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December 21, 1863.] THE PHOTOGRAPHIC NEWS. 615 and faded, and yet the customer would remark that they " had not been kept in a damp room.” The transparent varnish in front of the pictures, which promised great per manence in the subject, and which caused many operators to advertise “ everlasting photographs,” also gave way; and, in the case of soft precipitates, the oil in the varnish perme ated the soft film, giving an unpleasent tone to the picture, and eventually running into streaks. This process, however, has given more permanent results than its offspring, the paper, and many beautiful collodiotypes arc scattered over the land. Of course the process of making the negative of the present is nearly one and the same, the black varnish being omitted ; yet the same difficulty is felt in regard to the trans parent varnishes used, as they often crack the film containing the picture, which, if you attempt revarnishing, ten chances to one you do not carry away the whole substance forming the negative. Yet the collodiotype has conferred a great boon in even producing for a short time positive results on paper which, if we could only retain them in a permanent form would indeed be valuable. We now come to the startling process which first awoke the world to the practicability of retaining images given by the camera, viz., the Daguerreotype—the only real dry process that has given satisfactory results which cope with and, in my opinion, far supersede any process yet known, wet or dry. True, instantaneous pictures could not be had by it. True that, if rubbed or exposed to the air, certain damaging effects must ensue. Yet, as true is it of the Daguerreotype that no other process has given such satisfactory results, applied to portraiture, in point of beauty, permanence, &c. This may seem a sweeping assertion, but 1 shall, after a lengthened acquaintance with the processes named, endea vour to prove its admissibility ; in fact, it appeal's to me that the very nature of the process will bear out my argu ment. being so far different from that of the calotype and collodiotype, the images by which arc the result of silver in a weakly reduced state, held in a mechanical manner on the surface and in the pores of two substances that have no che mical affinity for the metal, and only hold the molecules of it as a sponge does water, so loosely put together that the slightest disturbing influence alters its condition. In those processes, too, it is difficult to get rid of the chemicals which acted in the formation of the image, and which, if the slightest trace be allowed to remain, is sure to produce decay—decay which twelve hours’ washing under a running tap, with all the recent forms of tubs and dripping apparatus, have failed to cure, and I doubt ever will. In the Daguerreotype the case is materially altered. You have the pure silver surface—the metal, in fact, to work upon. You use the chemicals re quired in their purest form the iodine evaporating from its crystal; the element, bromine, also in a state of vapour. These rise to the surface of the pure metal; they sensitize the plate, which, after exposure in the camera, is brought back and developed with the vapour from the pure element, mer cury. Again, after passing through the deiodizing hyposul phite of soda bath, it is coated with the pure element gold. You will observe that all the elements forming the Daguerrian image are pure natural products, uncontaminated with any secondary material, the metals "used having a powerful chemical affinity for each other. Mercury, ever desirous of forming an alloy with silver, becomes the medium in its joint condition to mingle with the gold, thus building up a compact imago of three noble metals, each and all difficult to oxidise in a pure atmosphere. Still further, the tablet, being of pure silver, admits of no chemical action from the back, and of no decaying element from within. All decay must be in front. The varnish of gold must be first attacked by atmo spheric influence. This gilding, being carefully deposited over the whole plate, and not on the metal forming the imme diate image, as in the calotype, is difficult to oxidise, and that so slightly that long-continued action from simple natural causes make small difference upon it. We now come to what we mean to use as a test on these three photographic results, and it is this;—The Daguerreotype, often from being badly glazed, exposed to a. bad atmosphere or damp, becomes coated with brown or blue hazes, which for a time dims its beauties, many thinking that it has faded away ; so also does the collodiotype, and there is no doubt about the calotype’s fading propensities. Now, in the case of the Daguerreotype a certain strength of cyanide of potas sium, carefully administered, restores the image at once to youth and beauty. Try the same on the collodiotype, how ever little oxidised, and it begins to assume the dissolving principle of Mr. Pepper’s ghost, which, after the exhibition, leaves only a glass behind. Test the paper images in the same manner, those fixed in the old hyposulphite of soda bath, these? d’or, or the alkaline gold toning bath—so forci bly spoken of over two years ago—and you will find that all accept the cyanide as their “ ticket-of-leave." In making this comparison I have endeavoured to show up the somewhat neglected merits of an old (and in point of pennanence, tried) process, without saying aught of the other processes but that which is true. And my desire in doing so is to stimulate you to greater endeavours in the making of those truthful resemblances which, however large or fine, if they want the quality of permanence, can never be esteemed as they deserve ; and if, from what has transpired in the past, we can learn or suggest something better for the future, much good will be accomplished. Such is my apology for these remarks. THE BIRTH OF AN ART* BY GODFREY TURNER. There was once—not so very long ago but that people now living can remember seeing his works as they were newly exhibited in London, Paris, and other great cities—a man who carried a certain skill of illusion to so marvellous a pitch, that he could in one picture show “ the season’s difference,” the changes of day and night, and besides all kinds of natural phenomena, the progressive effects of de vastating fire. His faculty being merely imitative, it was said that he had “ no art.” That is a question we need not argue in this place. For the present purpose it is enough to say that this man could set before us a natural scene—in all respects natural. The spectator sat in a darkened room, one end of which seemed open to the free air and a wide expanse of country—let us say, an English landscape, though the range of the artist’s subject (we may call him “ artist ” for the nonce) was as various as in each picture were the aspects which half an hour would seem to bring about. There are corn-fields, and a homestead, and green trees, and the tops of village roofs, and an old church tower; and there is a brook in the foreground, with a deep still pool, darkened by overhanging boughs. The water- glides, and ripples, and glistens, and lies still, not with mechanical sameness and repeated obtrusive trick, but variably, and with the quiet, constant air of nature, half in motion and half in repose. There is a wooden bridge, and its reflection in the stream actually follows every little trem bling movement of the surface, and is even true to the influ ence of every passing cloud. It is early summer time, and clouds are passing, just as if the blue beyond were sky and not painted canvas. They gather, concentrate, and pour down rain. The effect is so thoroughly natural that you listen for the splashing in the water. Every drop is seen distinctly to fall like a plummet on the face of the brook and on the face of the pool; but it falls with strange, unaccustomed noiselessness. The heavy, down-pouring streams now begin to slant, and the tops of the trees to stir and bend. The highest branches are flattened together, and they start and stoop, and stoop more and more, as the wind appears to be gaining strength, and to drive the rain sidelong, rufling the waters. A flash—a sudden lull in the storm, and a gradual dispersing of the clouds, while another flash and another succeed. A rainbow shows that * Everybody's Journal.