through England to excite our attention or curiosity; but on passing
into Wales--Flintshire--our attention is at once arrested by the
difference of the scenery through which we pass. Soon after leaving
Chester, we get a sight of the river Dee on our right, and continue to
run down by its side past Flint, Bagillt, Holywell, and Mostyn, then we
take a bend to the left and skirt a part of the Irish Channel past Rhyl,
Abergele, and Colwyn to Conway, with its extensive ruins of a once vast
and noble castle, through, under, and about the ruins of which the
double lines of iron rails twist and twine and sinuously encoil
themselves like a boa constrictor of civilization and demolisher of
wrecks, ruins, and vestiges of the feudal ages and semi-barbarism. Our
iron charger dashes up to the very walls of the ancient stronghold,
close past the base of a tower, and right under the hanging ruins of
another, which is in truth a "baseless fabric," but no "vision," for
there it is suspended in mid air, a fabric without a base, holding on to
its surroundings by the cohesive power of their early attachments. We
rush into the very bowels of the keep itself, snorting and puffing
defiance to the memoried sternness of the grim warriors who once held
the place against all intruders. Anyone who has not had an opportunity
before of visiting North Wales should keep a sharp look-out right and
left, and they will get a peep at most of the principal places on the
route: the Welsh mountains on the left, their summits illuminated by the
sun sinking towards the west, and the mass of them thrown into shadow in
fine contrast.
Now we are at Penmaenmawr, that pretty little watering place, with its
neat-looking houses snugly nestling in the laps of the hills, and we
pass along so close to the sea, we can feel the spray from the waves as
they break on the shore.
Passing Llanfairfechan and Aber we are at Bangor, and almost immediately
afterwards make a dive into the long, dark chamber of the Tubular
Bridge, with a shriek and rumbling rattle that is almost startling. In
a few seconds we are out into the daylight again, and get a view of the
Straits of Menai; and on the right-hand side, looking back, get an
excellent sight of the Tubular Bridge. At the moment of our passing, a
ship in full sail was running before the wind through the Straits, which
added considerably to the picturesque beauty of the scene. On the left a
fine view of the "Suspension Bridge" is obtained. We are soon past
Llanfair, and across that bleak and desolate part of the island of
Anglesea between the Menai Straits and the Valley. Arriving at Holyhead,
we go on board the steamer which is to carry us across the Channel to
Dublin. The boat not starting immediately, but giving us a little time
to look around, we go on shore again, and saunter up and down the narrow
hilly streets of Holyhead, listening in vain for the sound of a word
spoken in our mother tongue. Not a word could we hear, not a word of
English could we get without asking for it. The most of the people can
speak English with a foreign-like accent, but you seldom hear it unless
you address them in English. Even the urchins in the streets carry on
their games and play in the Welsh and unintelligible sounds resembling
language.
We also had time to examine the stupendous breakwater which the
Government is building at Holyhead to form a harbour of refuge. The wall
is a mile and three-quarters in length, and of immense thickness, in the
form of three terraces, the highest towards the sea. At one place we
noticed that the solid slatey rocks were hewn and dressed into shape,
and thus formed part of the wall itself, a mixture of Nature's handiwork
and the work of man.
Time to go on board again, and as the wind was blowing rather strong, we
expected to have a rough voyage of it; and sure enough we had, for we
were scarcely clear of the sheltering kindliness of the sea wall and the
"north stack" till our vessel began to "pitch and toss," and roll and
creak, and groan in agony; and so highly sympathetic were we that we
did the same, and could not help it, do what we could. Strong tea,
brandy and water, were all no use. Down we went, like prostrate sinners
as we were, on our knees, with clasped hands, praying for the winds and
the waves "to be still;" but they did not heed our prayer in the least,
and kept up their inhumane howling, dancing, and jumbling until, by the
time we reached the middle of the Channel, we began to think that the
captain had lost his course, and that we were somewhere between Holyhead
and purgatory, if not in purgatory itself, being purged of our sins, and
becoming internally pure and externally foul. But we discovered that we,
and not the captain, had lost the course and the even tenour of our way,
for we fancied--perhaps it was only fancy--that we could hear him
humming snatches of old song, among them "Oh! steer my bark to Erin's
Isle!" and soon the mountains of Wicklow are in sight. As we near, and
get under the lee of the land--for it was a stiff "sou'-wester" that
bothered us--our sensations and feelings begin to improve, and we pick
ourselves up out of the mire, and turn our eyes eagerly and hopefully
towards the Emerald Isle, and Dublin Bay more particularly.
