■ '’ ’ ' "■'" ”‘ : ■ ' '■■■'• --'- ' -'' ' r - ,: - T -‘ ' J '*‘ ■ ' ‘ v/ ■ ‘-' " "-■ '-' ■’ ' ' ■""* -. ’” - .■ ~ ~ *- , .. , .. "_- .. ,•• ’ : ’" ' ’''' f '-' '■' '"" 7: '"’' ■' "‘ '■ . ■ ■■-'- r. :-„• t '-‘;>M --■ . .awsit v~.*w r ,-t~ t VOL. LXITI. INCASTEK INTELLIGENCER. bLUBED FVXRT TtJMDAT, At HO. 8 HOSTS ftUCB STRUT. 3T OEO. SASDEBSOH. TEEMS. Subscription.— Two Dollars per annum, payable Id ad* ▼aoea. No subscription discontinued, until alt arrear* agesars paid, nnlwat the optlonof theEdltor ' ADTttflSHisiSi^AdvtrUiioiioti( ; pot exceeding 000 square, (12 lines,) will be inserted three times for one - dollar, and twenty-five cents (breach additional inser tion. Those of greater length in proportion- Jo> Printing— Such as Hand Bills, Posters, Pamphlets, Blanks, labels, kc* Ac., executed with accuracy and on the shortest notice. THE SONG OF THE SWORD. ▲ PARODY ON THE “ SOHO OF THE SHIRT.” Weary, and wounded, and worn, Wounded, and ready to die, A soldier they left, all alone and forlorn, On the field of the battle to lie. The dead and dying alone Could their presence and pity afford * Whilst, with a sad sod-terrible tone, He sang the song of the sword. “ Fight—fight—fight! Though a thousand fathers die! Fight—fight—fight!. Though thousands of children cry ! ; Fight—fight—fight! Whilst mothers and wives lament: And fight—fight—fight! Whilst millions of money are spent. “ Fight—fight—fight! Should the cause be foul or fair; Though all that’s gained is an empty name, And a tax too great to bear. An empty name and a paltry fame, And a thousand lying dead; Whilst every glorious victory Must raise the price of bread. “War—war—war! Fire, and famine, and sword*; Desolate fields, and desolate towns, And thousands scattered abroad, With never a home and never a shed; Whilst kingdoms perish and fall, And hundreds of thousands are lying dead, And all—for nothing at all. “ War—war—war! Musket, and powder, and ball; Ah! what do we fight so for? Ah! why have we battles at all? *Tia justice must be done, they say, The nation’s honor to keep; Alas! that justice is so dear, And human life so obe&p! “ War—war—war! Misery, murder and crime Are all the blessiogs X’ve seen in thee, From my youth to the present time; Misery, murder, and orime— Crime, misery, murder, and woe: Ah! would X had known in my younger days . A tenth of what X now know! “Ah! bad X but known in my happier days, In my hours of boyish glee, A tenth of the horrors and crimes of war — A tiihe of its misery, I now hud been juiniog a happy band Of wife and children dear. And 1 had died in my native land, Xnstead of dying here. “ And many a long, long day of woe, And sleepless nights untold, And drenohing rain, and drifting snow, And weariness, famine and cold ; And worn-out limbs, and aohing heart, A grief too great to tell, And bleeding wound, and piercing smart, Had X escaped full well.” Weary, and wounded, and worn, Wonnded, and ready to die,- The soldier they left, all alone and forlorn, • On the field of the battle to lie. The dead and the dying alone Could their presence and pity afford ; Whilst, thus, with a sad and terrible tone, (0 would those truths were more perfectly known!) He sang the song of the sword. FRIENDSHIP, AFFECTIONATELY INSCBIBED TO A. D. W. Thy friendship ie to me a holy light! And now enkindled may it never die. But ever live, enduring, steady, bright, And drive the olouds of trouble from my sky. Pure as the snow that e’er the winter sun AtT&diant noontide hath looked down upon, . Deep And exhaust less as the orysta! wave ° That gashes from the mountain’s tocky oave. This may onr friendship be!—unfailing, pure! Thro’ joy and sadness may it still endure, And to this aohing, oare-worn, troubled heart Its holy, heavenly joys may it impart. And tho’ upon the grave’s oold breast we lie, 0! may our friendship never, never die! But live forever in the worlds above, And fill the swelling breast with holy love. Laubine. Lahdisbubg, March 20th, 1862. A PHOTOGRAPHER’S STORY. l am a photographic artist. To prevent people from forming a mistaken conception of me, I may as well state at onoe that I do not pride myself on being an artist— that, in faet, 1 consider that term, as ap. plied to myself, all fudge. I am a photo l grapher, and not a bad one. If yon want -clear, sharp,.brilliant piotures, 1 am the man for you. As for being an artist, I may confess here (nobody will know me) that 1 had much rather not be an artist. I should be very much ashamed of myself if I turned out suoh disgraceful smudges as artists delight in. ! There was a man named Cos, a water color painter—perhaps my readers may have heard of him. Well, a lot of his pictures were exhibited in London some few years ago, and a friend of mine—one of. our profession who sticks up for being an artist, and who does the art-artioles in the • ‘ Photograph Dial ’ —this friend of mine persuaded me to go with him and see them. I think people are mad. To hear the ladies cry out, ‘ How sweetly pretty!’ | and the gentlemen, ‘What broad handling;’ ; and my friend ‘ What keeping! what aerial perspective! what chiaro-osouro !' loould not help thinking at first it was some farce they were all acting, or that they had plotted together to take me in and laugh at me. But they really did it all as grave ly as people go through the kneeling and ! the standing and the sitting at church. ! Some of them actually spoke out from the ! heart! 