Robert Hunt.
From the Illustrated London News, January 9, 1858.
It is but a few years since, when we heard with surprise, and some incredulity, that light could be made to delineate images of external objects upon chemically prepared tablets placed in the camera obscura,—now photography stares us in the face at every corner,—that which was wonderful has become familiar,—that which was mysterious is singularly common.
In cities, we see glass houses, on at least one roof in every street,—in villages, caravans, with Brown and Jones, photographers, are regularly found,—on the hills we discover the tent, and in the valleys the camera,—by the river-side there is the mysterious head hidden in the dark curtains of a dark box,—and upon the sea-shore the tripod-stand is securely fixed in the sands, and a biped is evidently focusing for the next fine ocean wave,—the sketcher has fled to his own especial solitudes, and the photographer has usurped his place.
It has been said of the most recent photographic processes, as was well said of the octo-syllabic verse, that it possesses "unfortunate facilities." This is true in many respects of the positive collodion process, by which the myriads of sad reflections on humanity are perpetrated. Not so, however, is it with the negative process, by which alone we can multiply the beautiful things which the solar pencil traces with such fidelity. The labour attendant upon a photographic tour is great, and real enthusiasm alone carries the amateur forward. The camera obscura and the stand are a burden, and with the tent and chemical box, they become a real load. Then there is the uncertainty attendant upon the processes. We deal with the nicest chemical adjustments. The balance is arranged with caution for a certain set of conditions,—alter but one of these, and all goes wrong. We leave home in the morning, we work in the dark all day, and we return jaded at night, to find we have obtained—nothing.
Sensitive as the collodion process is, and charming as are the results, when all goes on successfully, it has not hitherto been a process which can be practised out of doors, without many extraordinary, expensive, and troublesome appliances.
It is, therefore, with very much satisfaction that we have watched the progress of the so-called "dry collodion processes." Nearly all the processes that have been published,—the "gelatine,"—the "oxymel,"—the "glycerine," and others,—have much that is excellent in them; but it appears to us that a dry collodion process devised by Mr. Long, of which he has recently published a description, is more simple and effective than any other. We have seen beautiful pictures obtained in Belgium upon plates prepared in England, and which plates were brought to this country again before the pictures were developed.
Any man may, previously to starting on his journey, prepare, or purchase prepared, a stock of glass plates. Armed with these and his camera, he may proceed to
"Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread.
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread;"
or to that