our int'rest."

When the deliberations of the senators were "war estimates," arming of troops, and hurrying them to the "front" with all possible despatch.

When the city of Washington presented all the appearance of a place threatened with a siege. When every unoccupied building was turned into barracks, and every piece of unoccupied land was made a "camp ground."

When the inhabitants were in terror and dismay, dreading the approach of an invading host. When hasty earth-works were thrown up in front of the city, and the heights were bristling with cannon. When the woods and peach orchards on the opposite side of the Potomac were red with the glare of the camp fires at night, and the flashing of bayonets was almost blinding in the hot sun at noon. When the vessels sailing on the river were laden with armed men, shot, sh.e.l.l, and "villainous saltpetre." When the incessant roll of drums and rattle of musketry deadened almost every other sound. When sentinels guarded every road and access to the capital, and pa.s.sports were required from the military authorities to enable you to move from one place to another. In short, when the whole atmosphere was filled with sounds of martial strife, and everything took the form of desolating war.

In spite of all these untoward events, I found photography actively engaged in the city, in the camp, and on the field, fulfilling a mission of mercy and consolation in the midst of carnage and tumult--fulfilling such a mission of holy work as never before fell to the lot of any art or art-science to perform. For what aspect of life is photography not called upon to witness?--what phase of this world's weal or woe is photography not required to depict? Photography has become a handmaiden to the present generation--a ministering angel to all conditions of life, from the cradle to the grave. An _aide-de-camp_ of the loveliest character to the great "light of the world," humanizing and elevating the minds of all, administering consolation to the sorrowing, increasing the joy of the joyous, lessening the pangs of separation caused by distance or death, strengthening the ties of immediate fellowship, helping the world to know its benefactors, and the world's benefactors to know the world. When grim death stalks into the gilded palaces of the great and powerful, or into the thatched cottages and miserable dwellings of the poor, photography is the a.s.suager of the griefs of the sorrowing survivors, and the ameliorator of their miseries, by preserving to them so faithful a resemblance of the lost one. When the bride, in her youth and loveliness, is attired for the bridal, photography is the recorder of her trustful looks and April smiles, the fashion of her dress, the wreath and jewels that she wore; and, come what change in her appearance that may, the husband can look upon his bride whene'er he likes in after years, as vividly and as distinctly as on that day, connecting the present with the past with a kind of running chord of happy recollections. Photography is now the historian of earth and animated nature, the biographer of man, the registrar of his growth from childhood to "man's estate," the delineator of his physical, moral, and social progress, the book of fashion, and the mirror of the times.

The uses and applications of photography are almost indescribable; scarcely an art, or a science, or a trade or profession that does not enlist photography into its service. Photography does not merely pander to the gratification of earthly vanity, but is an alleviator of human misery. Photography enters our hospitals and registers faithfully the progress of disease, its growth and change from day to day, until it is cured, or ripe for the knife of the surgeon; its pictures are lessons to the professor, and a book of study for the students, charts for their guidance through the painful and tedious cases of others similarly afflicted, teaching them what to do and what to avoid, to relieve the suffering of other patients. Photography is dragged into our criminal law courts, and sits on the right hand of Justice, giving evidence of the most undeniable character, without being under oath, and free from the suspicion of perjury, convicting murderers and felons, and acquitting the innocent without prejudice; and in our courts of equity, cases are frequently decided by the truth-telling evidence of photography.

Astronomers, geographers, and electricians freely acknowledge how much they are indebted to photography in making their celestial and terrestrial observations. Engineers, civil and military, employ photography largely in their plans and studies. Art, also, has recourse to photography, and is the only one of the liberal professions that is half ashamed to admit the aid it gains from the camera. If art admits it at all, it is done grudgingly, apologetically, and thanklessly. But there it is the old, old story of family quarrels and family jealousies.