1 watched them, and saw it was no sham—-for them I should prescribe straight waistcoats! These piotures of Cox’s (will you -be lieve it?) were things of which I could make neither head nor tail. You might have turned every one of them upside down and it would have looked just as well? The very paper on whioh they were painted was a lot of old soraps pasted to- 1 getber—the coarsest stuff I ever' saw in my life ; full of ohopped straw, and as rough as a nutmeg grater! The coloring reminded me exactly of the blotting paper oh whioh 1 dry my plates out of the bath ! It was nothing but a lot of dirty grays and greens and reds, run into one-auother, just as it happened ! Now this Cox, they tell :me,:Was a great artist—then I say 1 don’jt .want to be an artist. ' Just another instance of what an artist is, and I,will begin my story. I went to the Brompton Boilers the . other day, What 1 went for was to see the photographs with which .government is . so shamefully underselling us. When I had done . with those, however, I thought I would just take a turn round the building to see what was to be seen there; and I bit, first thing, ’ upon, the painting gallery. 1 don’t mean - to ssy .there were not some pretty enough pictures .in, it. -. There were a good many ojF,L|andseer’s:dpgB—l have nothing fo say agWißt themi but atlast l dame into a room, ' the walls of whioh' were all aflame. I rubbed ; -*#y:ey«r; but I am generally quick at ao. 1 htntntihg fpr things, and-I soda made up ;mjr)gnnff what wsB the truth of the matter. below, articles of food and <th«ir sdultera tions. There was coffee and roasted corn, chicory and dandelion roots, and hundreds of things beside. Well, I got it into my head that this was the art-adnlteration room. These, 1 thought, are-bang op as a caution to the pnblio! They .may see here what bad art is, and guard against it when they furnish their bouses. It Seemed to me a good notion, and I amused myself by looking at specimen after specimen, All the plagues of Egypt were there. Ithought these names were fanoiful ways of alluding to particular defects and tricks. My friend, the writer for the ‘ Photograph Dial,’ has some books written by a man named Buskin, which I could never make head nor tail of; but I had learned, from open, ing them now and then, that this polite way of insinuating une.thing by calling it another was a grand high-art dodge. I re membered the Seven Lamps of Architec ture, and so knew very well what kiod of meaning the Nine Plagues of Egypt might have. While I was looking at one after another, a man with moustaohios and a beard came up to me. 1 mistook him at first for one of ns. I think he mistook me (I also wearing a beard and moustaohios) for a painter, wbich he turned out to be. ‘ I see, sir,’ be said, with a flourish of his band, < that you, too, are worshipping the immortal Turner! Let us offer up our devotions at the altar of art together.’ ’ I thought at first he was chaffing; but he was perfectly in earnest, and I let him go oh and pretended to agree with him, and so drew him out. I never heard suoh bosh before or since. The art-writing of the ‘ Photograph Dial ’ is nothing to it; though I will say that the painter .was in earnest, while my friend only pretends the feelings and the knowledge he writes about. Thus I discovered that my speci mens of art-adulteration were the works of ‘ the immortal Turner!’ ‘ the glorious Turner!’ Turner—psha! I know they turned me siok! This Turner, then, was another great artist; and again I say I don’t want to be an artist. However, it is the custom of the, trade to call one’s self photograpbio artist, in stead of plain photographer, just as one always puts esquire at the end of a rich man’B name, and so I state myself to be (as I am printed on my professional cards) a photographio artist. The ‘ artist ’ does not oost anything, doesn’t make my photo graphs a bit the worse ; and since every body else uses it, I may as well use it too. Now I look upon Art as only another name for fancy and romanoe and imagina tion. Those who really believe in it 1 have generally found to be weak-minded men, and therefore not to be trusted in plain matters of faot. Those who pretend to believe in it are dearly not to be trusted; for, if they draw the long bow in that,- they will draw it in other things beside. This is why I have been so particular in stating my views about Art before I tell my story. It is a mysterious kind of story, whioh 1 myself could never make out; and I don’t wish to be accused of either weak-minded ness or drawing the long bow. I have a partner in my business, and we have between us, besides our place in town a traveling photographic gallery. ‘ Hum kins and Sorudge ’ is the title of the firm ; and lam Humkins, at your service. I and my partner take it by turns to go out of town year by year, some time during the summer months. I have been half over England in this way ; and I can tell you that this doing the provinces is a very pleasant sort of life, and pays well, too. We not only take portraits, but do a good bit of business in the stereoscopic line (perhaps some of my readers know ‘ Hum kins and Scrudge’s views of Oxford and Cambridge ?’), also we take, on order, views of the hodSes of the gentry round about the town where we put up. Some would be gentry, who live in little detached