As we approach the Bay, the Carlingford Hills can be seen on the right,
and a little more southwards Lambay and Ireland's Eye. The latter island
is rugged and precipitous, seaward, in the extreme--a barren and
desolate-looking spot, possessing an unenviable notoriety on account of
the murder of a lady by her husband having been committed there a few
years ago: Howth, the light-house, and the Bailey Rock, where the _Queen
Victoria_ steamer was wrecked, now attract our attention. And, as nearly
as we can remember, these are the most striking features on the north
side of the Bay. On the south the Harbour of Kingstown is distinctly
visible, and we saw the mail steamer which crosses from Holyhead to
Kingstown, a distance of sixty miles, in three and a half hours, blowing
off her steam. By paying a little extra you can cross in the mail
steamers, if you wish, but it is not worth while paying the difference,
as the ordinary steamers cross from Holyhead to Dublin in about five and
a half hours. All round the south side of the Bay we could trace the
Kingstown and Dublin railway, which is the oldest line but one in the
United Queendoms of Great Britain and Ireland. An obelisk commemorates
the visit of the last of the four Georges to Ireland in 1821. Right
over Kingstown the Killinny Hills are to be seen, and all along the
water-line the Bay is studded with pretty little villas, and the scene
is truly beautiful. If possible, arrange your entrance into the Bay of
Dublin in the early morning, for then the sun, rising in the east,
lights up the subjects to the very best advantage, and throws a charm
about them which they do not exhibit at any other time of the day. By
waiting at Holyhead for the early morning boat you can easily manage
this. But now we are at the North Wall, and on landing are besieged by
Carmen to have a "rowl," and jumping on to one of those light,
odd-looking, jaunting cars which are one of the institutions of the
country, we are "rowled" up the North Wall for nearly a mile, past the
Docks, over the drawbridges, and past the Custom House--a large stone
building, too large for the business of the port--along Carlisle Bridge,
down Westmoreland Street, past the Bank of Ireland--once the Houses of
Parliament--and up Dame Street, leaving the College on our left, and
passing King William's statue, representing a mounted Roman with
_gilded_ laurels and ornamental toga, we arrive at Jury's Hotel, a
commercial and family house of superior arrangements which was well
recommended to us before we left London; and here we rest.
After breakfast, and having made ourselves internally and externally
comfortable, we start for the Exhibition, which is within easy walking
distance of the hotel; but the car fares are so very moderate that we
prefer a "rowl." The fare is sixpence a "set down;" that is, you may
ride from one end of the city to the other for sixpence, but if you get
off to post a letter, or buy an umbrella to keep the rain off--for the
cars have no covering--that is a "set down;" and so every time you get
down and get up again you have sixpence to pay, no matter how short the
distance you are taken each time. So we hailed a car at the door of the
hotel, determined to be "rowled" to the Exhibition for sixpence each. We
go down Dame Street, across College Green, up Grafton Street, along the
west and south sides of St. Stephen's Green or Square to Earlsfort
Terrace and the principal entrance to the Dublin Exhibition, which
occupies the site of what was formerly Coburg Gardens.
Arriving at the entrance-hall, we pay our admission fee, and on passing
the registering turnstiles we are at once in the sculpture hall on the
ground floor, the contents of which we shall notice more particularly
by-and-by. Passing through the Sculpture Hall we are within the western
transept, or winter garden portion of the Exhibition. This transept is
500 feet long and of lofty proportions, with galleries on each side, and
tastefully hung with the banners and flags of the nations exhibiting.
