TO DUBLIN AND BACK, WITH A GLANCE AT THE EXHIBITION.
The bell rings; a shrill shriek; puff, puff goes the engine, and we dart away from the station at Euston Square, provided with a return ticket to Dublin, issued by the London and North Western Railway, available for one month, for the very reasonable charge of £3, first-class and cabin; £2 7s. 6d. second class and cabin; or forty shillings third class and steerage, via Holyhead. These charges include steamboat fare and steward’s fee. The Exhibition Committee have made arrangements with the railway companies to run excursion trains once a fortnight at still lower rates; twenty-one shillings from London to Dublin and back, and from other places in proportion. This ticket will be good for a fortnight, and will entitle the holder to another ticket, giving him two admissions to the Exhibition for one shilling. With the ordinary monthly ticket, which is issued daily, it is quite optional whether you go by the morning or evening train; but by all means take the morning train, so that you may pass through North Wales and the Island of Anglesea in daylight. Passing through England by Rugby, Stafford, Crewe, and Chester, nothing remarkable occurs during our rapid run through that part of the country. But an “Irish Gentleman,” a fellow traveller, learning our destination, kindly volunteered to enlighten us how we could best see Dublin and its lions in the shortest possible time, and advised us by all “manes” not to “lave” Dublin without seeing “Faynix Park,” and taking a car drive to Howth and other places round the “Bee of Dublin.” Accordingly we agreed to take his advice; but as our primary object in visiting Dublin is to see the Exhibition, we will first attend to that on our arrival in the Irish capital; and if, after that, time will permit, the extraneous lions will receive our attention. First of all, we must describe how we got there, what we saw on the way, and what were our impressions on entering Dublin Bay.
As we said before, nothing particular occurred during our journey 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 Penmænmawr, 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 formulæ 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.
In graphs and the various forms and fanciful applications of photography to portraiture, &c., there are stereographs and micrographs, and the old-fashioned “sit-on-a-chair” graphs, the “stand-not-at-ease” graphs, the “small carte” graph, the “large carte” graph, the “casket gem” graph, the “magnesium” graph, the “cameo” graph, the “double-stupid” graph, and the latest of all novelties, the “turn-me-round” graph. The latter is a great curiosity, and must have been suggested by a recollection of that “scientific toy” of ancient manufacture with which we used to awaken the wonder of our little brothers and sisters at Christmas parties when we were boys, by twirling before their astonished eyes a piece of cardboard with a bird painted on one side and a cage on the other, both pictures being seen at the same time during the rapid revolution of the card.
In apparatus there is not much to talk about, the Pantascopic camera being the chief novelty. There are several of the manufacturers exhibiting in the photographic department, but we could not reconcile ourselves to the circumstance of Mr. Dallmeyer not exhibiting in the right place. His name is honoured by photographers, and he should have honoured Photography by going in under her colours. If he must go to the “scientific department,” he ought to have gone there with his scientific instruments alone, and shown his photographic apparatus in the place assigned for that purpose. True, he makes a handsome show, but that does not atone for his mistake. Photographers are queer animals—jealous of their rights, and as sensitive to slight as their plates are to light; and we fear we are ourselves not much better. A large majority of photographers stand by Mr. Dallmeyer, and very justly believe in his 1 and 2 B’s as shippers do in A 1’s at Lloyd’s; and his stand should have been in the photographic department.
In other parts of the Exhibition building there are various subjects highly interesting to photographers.
The chemical department has its attractions in samples of collodio-chloride of silver, prepared by Messrs. Mawson and Swan, for the opal printing process and the Simpsontype. Specimens of each type are also to be seen there; and there are other chemicals used in photography, even to dextrine and starch: the purity of the latter is known by the size and length of its crystals.
In metallurgy there is also something to interest photographers. Messrs. Johnson and Sons exhibit some very fine samples of nitrate of silver, double and treble crystallized, silver dippers, chloride of gold, nitrate of uranium, and other scarce metals.