villas with little front gardens to them, give us a good deal of trouble in this way. They can’t be made to understand that one can - not take a photograph where there is not room to focus. However, this is what we do in our summer trips—and the trips are very pleasant. VVe see a number of fresh plaoes and faces; we get a good many negatives on hand, and among the rest an I assortment of skies whioh are worth any money to those who know how to use them! Altogether, doing the provinces pays— pays in the way of health, of pooket, and of new dodges; and I may quote the old line, and say that doing the provinces “ Is the way to be healthy, wealthy and wise.” When I was out in the south on my summer trip some yeare ago, 1 settled for a week in the small town of L (I will not write the name in full, for this may happen to come to the sight of the lady— Miss White I will call her—and she might not like old neighbors to know it.) Hand bills had been distributed some days before, and my first morning’s work was a very fair one. 1 had three pairs of lovers, and about a dozen children—lovers and child ren are always oar most numerous custom ers, though not the most pleasant ones. Lovers will arrange eaoh other, always pre ferring one particular side of each other’s face, or something of that kind ; and children never oan be arranged at all. Then lovers and mothers—both proverbi ally blind—are always inclined to grumble at the portraits when : they are finished. However ugly and awkward the sitters arc, they expeot the-portraits to be pretty and graceful. They never can understand that j the eyes of the camera oan’t be blinded i like the eye of a mother or a lover. On ! that morning I had the usual trouble with 1 both lovers and children. Lovers would i put eaoh other into the worst possible light! and the worst possible position) would be ! full of fluster and blushing, wonld start! and disarrange-everything just at the last! moment, would stare eaoh other, when sit ting, out of countenance. Then some of ; the children were frightened, and kioked and soreamed, and some were in high ■ spirits and jumped, off and on the chair, j and some were sniky and stiffened them- ' selves so that they couldn’t be got to sit at j | all. One baby woke up in the very act of, , having its likeness taken, and its portrait : tnreed out very muoh like a Catharine-: | wheel; of course I had several pictures of 1 children with balf-a-dozenoyes and any j number of fingers; so that the average number of glasses I used was about three to each child. Photographera tieed to have plenty, of patience. Taking portraits'is a . very different thing to having one’s portrait taken ; .and loan fanoy, though 1 am not : an idaagiriative man, that the feelings 'of the sitter .ar,e unlike enough to„those of the photographer.';-i ; 4.. - oyer S( i@£ *bove.the positives, Jiiad young ensign dame to me t» arrange-'«iK>at “THAT OOtTOTKY Bm XOn LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING-, APRIL 29, 1862. taking a groupe of officers of his regiment quartered in the town. A fat, :oily, dis senting parson wanted.a hundred copies of himself, to be sold to those sitting under him at seven and sixpence apiece, the pro ceeds to go toward - repairing his chapel. The local actors wanted a group of them selves in the characters of a favorite piece. Two pretty, young girls from, the; Ladies’ School wanted themselves taken with copies to give to all their sohool-fel lows. Altogether I had done a good day’s ■work, and as 1 smoked my evening pipo at the door of my van, 1 felt satisfied. I, was knocking the ashes out of my pipe, when an old man in a sober groom’s snit came up to me. . ‘ Humkins and Sorudge V he said to me, interrogatively. . ‘ Yes, my man,’. I said, ‘ Humkins and Sorudge. What do you want with them ?’ Thereupon he handed me a letter, the contents of which ran as follows: - ‘ C Vioarage. ‘Miss White wishes two views taken of o—ohuroh—an interior and an exterior view. She will thank Messrs. Humkins and Sorudge to inform her what would be their oharge for taking these photographs.’ I wrote a polite note in answer, enclos ing my terms. The groom took it back with him, and in less than an hour returned with another letter. ‘ Miss White will thank Messrs. Hum kins and Scrudge to take two views of C church to-morrow morning (if weather permit.) Any hour most conve nient to them will suit Miss White. She will have the photographs of the size nine inohes by seven.’ 1 packed up the necessary traps that night, and started with my wheelbarrow tent for the village of C a little after eight next morning. The urohins of L oheered me out of town somewhat derisively having that sort of contempt for my wheelbarrow tent whioh anything un accustomed exoite-t in the urohin mind.— Some of them accompanied me to o——, and the 0 children turned out in mass on my entrance, so that I left quite a crowd outside the vioarage gate. The distanoe to C - was not more than half a mile. I hoped to get my business done and be back again at my van in time for most of the portrait customers. The vioarage was little more than a cottage, but pleasantly ivy-oovered, and surrounded by a neatly laid out garden.