The northern court is about 300 feet long, also of iron and glass, with
galleries running round both sides similar to the western transept. The
ground floor and part of the galleries of the northern court are devoted
to the productions of the United Kingdom. On the north side of the
northern court is the machinery department, both at rest and in motion.
Here machines of the most delicate and ponderous nature are at work.
There a forge-hammer daintily cracking nuts, or coming down with a
crushing force at the will of the attendant. In another place a delicate
curving-machine is at work; and another can be seen making steel pens.
There are high pressure engines, sewing machines, and photographic
rolling-presses. Indeed, there is almost everything to be seen and
everything going on that is instructive, edifying, and amusing. The
Exhibition building is small, but well arranged and compact, and
partakes of the character of an art and industrial exhibition and place
of amusement and recreation, like our Crystal Palace at Sydenham, with
ornamental gardens and archery grounds attached. The gardens are
small--a little larger than the area of the building itself--but most
tastefully laid out. And there are fountains and grottoes, and rockeries
and cascades, with flowers growing about them, which give the whole
place a pleasant, healthy, and delightful appearance. Stepping out of
the western transept into the gardens, we found the band of the 78th
Highlanders playing in the centre, and their pipers walking about the
grounds ready to take up the strains of music in another key, for
presently we saw them marching about, playing "Hielan' Skirls," and
sounding the loud pibroch, with a five-bag power that was more stunning
than the nocturnal wailings of a dozen or two Kilkenny cats. The
directors furnish music and offer other inducements to secure a good
attendance, and their efforts ought to be successful, and it is to be
hoped they will be so.
On the first day of our visit there was a grand archery meeting, and the
turn-out of Dublin belles was double in numbers. There was a large
attendance of bowmen, too, and belles and beaux were banging away at the
targets most unmercifully in keen contest for the prize; whether it was
a medal, a ring, or an heiress, we could not learn; but if nothing more
than the privilege of entering the lists against such lovely
competitors, the bowmen ought to have been satisfied; but we don't
suppose they were, for men are both ambitious and avaricious, and
probably some of them hoped to win a prize medal, kill a beauty, and
catch an heiress all at once, with one swift arrow sent whizzing and
quivering into the very heart and gilded centre of the gaily-painted
target.
Perched up on the top of the cascades we noticed a double sliding-front
stereoscopic camera, and doubtless Mr. York was busy photographing the
scene we have been describing--impressions of which the London
Stereoscopic Company will probably issue ere long. We must, however,
leave this gay scene and turn our attention to other things, certainly
not more attractive; but duty calls us away from beauty, and we must
submit.
Re-entering the Exhibition building, we seek the photographic
department, which we readily find on the ground floor, between the music
hall and the first-class refreshment-room. Entering from the Belgian
department in the western transept, we find three rooms in the main
building devoted to the exhibition of photographs, and a lobby between
the rooms pretty well filled with apparatus. To Sir J. Jocelyn Coghill
are photographers indebted for obtaining so much space for their works,
and in such a get-at-able situation; but it is a pity the rooms are not
better lighted. Many of the pictures on the screens are very
indistinctly seen, and some are in dark corners scarcely to be seen at
all.
The foreign department, which is the first room we enter, is mainly made
up of reproductions of old and modern engravings, and copies of drawings
and paintings. One very remarkable photograph on the wall of this room
is an immense magnification of a flea, by A. Duvette. What a subject for
the camera!--one that suggests in sporting phraseology something more
than the "find," the "chase," and the "death."
A panoramic view of Rome, by M. Petagna, is a great achievement in
panoramic photography. There are seven impressions from 15 by 12 plates,
all carefully joined, and of equal tone. The point of view is "Tasso's
Oak," and the panorama gives us an excellent idea of Rome at the present
day.
The British part of the Photographic Exhibition in Dublin might be very
properly denominated an enlargement of the Society's exhibition now open
in Conduit Street, London. Nearly all the principal exhibitors there
have sent duplicates of their chief works to the Dublin Exhibition.
There is Robinson's beautiful picture of "Brenda," his "May Gatherers,"
"Sunshine," "Autumn," "Somebody Coming," "Bringing home the May," &c.,
all old and familiar pictures, every one of which we have seen before.