Old art might be likened to an old aunt that has grown withered and wrinkled, and peevish with disappointment, who, in spite of all her long-studied rules and principles of light and shade, harmony of colour, painting, "glazing," and "sc.u.mbling," has failed to win the first prize--that prize which a woman's ambition pants after from the moment she enters her teens until her dream is realized--that living model, moulded after G.o.d's own image, which, not having won in her mature age, she becomes jealous of the growing graces, the fresh and rollicking charms, the unstudied and ingenuous truthfulness of form exhibited by her niece. Old Art the aunt, Photography the niece. Readers, draw the moral for yourselves.

I have digressed, but could not help it. Photography is so young and lovely, so bewitchingly beautiful in all her moods, so fascinating and enslaving--and she has enslaved thousands since she first sprung from the source that gives her life. But to return to my theme.

The practice of photography, like the aspects of the country and condition of the people, was changed. "Old things had pa.s.sed away, and all things had become new." The shining silver plates, buffing wheels, coating boxes, mercury pans, &c., of the old dispensation had given place to the baths, nitrate of silver solutions, and iron developers of the new. Ambrotypes, or gla.s.s positives, and photographs on paper, had taken the place of the now antiquated Daguerreotype. Mammoth photographs were the ambition of all photographers. The first full-length life-sized photograph I ever saw was in Washington, and was the work of Mr.

Gardner, the manager of Mr. Brady's gallery. But a more republican idea of photography, which, strange to say, originated in an empire not remarkable for freedom of thought, soon became the dominant power.

Cartes-de-visite, the many, ruled over mammoth, the few. The price of mammoth photographs was beyond the reach of millions, but the prices of cartes-de-visite were within the grasp of all; and that, combined with their convenient size and prettiness of form, made them at once popular, and created a mania.

The carte-de-visite form of picture became the "rage" in America about the time the civil war commenced, and as the young soldiers were proud of their new uniforms, and those who had been "in action" were prouder still of their stains and scars, the photographers did a good business among them, both in the city and in the camp. I saw a little of this "camp work" and "camp life" myself, and some of the havoc of war as well. Photographers are adventurous, and frequently getting into odd kinds of "positions," as well as their "sitters."

It was my destiny, under the guidance of the Great Source of Light, to witness the results of the first great conflict between the opposing armies of the Federals and Confederates; to hear the thunder of their artillery, and see the clouds of smoke hovering over the battle field, without being in the battle itself. To see the rout and panic of the Northern troops, who had so recently marched proudly on to fancied victory; to witness the disgraceful and disastrous stampede of the Northern army from the field of Bull Run; to listen to the agonized groans of the "severely wounded" as they were hurried past to the temporary hospitals in Washington and Georgetown; to be an eye-witness to the demoralized condition of men who, naturally brave, were under the influence of a panic caused by the vague apprehension of a danger that did not exist; to hear the citizens exclaim, "What shall we do?" and "For G.o.d's sake don't tell your people at home what you have seen!" and comparing the reverse of their national arms to a "regular Waterloo defeat," which was anything but a happy simile. To see the panic-stricken men themselves, when they discovered their error, and began to realize their shame, weeping like women at the folly they had committed. But they atoned for all this, afterwards, by deeds of glorious valour which were never surpa.s.sed, and which ended in restoring their country to peace and reunion.

The 21st of July, 1861, was a Sunday, and as calm and beautiful a day as could be wished for. From its a.s.sociations it ought to have been a day of rest and peace to all; but it was not. There was terrible slaughter among men that Sunday in Virginia. During the morning, I took advantage of an opportunity offered me to go down to Alexandria, in Virginia, about five or six miles below Washington, which was then occupied by a portion of the Federal Army. Everything in the place had the appearance of war. There were more soldiers than civilians about. Hotels were turned into barracks and military storehouses. The hotel where Colonel Ellsworth, of the New York Fire Zouaves, was shot by the proprietor for hauling down the Confederate flag--which the latter had hoisted over his house--had been taken possession of by the military authorities, and the whole place was under martial law. It was there I first heard rumours of a battle being fought in the neighbourhood of Mana.s.sas Junction. These rumours were soon confirmed by the roar of cannon in the distance, and the hurrying of fresh troops from Washington to the field of battle. But they were not needed. Before they could reach the field the "stampede" had commenced, and the retreating hosts came like a rushing tide upon the advancing few, and carried them back, absorbed in the unshapen ma.s.s of confusion.