— There was a lady in the garden, dressed in tbe deepest mourning. She advanced to meet me, whereupon I put down my tent and took off my hat. ‘ You are the photographer V she asked She was a tall, spare lady, not very young. She was pale-faced, and her eyes were sunken and dull. She looked un happy ; but her voioe was hard and her manner proud.. I had learned that the vioar, Mies White’s father, had died about a- month before; so l could aooount for her black dress and her unhappy look. It is strange how differently different people take grief. You may not know that we photographers sometimes have grave offices to perform, and see not a few people in their sorrow. In eases of hopeless illness we are oalled in to perpetuate the pain drawn features ; more than once I have been sent for to take the oold, still image of a dead face. In such ways ! have seen a good deal of grief, and observed how differently it affects people. It softens some and makes them beg, as it were, by gentle, softened looks and tones and man ner, for the human sympathy of even strangers and servants. It humbles some who have been proud before, making them feel, I suppose, how all—vulgar and gen teel, lords and beggars—are alike impotent in these losses. But others it hardens.— They oannot bear their fellow-oreatures to know that they are down.' They give Way to their grief in seoret, and come out from their ohambers with defiant eyes and rigid mouths. They resent the presence of any one, fearing that he has a hidden pity for them ; and feel as an affront eaoh common act or word of politeness. Miss White, I saw at a glance, was one of this latter kind. I put on my hat, and 3hid, indifferently : ‘ Yes, ma’am. Nine by seven 1 think you said for the size.’ ‘ I consider your charge exorbitant,’ she said, harshly. I explained why I was obliged to charge what seemed to her a smart prioe. This bit of business called me away from my portrait work; I lost a morning over it.— Then, interiors were difficult, sometimes impossible, to be taken. It all depended upon the amount of light. Churches are the darkest buildings 1 know. As if the long narrow windows did not admit a sufficiently small amount of light, they fill them often with yellow and red glass, on purpose to bother us photographers. Well, I told her the reason why I was obliged to tsharge her very much more than I should for taking her portrait; and then I eon-, seuted to lower my prioe a little. Somehow 1 knew that alia was poor.— Her dress was scanty and coarse, the orape was brown, her gloves were stained and mended. I knew that she would have to turn out of her old home;/as parsons’ fami lies always have to. I felt an extra pity for her because she was one of the over sensitive sort that will not acoept pity at any prioe. These notions passed through my miud as I stood talking. It must not be supposed, however, that I lowered my charge beoause I pitied her. Feelings are one thing, and business Is another. If I were jaok Ketoh I might feel sorry for the poor fellow with the rope round bis neok, bat I should do my duty all the same.— We always allow a little for coming down, and are open ,to making bargains, in'this branoh of our profession. For instanoe, a gentleman says, ‘I can’t give yon this prioe for the front view of my house;’ then we say, ‘ dome, sir, we’il take the baok j view in addition at half price,.’ That is the way we manage it. In the present ease, 1 agreed at last to throw in a small positive of the vicarage for my original i oharge. . - : j ‘1 will show yon the views I want yon rto take,’ said she, a little more graciously, : when it was settled; She went in for the big ohnreh-key, and then we started for the ohuroh, whioh was elose hy. The trail of children followed up at'some little/dis tanpa behind us, taking -up their poaition io rows on thb churoh wall and flat tomb stones when v?e?enterdd the'ohurobywd. •Just" within the gate we ph&ed up. ..." •- Wo.: opldfc.r.fc ''*4o * .be ttor than .. this, I kriow ih"*;:monient ; -.wh»t' Will,:make a l; better ohuroh thtarthat. ? WHXU LABO* OOmUHM XHX gUKATMT kTOAHO.”—rnnwimv - ‘Thatyiew,’; said the lady, ‘ will not - She* went on round the ohuroh, end by* and-by stopped. ‘ This is where it is to be taken from,’ she said, emphatically. Not a goodpioturc; bat I saw in a mo ment why: she chose that spot. There was a new tomb—very handsome tomb— in the foreground, with an inscription, < To the memory of the Reverend Theodore White, M. A., eto.’ ‘ We are to take in that-tomb, ma’am V I said. She scowled at mo, but her lips trembled. ‘ Yes. Now I will show yon the interior view.’ i So we went into the ohuroh. The view she chose there would not do at all. She had no notion of the light and:the dark side of a building. I found that she wanted the pulpit and the eommnnion table, and a tall square'pew (I suppose the vioarage pew) included in the pioture. I managed to get them all from'the opposite side of the ohuroh, and she said < that would do;’ and then, leaving me the key,'’returned at a quick paoe to the vioarage, while ! fol lowed more slowly, to arrange my traps. * First of all I took the bouse, finding all my chemicals to be in capital order. Then leaving my. dark tent in the oorner of the. garden, as the distanoe to the. ohuroh was so short, I prepared to take the exterior view. By the time that was finished,, the sun would have worked round sufficiently for me to set to work at the interior. The children bored me sadly, as they always do. The personal remarks they make one don’t care for, nor