Messrs. Johnson, Matthey, and Co. also exhibit some fine samples of nitrate of silver and chloride of gold; and some wonderful specimens of magnesium, in various forms, in wire and ribbon. One coil of ribbon is 4,800 feet long, and weighs 40 ounces; and there is an obelisk of magnesium about 20 inches high, and weighing 162 ounces.
There are many other things in this case of great value which have a photographic bearing—amongst these a platinum boiler, valued at £1,500, for the concentration and rectification of sulphuric acid; a platinum alembic, value £350, for the separation and refining of gold and silver; also an ingot of platinum, weighing 3,200 ounces, and valued at £3,840. The exhibitors say that “such a mass of fused platinum is never likely to be again produced.” The whole of the contents of Messrs. Johnson, Matthey, and Co.’s case of precious metals, most of which have a direct or indirect application to photography, are estimated at the enormous value of £16,000!
Mining, too, has its attractions for us; and as we near the Nova Scotia division of the Exhibition building the needle of our observation dips towards a bar of pure gold, weighing 48 pounds, and valued at £2,200 sterling.
By the gentlemanly courtesy of the Rev. Dr. Honeyman, Honorary Secretary and Commissioner in Dublin, from the province of Nova Scotia, we were favoured with a “lift” of this valuable lump of gold, and we could not help exclaiming, “What a lot of chloride this would make!” But we had to “drop it” very quickly, for the muscles of our fingers could not bear the strain of holding it more than a few seconds. This bar of gold was obtained from very rich quartz, specimens of which are to be seen near it; and Dr. Honeyman informed us that the average daily remuneration from such quartz was thirty shillings sterling per man.
It is not generally known that the province of Nova Scotia is so rich in gold; but, from statistics by the Chief Commissioner of Mines for the province, we find that the average yield of the Nova Scotia quartz is over 19 dwt. per ton, and richer than the quartz of Australia; and the deeper the shafts are sunk the richer the quartz becomes. In 1864 the total yield from all the gold districts of Nova Scotia was 20,022 ounces, 18 dwts., 13 grs. Gold dust and scales have also been found in the sands on the sea coast of the province, and in the sands of Sable Island, which is eighty miles distant, in the Atlantic Ocean. Having in our own colonies such an abundance of one of the precious metals so extensively used in the practice of our art, photographers need not be under any apprehension of having their supplies cut off.
Continuing our general survey, we stumble upon many things of considerable interest. But, as our space will only allow us to particularize those articles which have a photographic attraction, direct or indirect, we must as far as possible imagine ourselves something like animated photometers for the time being, registering the aspects, changes, and remarkable phenomena connected with our art, and whatever can be applied to photography and the use of photographers; or whatever photography can be applied to, artistically or commercially considered.
Of some things non-photographic, but of interest to photographers as well as others, we may be induced to say a little; but of most subjects foreign to our profession we shall simply say to our readers, “We have seen such wondrous things, go ye and do likewise.”
We finished our last paper with a few comments on what was photographically interesting in the province of Nova Scotia. Passing from that to the provinces of the Lower and Upper Canadas, which are very properly placed next door to each other, we are struck with some very good and interesting photographs of Canadian scenery, both plain and in colours, and a frame of portraits of the delegates of the British North American Confederation. Samples of all kinds of native and Indian manufactures, and specimens of mineral ores, chiefly iron and copper, are also displayed here.
Pursuing our way southwards from the Colonial division of the galleries, we come to China and Japan. The geographical and relative positions of the countries exhibiting are not strictly adhered to in the plan of the Exhibition, so we must, of necessity, make some “long legs,” and experience some imaginary transitions of temperature during our journey of observation. In Japan we stop to look at a life-size group of female figures, representing a princess at her toilette, attended by four female slaves, books illustrated with wood-cuts, plain and coloured, bronzes, and many other articles of art and manufacture, by the Japanese, of much interest.
In China, there is a State bedstead of great beauty, books of paintings upon rice-paper, and many beautiful bronzes, carvings, and other specimens of Chinese art.