Robinson himself in his study--a beautiful piece of photography, even to
his black velvet coat. Blanchard also repeats his "Zealot," and other
subjects, and sends a frame full of his exquisite stereographs. England
also sends some of his charming stereoscopic pictures of Switzerland and
Savoy. Bedford's contribution is much the same as his pictures in the
London exhibition. Among them are his lovely Warwickshire pictures.
Wet-plate photography is well represented, both in landscape,
portraiture, and composition. Among the latter, Rejlander is most
prominent. One frame containing some pictures showing the "expression"
of the hands, illustrates Rejlander's artistic knowledge and ability
more than many of his other pictures. None but a thoughtful and
accomplished artist could have disposed of those members in such a
skilful manner. His pictures of "Grief," "The Mote," "The Wayfarer,"
"'Tis Light within--Dark without," and his "Home, Sweet Home," reveal
exquisite feeling in his treatment of such subjects. Thurston Thompson
also exhibits some of his fine reproductions of Turner. There is
"Crossing the Brook," and "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage;" but a much
larger collection of these beautiful copies of Turner's pictures are now
on view at Marion's, in Soho Square.
Dry plate photography is exemplified in all its phases, from the oldest
form of albumen alone, to the latest modifications with collodion,
collodio-albumen, Fothergill, tannin, malt, &c. The most prominent and
largest contributor to this department is Mr. Mudd. In addition to the
duplicates in the London Exhibition, he sends a few others, the most
remarkable of which is a large view of "Borrowdale," a noble picture,
exquisitely treated, showing masses of light and shade and pleasing
composition which stamp it at once as a work of art.
Mr. G. S. Penny exhibits some very fine examples of the tannin and malt
process. They are soft and delicate, and possess sufficient force to
give powerful contrasts when necessary. Mr. Bull's tannin and malt
pictures are also very good; his "Menai Bridge" particularly so.
The amateur photographers, both wet and dry, make a good show. And
among the Irish followers of our delightful art are Sir J. J. Coghill,
who exhibits twelve very pretty views of the neighbourhood of
Castletownsend. Dr. Hemphill, of Clonmel, also exhibits a variety of
subjects, many of them pretty compositions and excellent photography.
Dr. Bailey, of Monaghan, contributes both landscapes and portraits of
very good quality. Mr. T. M. Brownrigg shows seventeen photographs all
excellent examples of the wet collodion process. Many of them are
exquisite bits of photography, and evince an amount of thought and care
in selecting the best point of view, arranging the lines of the subject,
and catching the best effect of light so as to make them pictures, which
is seldom attended to by professional photographers.
Amongst the Irish professional photographers in landscape work, Mr. F.
Mares, of Dublin, stands pre-eminent. His pictures of Killarney, and
views in the county of Wicklow, are very beautiful, and give evidence of
a cultivated eye and artistic taste in the selection of his subjects and
points of view. There are other excellent views and architectural
subjects by Irish photographers; but we are sorry to observe some that
really ought not to have been admitted. They are not even average
photography, being utterly destitute of manipulative skill, and as
deficient in art-excellence as they can well be.
One branch of landscape, or, we should say, marine photography, is
without competition. We refer to those exquisite and charming
transparencies by Mr. C. S. Breese. His moonlight effect is wonderfully
managed; the water looks "alive," and the moonlight is dancing on the
waves just as we have seen it far away upon the sea. His "Breaking Wave"
is marvellous, coming to shore with its cavernous curl; we almost fancy
we hear its angry howl as it dashes itself into foam on the beach. We
have seen such a wave sweep the deck of a ship before now, and know well
with what a ponderous weight and velocity it comes; and we wonder the
more at Mr. Breese's success in catching the wave in such a position. We
cannot, however, speak so highly of the "Sunlight" effects by the same
artist. The transparencies as photographs are inimitable; but there is
colour introduced into the skies which ought to have been taken up by
the rocks, and so carried into the foregrounds of the pictures, to be
natural. Such warm skies and cold middle distances and foregrounds are
too antagonistic for the harmony of nature.