for the shout of laughter they set up when one puts one’s head under the focus doth; but they are apt to run before the lens, in pursuit of eaoh other, while one is taking a picture, and one can’t leave the camera at their meroy for a moment. However, I got the old groom, who had brought the letter on the preceding night, to stay by the oamera while 1 took the outside pic ture ; and then I looked the oamera in the church, and there it was safe enough. The ohurch was very dark. I had great difficulty in making out enough of a pic ture on my ground glass to arrange the Oamera by. However, I gotJt fixed right at last. I wanted more light. The belfry aroh was filled in with wood-work in which were doors. These I opened, and found other doors beyond, leading out into a poroh. The porch was closed in by. a gate of open paling-work, which was looked; so 1 could leave open the second pair of doors, too, and get light through the look ed paling gate, without suffering from the intrusion of the boys. It was just what I wanted. I fetohed my glass, whioh had been in the bath while I-focussed, looked myself again in the ohuroh, put the slide into the oamera, and uncovered the lens. Half an hour’s exposure, I decided, or a little more The light was beautiful; the sun was just covered with thin white olouds; there was as muoh light as one could have with out aotual sunshine. If the sun would pop out brilliantly during the last five minutes of exposure, nothing else could be desired. I think we photographers come .jo have a sixth sense about light. We can measure it just as if our eyes were the two pans of a balance. Or, I don’t think it is t ur. eyes, after all; .1 think we feel light rather than see it. I know as well as can be when my pioture is going on all right in the oamera. I feel when a flat gray dullness is oreeping over it ; I feel the moment when it polar izes into great white patches. I know when 1 am about to take it out, the very fraotion of a second at which it reaches its best; and sometimes I oan hit upon the exact fraction, beoause my fingers are not quiok enough for my inner sense. Half an hour in a church, with nothing to do, is a long time. The time passes slowly enough when the congregation are in the pe.ws and the parson in the pulpit, but a church is still duller on a week-day. All I could do was to look about me, and even in this amusement 1 was sadly oramped ; 1 could not move up the aisle far from the belfry-arch without ooming into the range of the lens, so that I oould take in but a distant view of most of the ohuroh. The boys in the ohurchyard at first 1 served to.distraot my attention. Of oonrse they had discovered the open doors, and ' they colleoted ronnd the poroh gate, look ing between its pales, and crying one to another, ‘ I see un, Bill—lookye, there he i be ;’ or saluting me with the insulting 1 question, ‘ Who. put his head into a box ?’ ' But after a time they became tired of 1 looking through the palingß into the ohuroh, and began to find it more enter- ! tabling to wage war among themselves.— The L—— boys and the o— hoys, I ! suppose, had a standing fend between them, as all boys of neighboring plaoes !'■ have. There was mneh rushing round the ohurchyard in pursuit of eaoh other, and 1 muoh shouting of their respective war cries, which consisted, I remember, of, ' ‘ Who put: the wheelbarrow in the pound ?’ on the L—— side, and ‘ Who biled the goose ?’ on the other. Now and then one wouldflatten his nose for a moment against a low window, or would send a shrill whis tle through the poroh gate; but they ceased to take any other notide of me. I am a good Christian, I hope ; and I don’t praotioe my trade (further than printing goes, whioh one-must do some times, under pressure of business) on a , Sunday, as some I oould mention do. Bat 1 must confess £ am not often ura ohnroh. For the last two years,.or thereabouts, 1 have been of the Baptist persuasion, and have attended pretty regularly to the min istrations of the Reverend Barnabas Shut tledore, of Ebenezer Chapel. Miss Mary Jane Serndge (sister of my partner,) whom I hope next month to lead from the altar Mrs. Humkins, junior, is of the Baptist persuasion and of a religions tnrn, whioh facts may aooonnt for my present belief.— The Baptists have a notion that a church is an improper plaoo, ecarooly bettor than a playhouse,' and) though We' are to be married in ohuroh—the' oeremdny there performed being held to be the most bind ing—l um sure that' Mary-Jane' would think the vrorxe ofmeif lentered a ohuroh for any other than professional purposes. Before I began to'make Up to Mary, I used regularly to have a day out ou'the Sunday thinking noharm, of .it then, though'l know better now. Biit I have) said enough to show .why I am not .muoh acquainted .with .ohurohes.in the. Jight of of taken some hslf dozen or more- wnd these' j&ggagsg yt r they are so different from each other, when, jThere were monuments on 'the' ohanoel Vail «s I suppose, all church people worship in m elsewhere. On a pillar olose to me was the same manner and believe the same a large piinted oard stating that a man things. - - might not marry' his. so .1 have taken .ohurohes; all titivated ofL.forth,-which: struok-me-as ourious. ' , with oolor and gilding, the walls colored * Exhausting that end of the ohurch in with printings whioh, like a bad hand, J twenty