We pass through Turkey, and next come to Siam, but the latter country does not exhibit much, except of a “seedy” character. We admit we are sometimes addicted to making puns, but the Siamese send puns for exhibition. There is an article called “pun,” which is “prepared lime, coloured pink with turmeric,” but to what use it is applied we have not been enlightened.
Passing through France, Austria, Prussia, Belgium, and Holland, without stopping to notice anything particularly, and turning into the south corridor, we enter the Water Colour Gallery, which we quickly leave, sighing, “How unlike that beautiful and attractive section of the Art Treasure Exhibition at Manchester in 1857!” Hastening into the Central Picture Gallery, we are much struck with the different appearance it presents, and find numbers of ladies and gentlemen admiring the numerous productions by painters belonging to the various foreign schools. Among these works are some grand subjects, both in historical and ideal composition, and landscape representations. This gallery has a particularly noble and handsome appearance. It is oblong, well-lighted, and open in the middle, by which means the Sculpture Hall, which is underneath, is lighted. The sides of the gallery next the open space are handsomely railed round, and pedestals, with marble busts and statuettes on them, are tastefully arranged at intervals, leaving room enough for you to look down into the Sculpture Hall below. What with the fine pictures on the walls and staircase, and the noble statues in marble about and below, you cannot but come to the conclusion that this is a noble temple of art.
We next enter the east front room, which contains the works of the Belgian artists. Many of these paintings are very finely conceived and executed. The largest and most striking of them is the “Defeat of the Duke of Alençon’s Troops by the Citizens of Antwerp,” painted by A. Dillens.
Now we enter the Great Picture Gallery, which is devoted to the painters belonging to the British school. Here we find many of the well-known works from the National Gallery and Kensington Museum. There are examples of the works of Callcott, Collins, Wilkie, Wilson, Turner, Landseer, Mulready, Etty, Egg, Ward, Leslie, and a host of others. Her Majesty the Queen also sends several pictures from her private collection, as examples of the works of Winterhalter, Thomas, and Stanfield. Nearly all the British artists are creditably represented in the Dublin International Art Exhibition.
We next come to the Collection of Ancient Masters in the North Gallery, which we enter from the North Corridor. To this part of the Fine Art Exhibition the Earl of Portarlington is the most liberal contributor. He sends examples of Titian, Rubens, Carlo Dolci, Tintoretto, Canalette, Claude, Watteau, Rembrandt, Gerard Dow, Schneiders, Vandevelde, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Sir Peter Lely, and others. The Marquis of Drogheda also sends several examples of the same masters, some of them very fine ones. Sir Charles Coote sends a great many paintings; among them a Murillo, a Guido, and a Gainsborough.
Thence we pass into the Mediæval Court, where we find nothing but croziers, sacramental cups and plates, carved panels for pulpits and clerks’ desks, reminding us of “responses” and “amens.” These we leave to Churchmen, enthusiastic Puseyites, and devotees of Catholicism. And we wend our way round the galleries, passing through Switzerland and Italy into the United Kingdom, where we stop to examine some of the art manufactures peculiar to Ireland, and are particularly interested in the specimens of Irish bog oak, carved most tastefully into various ornaments, such as brooches, pins, paper-knives, &c., and sculptured into humorous and characteristic statuettes. The most noticeable of that class of Irish art and industry is a clever group, entitled, “Where’s the man that dare tread on my coat?” This really humorous and artistic statuette is one of a group of two. One is a rollicking Irishman brandishing his shillelagh over his head and trailing his coat on the ground, which is the Irishman’s challenge for a fight at such places as Donnybrook Fair. The other Irishman, who is equally ready for a “row,” is in the act of treading on the coat, as an acceptance of the challenge. The story is so cleverly told, that we almost fancy we see the fight begin, and hear the shillelaghs cracking crowns in a genuine Irish row.
Pushing on through India to the British Colonies again, whence we started, we descend to the ground floor, and resume our survey of Sweden, Norway, Italy, and Rome, and turn into the Music Hall, which is on the south side of the entrance and Statuary Hall. Here we find the organ builders at work on the grand organ, blowing up one pipe after another, and producing such volumes of inharmonious sounds that we are glad to leave them to the full and hearty enjoyment of their pipes, chords, discords, and bellows-blowing. The walls of the Music Hall are nearly covered with cartoons and paintings of a high-class, some of them so high that we require an opera-glass to bring them within the range of our visual organs.