In portraiture, our Irish brethren of the camera contribute somewhat
liberally. In that branch we noticed the works of Messrs. Robertson and
Co., S. Lawrence, and G. Schroeder, of Grafton Street; Millard and
Robinson, Nelson and Marshall, and S. Chancellor, of Sackville Street,
Dublin. T. Cranfield, Grafton Street, also exhibits some photographs
beautifully coloured in oil.
The most eminent English photographers also show up well. We saw the
well-known works of Mayall, Silvy, Claudet, Maull and Co., and others,
eminent in plain photography. Messrs. Lock and Whitfield exhibit a Royal
case of exquisitely coloured photographs of the Prince and Princess of
Wales, and Prince Albert Victor. Mr. G. Wharton Simpson also exhibits a
few specimens of his beautiful collodio-chloride of silver printing
process. There are some lovely specimens of that process with such a
frightfully ugly name, but which, in plain parlance, are pictures on
opal glass, though Mr. Helsby has christened them "Helioaristotypia
miniatures." As a set-off to this, the next dry process that is
discovered should be called "Hydrophobiatypia."
In amateur portraiture, Mr. H. Cooper, Jun., exhibits a large number of
his clever life studies, as well as those quiet and charming
representations of his friends in their habits as they live.
Solar camera enlargements are very numerously contributed. Mr. Claudet
sends some good pictures enlarged by solar camera, and developed with
gallic acid. Mr. Salomon also has some very good examples of enlarging.
Dr. D. Van Monckhoven is an exhibitor of the capabilities of his direct
printing camera. Mr. Mayall exhibits two series of very interesting
enlargements by the Monckhoven camera, printed direct on albumenized
paper; one is Tennyson, in eight different sizes, from a one-ninth to a
life-size head on a whole sheet of paper; of the other, Captain Grant,
there are seven similar pictures. These photographs are all bold and
vigorous and uniform in colour, and come nearer to our idea of what an
enlargement should be than anything we have yet seen. Of the two, that
of the Poet-Laureate is the best; the other is harsher, which is in all
probability due to the difference in the subjects themselves. We can
easily imagine that the face of Captain Grant, bronzed and
weather-beaten as it must be, will present more obstacles to the
obtaining of a soft negative than that of Tennyson. Specimens of
photo-sculpture are also to be seen at the Dublin Exhibition, many of
which are very pretty and life-like statuettes; but some of the figures
seem much too large in the _busts_, and the plinths on which the figures
of ladies stand are in very bad taste; being diminishing beads of a
circular form, they suggest the idea of a huge crinoline just dropped.
Nearly all the denominations of photography have their representative
forms and impressions in this Exhibition; and the history of the art,
from the early days of the Daguerreotype to the latest vagary of the
present day, may be traced in the collection of photographs spread
before you on the walls and screens of the Dublin International
Exhibition. There is the Daguerreotype, the Ambrotype, and the
collodiotype, which ought to have been known as the Archertype; for the
wet collodion process, although it is the most important of all the
discoveries in photography that have been made since the first pictures
were obtained by Wedgwood, is without a name conferring honour on the
man who first applied collodion to photography. Archer's name is
generally associated with it, but without taking that definite and
appellative form it ought to. We know that another claimant has been
"cutting in" for the honour, but unless that claim can be "backed up" by
data, we are not disposed to believe that it was anterior to 1851--the
year of the first exhibition; at that date we know that Mr. Archer took
photographs on collodionized glass plates. Then why should we not honour
Archer as the French honoured Daguerre, and call the wet collodion
process the Archertype?
In printing and toning, there are samples of nearly all the formulae that
have been discovered since the days of printing on plain salted paper
and fixing in "hypo" only. There are prints on plain paper and on
albumenized paper, toned and fixed in every conceivable way. There are
prints on glass, porcelain, and ivory; prints in carbon, from the
negative direct; and impressions in printer's ink from plates, blocks,
and lithographic stones, which have had the subjects transferred to them
by the aid of photography. There are Wothlytypes, and Simpsontypes, and
Tooveytypes, and all the other types that have sprung from a desire to
introduce novelties into the art.