minutes and a fraction, X turned couldn’t be read by anybody but the man ; J my attention to the other. Three painted who printed it; the oommunion table set j- shields of arms ever the belfry arch. In out, like the sideboard in some grand i the belfry an old-iron chesty the tressles house, with lots of plate, big gold waiters I for. funerals, a ladder leading up to the and oandlestioks (which the Reverend! higher story, one bell-rope a good deal Shuttledore, preaching from somewhere worn. - That was all. Through the porch in Revelation, proved to be the mark of gate I oould see ■ the village-shop and the the beast;) tho pulpit inlaid with sham village inn; and aB I stood there, aboy jewelry; spread-eagles with book stands came suddenly round the corner upon me !on their backs; tiles with patterns on them with a shrill whistle that made me start, like greenhouse pavements ; gold stars on Twenty five, minutes. 1 watched a fat the ceiling at one end;, pews very low—• .toad crawling: slowly up the aisle.. A robin uncomfortable. for tho baok, 1 found on which had hitherto been flying to and fro, trying them, and without doors—not so perched upon a beam over my head and private as I should wish my pew to be.— began to sing. The sun popped out from Well, that is one kind of churoh. There behind the olouds and shone in through is a ohurch in London (I dare say my rea- every window along one side of the ohuroh. ders have been to see it among the other The pulpit looked darker'than ever be- : sights) whioh was built as a pattern of this hind the lines of light. I felt that my style. It is a regular show-place, and photograph was going on just right, but very successful, I should-think. Whether knew that Miss White -would find fault they ever had service in it I don’t know with' the pulpit. There would not be muoh for certain, but I fanoy not; they would of a pulpit to be seen. . be afraid, of spoiling it. This style of Verging upon the half-hour. I paced ohuroh is harder to take than any other, back to the belfry and peeped out through beoause of the red and yellow glass in the the rails again, like a wild beast in a show, windows. _ The minute-hand of my watch crept on. I . Then there is another kind o.f, ohuroh in have looked atit so often that I have learn- London: big, roomy galleries allround, ed to see it move. Time was jnst up. As supported on pillars beautifully painted to I turned to go to my oamera, I saw the bell look like marble (that, now, is art I can rope swinging to and fro; and immediately understand;) a great organ, all polished after the heavy sound of the bell eame mahogany and gilded pipes, like a hand- thundering down upon the top of my head, some olook-case ; a mahogany pulpit with 1 thought the bell, or the roof, or the whole an octagon sounding-board, and no expense tower was Coming down on mo too—it spared in the crimson cushions and frin- startled me so. The sound went trembling ges; high, square—what I oall oomfortable through the ohuroh ; and outside of the pews ; the Commandments printed very church through the air, too, as I soon found plain, so that one can’t misread them, and from the rushing of the boys to the porch framed off. from all tho rest of the orna- gate. However,! had my oamera to think ments, as if to draw particular attention, about just then, and Couldn’t stop to specn (lhe architects of tho style of ohurch de-. late on the bell. I believe if a lion stood scribed in the last paragraph seem to me between a photographic artist and his. oam to use the Commandments as if Heaven era when the time is up, the lion could not had expressly sent them to them as a nice stop him. safe bit of ornamentation that may be zig- Bringing my slide out of the churoh, 1 zagged over their olean-soraped wails in found the boys ready fair me. The sound endless varieties of Shape and color.)— of the bell had aroused the villagers, and Then there are monuments of marble, a good manpof.thamwerc-ataadiag at-their black and white nioely relieving each doors to see what was the matter. The other, with little fat cherub heads at the only way I conld aooount for its ringing corners, and cross bones and hour-glasses myself was by supposing that the wind had oarved in prominent positions. Over the shaken it. • communion table there is often a picture, Miss White met mo in the garden. I which, between the two square windows, < looks of a uniform deep brown snuff-color, except where, in the centre, some white ; faoe with upturned eyes, starts out from j the darkness with a sort of ghostly life. i Then there is the country church, of which the C church, now upon the 1 oarpot, may serve as a specimen. The i country churches, I suppose, will not last long in their present condition, if this rage i for titivating holds. Last year I took a view of a village ehurch, whioh had been lately ‘ restored,’as the term is; I don’t J set up for a man of taste, but it did not ' seem to me to go well at all with the green grass and the blue sky and the bright sun- ; shine outside. The coloring looked tawdy, like a masquerade dress the morning after. Everything looked too new and polished and clean, as if it had no affinity'with those outside Aveather influences, producing 1 stains, and damp, and dust. < I walked up and down my limited space of aisle between the pews, watch.in hand, seeing as much as I could see of the church. It was an old ramshaokled build ing. Ages ago everything had been whitewashed that could be whitewashed— ceiling and walls and oak-beams alike ; but ttys weather had been taking the white out of*it ever sinoe, marbling the walls with streaks . and patches of brown and gray, or vivid green. I oould make out in these stains, dim confused landscapes, hot unlike the productions of that artist named Cox, before mentioned. In places the plaster had fallen from the ceiling.:— The pews were like a parcel of old pack ing-cases or orange-boxes. . I never saw suoh pews before or sinoe; though the owners seemed ohary enough of them, in almost all their names being printed in black letters on a slab of white ground.