We next enter the Sculpture Hall with a view of examining the statues and describing them carefully. But they are so numerous that we can only find space to call attention to the most striking. There are over three hundred pieces of sculpture from various countries, comprising colossal and life-size figures, groups, busts, statuettes, and alto-relievos in marble and bronze. The most attractive of the marble statues are “Michael Angelo, when a child, sculpturing the head of a Faun” (his first work), by Emilio Zocchi, of Florence. The earnestness of purpose and devotion to his task are wonderfully expressed in the countenance of the boy-sculptor. Plying the hammer and chisel actively and vigorously, every part of the figure betokens a thorough abandonment to his occupation. A very remarkable work by a lady sculptor—Miss Harriett Hosmer—entitled “The Sleeping Faun,” is the very opposite to the other, in its complete abandonment to repose. This fine statue has been purchased by Mr. Guiness, and we were told he had given a munificent sum for it. Another piece of exquisite beauty and daring skill in marble working is “The Swinging Girl,” by Pietro Magni, of Milan, the sculptor of “The Reading Girl,” which attracted so much attention in the International Exhibition of 1862. The figure of the girl swinging is beautifully modelled, and entirely free from contact with the base; and is supported only by the swing attached to the branch of a tree, and the hand of a boy giving action to the subject. “Ophelia,” by W. C. Marshall, is perhaps the most poetic conception of the loveliest and most mournful of Shakespeare’s creations that has ever been sculptured. It is almost impossible to look at this touching representation of Ophelia in her madness without exclaiming, in a modified quotation of her own description of Hamlet—
“O, what a gentle mind is here o‘erthrown.”
But we must stop. To go on in this way describing all the beautiful works of art in the Dublin Exhibition would fill a volume. Already we have allowed our admiration to carry us beyond the limits we had assigned ourselves. We have been tempted to describe more than photographic works, but none that have not a value artistically or otherwise to photographers. We recommend all our readers that possibly can to go and see for themselves. The trip is a very pleasant one, and need not be expensive; nor need much time be spent unnecessarily. A week’s absence from business will give you five clear days in Dublin, the other two only being occupied in travelling. Five days will be amply sufficient to see the Exhibition and the “extraneous lions” of Dublin also. If your time is limited, give a carman a job to “rowl” you to the principal places of interest. But “by all means” select a rough, ragged, red-headed, laughing-faced Irishman for your jarvey, and depend upon it he will keep you in good humour during the whole of your trip. And every time you come to a public-house he will say his “horse wants a dthrink,” and “Won’t yer honours have a dthrop?” as if he was going to stand treat; but of course you know what he means; besides, the idea of allowing a carman to treat his fare is not to be entertained for a moment, nor can you resist the good-humoured intimation of his desire to drink your health, for which honour, as a matter of course, you pay costs.
Having endeavoured to conduct our readers to Dublin, and give them a glance at the Exhibition, photographically and generally, we shall now take our leave of the capital of Ireland, and return to town in much the same manner as we went. We leave the Irish capital at 1.30 in the afternoon, and, after a pleasant and quiet run across the Channel, enter Holyhead harbour about seven o‘clock. This arrangement gives you an opportunity of seeing the Welsh coast to the best advantage as you approach. Stepping into the train which is waiting our arrival, we are speedily on our way home. At Rugby we have to change, and wait a little; but before leaving there we pass the sign which only old masons and travellers know, and are provided with a first-class bed and board, and so make ourselves comfortable for the night. We know nothing more of the remainder of the journey. Old Somnus has charge of us inside, and an old kind-hearted guard takes care of us outside, until we are aroused by the guard’s “Good morning, gentlemen!” about six o‘clock, a.m., within a few miles of Euston Square. In conclusion, we sincerely recommend as many of our readers as can to take a trip “to Dublin and back,” and a glance at the Dublin International Exhibition.