The night came, and little was known by the inhabitants of Washington of the rout and rush of terrified men towards the city; but the next morning revealed the fact.

Wet and wretched was the morning after the battle. The heavens seemed to weep over the disgrace as the men poured into the city, singly and in groups, unofficered, and without their firearms, which many had lost, or thrown away in their flight. The citizens gathered round them, anxious to learn all about the defeat, and the whereabouts of the Confederate army, and invited them into their houses to take refreshment and rest.

Several instances of this impromptu hospitality and sympathy I witnessed myself; and many of the weary and wounded soldiers I talked to. They that were only slightly wounded in the hands and arms had their wounds washed and dressed by the wives and daughters of many of the residents.

The hotels were crowded, and the "bars" were besieged by the drenched and fatigued soldiers, whom the curious and sympathizing citizens invited to "liquor." The men all told wonderful stories of the fight and of their own escape, but none could tell satisfactorily what had created the panic. Some said that a few "teamsters" took the alarm, and, riding to the rear in hot haste, conveyed the impression that an exterminating pursuit by the Confederates had commenced.

In a day or two the majority of the men were mustered together again, and occupied their old camping grounds, where I visited them, and heard many of their stories, and got some of the relics of the battle field.

Fresh troops were raised, and placed under the command of another general. But it was long before another "onward march to Richmond" was attempted. The North had learned something of the strength and prowess of the South, and began to prepare for a longer and fiercer struggle with "Secession."

Such are the two pictures of the Potomac which I have endeavoured to reproduce, and which fell under my observation during my professional peregrinations in connection with the practice of photography.

RAMBLES AMONG THE STUDIOS OF AMERICA.

Boston.

My impressions of America, from a photographic point of observation, were taken at two distinct periods--which I might call the two epochs of photographic history--the dry and the wet; the first being the Daguerreotype, and the second what may be termed the present era of photography, which includes the processes now known and practised.

I take Boston as my starting point for several reasons. First, because it was the first American city I visited; secondly, it was in Boston that the change first came over photography which wrought such a revolution in the art all over the United States; thirdly and severally, in Boston I noticed many things in connection with photography which differed widely from what I had known and practised in England.

Visiting the gallery of Mr. Whipple, then in Washington Street, the busiest thoroughfare in Boston, I was struck with the very large collection of Daguerreotype portraits there exhibited, but particularly with a large display of Daguerreotypes of the moon in various aspects.

I had heard of Mr. Whipple's success in Daguerreotyping the moon before I left Europe, but had no idea that so much had been achieved in lunar photography at that early date until I saw Mr. Whipple's case of photographs of the moon in many phases. Those Daguerreotypes were remarkable for their sharpness and delicacy, and the many trying conditions under which they were taken. They were all obtained at Cambridge College under the superintendance of Professor Bond, but in what manner I had better allow Mr. Whipple to speak for himself, by making an extract from a letter of his, published in _The Photographic Art Journal_ of America, July, 1853. Mr. Whipple says: "My first attempt at Daguerreotyping the moon was with a reflecting telescope; the mirror was five feet focus, and seven inches diameter. By putting the prepared plate directly in the focus of the reflector, and giving it an exposure of from three to five seconds, I obtained quite distinct impressions; but owing to the smallness of the image, which was only about five-eighths of an inch in diameter, and the want of clockwork to regulate the motion of the telescope, the results were very far from satisfactory.