— The flat square. tiles of the pavement had been mended up with common bricks, and here and there a stone had been let' in, the whole being assimilated by a ooat of green weather-stain. Tiny' plants were spring ing up in the interstices—in-the belfry quite a nursery garden of them. There Was a row of high-pointed arches on.one side, and of low round arohes on the other. A great pointed arch lcdjnto the chancel. Squeezed up in a corner, between the aroh and the first low Tound-beaded arch, was the pulpit. An awfully dark oorner— the .parson must have had hard work to read ; his sermon there on a winter’s afternoon. The pulpit, I thought to myself, will not come out well in my picture. The font was under one of the pointed arches, just opposite the ddor. The top of its lid was oovered, for some reason or other, with' a fool’s oap. The lady had wanted me to include the font, too, in the picture; but it was simply impossible. Now, I may ie wrong, but this ;is the notion I have of what was passing in the lady’s mind. She was poor; she was. going to leave the home where-she had lived all her life, and she must have something to take away with her to remember the old plaoe by, though she could not afford to spend much. Perhaps she wouldhave chosen a view of the vioarage before anything (how ; her eyes brightened up when I promised to throw in that little positive!), but then it struck her that a view of the cbiiroh would be more proper. There was the grave, she ' must have that, at any rate ; then, there was the font where she was christened ; and there was the communion table where she had taken r the sacrament, and where, at one time, for anything I know, she might have had a chance of being married; and there was thepew where she had sat Sunday after Sunday ,; -and there was :the pulpit; her father had preaohed from;— Women have a sentiment in these matters | Of religiott. :; I knOw Miuy Jane looks'on ! Ebenezer Cbapel as s sort of holy grouhd ; j and has a portrait of the Jleverend shut-; - tledore' (worst, photograph 1. ever .saw): whioh she hangs up opposite , mine. .. *• 'J Well, to go on ..with; my; description-: through the. chahfri arch the ppmmnniou table was to be seen handsome' worked ; coyer to it, oak fails before .it ? ' pp.oamsh<d- Jnents very plain in yellg#. tyi A; blue ground, high up on either fjde.: - man ryellewJetteni wwßld oeme outblsokina photograph, and fighV.sL could sec she was ia a towering passion. 4 If I had thought, sir,’ she said, ‘that yon did not know how to respect a sacred plaoe where you were admitted on suffer ance, I would not have employed you.’ ‘ Ma’am,’ I answered, for I was nettled, ‘ as for respect; 1 took off my hat, though there was a draught like the wind from a . blaoksmith’s bellows. I should no more think of touching the bell than yon would.’ ‘ Don’t add to yonr sin,’ she said; make haste and finish your work, and let me get rid of you.’ There is nothiug riles a man more than a false aconsation. I knew I should lose my temper if I spoke; beside, my picture . was spoiling, so I turned on my heel and duoked my head into the dark tent. lam afraid I am using a great many expressions which people who know nothing of photography will not understand. But there is scarcely a family now whioh has not an amateur photographer in it: some young lady who spoils her pretty little fingers, or some young gentleman who blackens his shirt ouffs and cambrio pocket handkerehiefs, and whose pictures are not quite worth the spoiling of either. How ever, for the benefit of those who hare not a photographic amateur in the family, 1 will explain that, when I say /began to develop my picture, / mean that 1 poured on to it a certain chemical solution which brings out gradually all the details of light and shade whioh are already there, but unseen. I began to develop. The windows started out in a moment, then came the patohes of sunlight, then the white monu ments on the walls, then the polished edges of the pews ; and then, very slowly the outlines of the arches, the round pillars, the walk between the pews, the details of the pews themselves, the communion table with its railings, the Commandments, and the pulpit. / have heard people talk about topo graphy as if it were a very mysterions matter. I dare say that to a novice, the gradual coming out of a picture under.de velopment seems mysterious the first time or two. But it is the simplest thing in nature. Ii is the light and the obemicals that do it. Good light, good lens, and good ohemioals—these are yonr tools. / have seen in print a great deal of poetical nonsense about photography—waves of light, images thrown off from people and caught and retained by magic— 1 < qusedam simulaora, modeis pallentia mirels,’ (7 copy that letter for letter-out of 'a book ;) .