"Having obtained permission of Professor Bond to use the large Cambridge reflector for that purpose, I renewed my experiments with high hopes of success, but soon found it no easy matter to obtain a clear, well-defined, beautiful Daguerreotype of the moon. Nothing could be more interesting than its appearance through that _magnificent_ instrument: but to transfer it to the silver plate, to make something tangible of it, was quite a different thing. The "governor," that regulates the motion of the telescope, although sufficiently accurate for observing purposes, was entirely unsuitable for Daguerreotyping; as when the plate is exposed to the moon's image, if the instrument does not follow exactly to counteract the earth's motion, even to the nicety of a hair's breadth, the beauty of the impression is much injured, or entirely spoiled. The governor had a tendency to move the instrument a little too fast, then to fall slightly behind. By closely noticing its motion, and by exposing my plates those few seconds that it exactly followed between the accelerated and r.e.t.a.r.ded motion, I might obtain one or two perfect proofs in the trial of a dozen plates, other things being right. But a more serious obstacle to my success was the usual state of the atmosphere in the locality--the sea breeze, the hot and cold air commingling, although its effects were not visible to the eye; but when the moon was viewed through the telescope it had the same appearance as objects when seen through the heated air from a chimney, in a constant tremor, precluding the possibility of successful Daguerreotyping. This state of the atmosphere often continued week after week in a greater or less degree, so that an evening of perfect quiet was hailed with the greatest delight. After oft-repeated failures, I finally obtained the Daguerreotype from which the crystallotypes I send for your journal were copies; it was taken in March, 1851. The object gla.s.s only of the telescope was used. It is fifteen inches in diameter, and about twenty-three feet focal length; the image it gives of the moon varies but little from three inches, and the prepared plate had an exposure of thirteen seconds."

Copies of several of these "crystallotypes" of the moon I afterwards obtained and exhibited at the Photographic Exhibition in connection with the British a.s.sociation which met in Glasgow in 1855. The "crystallotypes" were simply enlarged photographs, about eight or nine inches in diameter, and conveyed to the mind an excellent idea of the moon's surface. The orange-like form and the princ.i.p.al craters were distinctly marked. Indeed, so much were they admired as portraits of the moon, that one of the _savans_ bought the set at the close of the exhibition.

Mr. Whipple is still a successful pract.i.tioner of our delightful art in the "Athens of the Western World," and has reaped the reward of his continuity and devotion to his favourite art. The late decision of the American law courts on the validity of Mr. Cutting's patent for the use of bromides in collodion must have laid Mr. Whipple under serious liabilities, for he used bromo-iodized negative collodion for iron development as far back as 1853.

There were many other professional photographers in the chief city of Ma.s.sachusetts; but I have described the characteristics of the princ.i.p.al and oldest concerns. Doubtless there are many new ones since I visited the city where Benjamin Franklin served his apprenticeship as a printer; where the "colonists" in 1773, rather than pay the obnoxious "tea tax,"

pitched all the tea out of the ships into the waters of Boston Bay, and commenced that long struggle against oppression and unjust taxation which eventually ended in severing the North American Colonies from the mother country. With the knowledge of all this, it is the more surprising that they should now so quietly submit to what must be an obnoxious and troublesome system of taxation; for, not only have photographers to pay an annual licence of about two guineas for carrying on their trade, but also to affix a government stamp on each picture sent out, which is a further tax of about one penny on each. Surely the patience of our brother photographers on the other side of the Atlantic must be sorely tried, what with the troubles of their business, the whims and eccentricities of their sitters, Mr. Cutting's unkind cut, and the prowling visitations of the tax-collector.

New York.

What a wonderful place New York is for photographic galleries! Their number is legion, and their size is mammoth. Everything is "mammoth."

Their "saloons" are mammoth. Their "skylights" are mammoth. Their "tubes," or lenses, are mammoth. Their "boxes," or cameras, are mammoth; and _mammoth_ is the amount of business that is done in some of those "galleries." The "stores" of the dealers in photographic "stock" are mammoth; and the most mammoth of all is the "store" of Messrs. E. & H.

T. Anthony, on Broadway. This establishment is one of the many palaces of commerce on that splendid thoroughfare. The building is of iron, tall and graceful, of the Corinthian order, with Corinthian pilasters, pillars, and capitals. It is five storeys high, with a frontage of about thirty feet, and a depth of two hundred feet, running right through the "block" from Broadway to the next street on the west side of it. This is the largest store of the kind in New York; I think I may safely say, in either of the two continents, east or west, containing a stock of all sorts of photographic goods, from "sixpenny slides" to "mammoth tubes,"

varying in aggregate value from one hundred and fifty thousand to two hundred thousand dollars. The heads of the firm are most enterprising, one taking the direction of the commercial department, and the other the scientific and experimental. Nearly all novelties in apparatus and photographic requisites pa.s.s through this house into the hands of our American _confreres_ of the camera, and not unfrequently find their way to the realms of Queen Victoria on both sides of the Atlantic.

When the carte-de-visite pictures were introduced, the oldest and largest houses held aloof from them, and only reluctantly, and under pressure, took hold of them at last. Why, it is difficult to say, unless their very small size was too violent a contrast to the mammoth pictures they were accustomed to handle. Messrs. Rockwood and Co., of Broadway, were the first to make a great feature of the carte-de-visite in New York. They also introduced the "Funnygraph," but the latter had a very short life.

In the Daguerreotype days there was a "portrait factory" on Broadway, where likenesses were turned out as fast as coining, for the small charge of twenty-five cents a head. The arrangements for such rapid work were very complete. I had a dollar's worth of these "factory"

portraits. At the desk I paid my money, and received four tickets, which ent.i.tled me to as many sittings when my turn came. I was shown into a waiting room crowded with people. The customers were seated on forms placed round the room, sidling their way to the entrance of the operating room, and answering the cry of "the next" in much the same manner that people do at our public baths. I being "the next," at last went into the operating room, where I found the operator stationed at the camera, which he never left all day long, except occasionally to adjust a stupid sitter. He told the next to "Sit down" and "Look thar,"

focussed, and, putting his hand into a hole in the wall which communicated with the "coating room," he found a dark slide ready filled with a sensitised plate, and putting it into the camera, "exposed," and saying "That will dew," took the dark slide out of the camera, and shoved it through another hole in the wall communicating with the mercury or developing room. This was repeated as many times as I wanted sittings, which he knew by the number of tickets I had given to a boy in the room, whose duty it was to look out for "the next," and collect the tickets. The operator had nothing to do with the preparation of the plates, developing, fixing, or finishing of the picture. He was responsible only for the "pose" and "time," the "developer," checking and correcting the latter occasionally by crying out "Short" or "Long"

as the case might be. Having had my number of "sittings," I was requested to leave the operating room by another door which opened into a pa.s.sage that led me to the "delivery desk," where, in a few minutes, I got all my four portraits fitted up in "matt, gla.s.s, and preserver,"--the pictures having been pa.s.sed from the developing room to the "gilding" room, thence to the "fitting room" and the "delivery desk," where I received them. Thus they were all finished and carried away without the camera operator ever having seen them. Three of the four portraits were as fine Daguerreotypes as could be produced anywhere. Ambrotypes, or "Daguerreotypes on gla.s.s" as some called them, were afterwards produced in much the same manufacturing manner.

There were many other galleries on Broadway: Ca.n.a.l Street; the Bowery; the Avenues, 1, 2, and 3; A, B, and C, Water Street; Hudson Street, by the shipping, &c., the proprietors of which conducted their business in the style most suited to their "location" and the cla.s.s of customers they had to deal with; but in no case was there any attempt at that "old clothesman"--that "Petticoat Lane"--style of touting and dragging customers in by the collar. All sorts of legitimate modes of advertising were resorted to--flags flying out of windows and from the roofs of houses; handsome show cases at the doors; glowing advertis.e.m.e.nts in the newspapers, in prose and verse; circulars freely distributed among the hotels, &c.; but none of that "have your picture taken," annoying, and disreputable style adopted by the cheap and common establishments in London.

Unhappily, "Sunday trading" is practised more extensively in New York than in London. Nearly all but the most respectable galleries are open on Sundays, and evidently do a thriving trade. The authorities endeavoured to stop it frequently, by summoning parties and inflicting fines, but it was no use. The fines were paid, and Sunday photography continued.