‘phantoms strangely pale,’ it means as they translate it. underneath. You may j be sure that when any one begins to write j poetically on a subject, he knows nothing j of that subject. There is nothing poetical' to be got out of what one knows; and every photographic artist will tell you that there is nothing In;.the .world more plain and mattor-of-faot than photography.: Whatever there is in range of your lens you will have in yoUr pioture. But some times an extraordinary occurrence willj happen in the most ordinary routine. An extraordinary occurrence'happened in the development of my picture. 1 can’t ex plain it in the least, but / am going to tell yon what it was. 7 had said all along in my own mind that the pulpit would not oomo out well. Jn de veloping, a space remained perfectly white in- tfie dark pulpit-corner between the twp arches, while the rest of the picture was showing more and more detail every moment. This was natural, and what / bad expected- Toward the last a pinnacle of the pulpit on the light side and the edge of the 1 cushion- o'ame faintly into :sight. ; ; Then suddenly a great blur made its ap /pearahoe-where the blur'Ought not to have [ been;: I had never known, m all my pro fessional practice,* stain like this or oom. : ing in the same manner. The stain came •as ifiit. were shot into the picture ; sharp outlined, distinetj full of:minute;detail. >. 7 vpa puaslgd,. .i bebjLths'giass np;tO;.sh.e ;Jight<\/t w»motA «lwn.; ; 4tjf'aa.jtBgiie7 i- Jtt&fc’yidte thjt,-s|}o-qould : pet have - the,; photographs. ■aS'hncfcwnd i'would that ; 1 'the? nera"ftve!”vi^wl' v of». ■ that she would deteot; with let unpractised ‘ *- y v«y - *■ 'ey*, fignre in the^pulpit,'"?Peopln . never om tnika out a negative, where all the whitcK’.jML-hUek and all the blaoks ! white, bring her tho mo j tures on thtttteA eYemng; and ao pieced up my and ntSrqedjto the van. 1 prmted. that watohing the printing-frames lathe iutorsfils of portrait taking. Thftfigure- cimeout TOjaarfully : sharp and distinct—an old white dressed blwkj|dwttjwyeiy foldof. wblah was visible* witbw|pair of white .bands hanging down I hesitated a little whethe^f'would not leave ihlafigure out of the pie tore, whioh of oourse i hnewjhow to tMn&e? But at I la&t.ldaoided let was. 1 fMm6d tft<>m to. 0 vioaragei'pff tnefeHeiS^aftemoon, when it was too late for portraits. ' I knocked at the door, and a servant let mo in and showed me to. a tooin.. where Miss. White in disorder. They? were evidently pail king up for leaving. Miss White was .overlook ing a man who was . putting ah oil pio.tuM into a case. It was a portrait bfagentle man. Though the face wasmuohybuhger, it struck me like lightning, this was die same person as the figure in my : photo graph. . --'■ ? Miss. White took off the paper in which I bad wrapped the pictures;' Of course she saw the figure in a-moment. : a . She gasped out, ‘ Papa l’ and fell to the ground as if she had been I oaught the picture aashefell.sothat the.glasses were not broken.. * * * * » 4 /kepp the negative among iny curiosi ties. ’ ... TTIUK LASCaSTEB IXtBLUOUnUIB I JOB PRINTING ESTKBLISHStBNT, - No. 8 NORTH DDKS STREET," liAKOABTBBfPJL Tho Jobbing Department is thoroughly forolihed with now aud elegant type of every description, and Is under the charge of a practical and experienced Job Printer/ The Proprietors are preparod to PRINT CHECKS, ' NOTKB, LEGAL BLANKS, CARDS'AND CIRCULARS, BILL HEADS AND HANDBILLS, - - PROGRAMMES ANDTOSTHRS. PAPER BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS, h V BALL TICKETS AND INVITATIONS, PRINTING IN COLORS AND PLAIN PRINTING, with neatness, accuracy and dispatch, on the most reason*] ble terms, and in a manner not excelled by any establish ment in the city. 49* Oiiiers? from a. distance, by mall or otharwiae, promptly attended to. Address A GEO. SANDERSON A SON, Intelligencer Offlo*. No. 8 North Dnfce, street. Lancaster, Pa. RO O V l N a S (i A T"H V PRICES REDUCED AT GEORGE M. BTEINMAN A CO’S HARDWARE BTORE, IN WEST KING BT. Persons in want of Rooting Slate,' or wishing to havs their buildings covered with Slate, will find it. to their interest to cill as above. Having made ar range mentdlbr a large supply of very superior quality, they will bo offered at prices to suit the times. Also a general assortment or HARDWARE, to whioh the attention of Farmers, Mechanics and Merchants is Invited, mar 11 -6m & • PHOTO G RAP A Y IN ALL ITS BRANCHES. Executed in the best style known in the art, at C. G. CRANE'S Al*h MR T 532 Arch Street, East or Sixth, Philadelphia. • LISE SIZE IN OIL AND PABTIL. STEREOSCOPIC POR TRAITS , . s Ambrotypea, Daguerreotypes, Ac., for Oases,'Medallldna Puib, Rings, Ac. fmarlQ 21y pRY GOODS AT O Ij D PRIOR 8 WENTZ BROS. nave in store a large stock of DOMESTIC GOODS, Muslins, Sheetings, Shirtings, Calicoes, Ac., Worthy the attention of nil Housekeepers, and those about commencing. GOOD CAUGOE3, IQ, 12}£. 15 and 18 cents., Bleached and Unbleached Sheetings and Shirtings, with ft large assortment of HOUSEKEEPING GOODS, ilany of thorn purchased before the advance'in prices. Consequently selling at Old Pricu. t JUST OPENED i. NEW LOT OP BALMORAL SKIRTS, ' Beautiful PurpJes—Magenta—Green—Bearlet—Blue* 1 CASE RICH NEW STYLE DE LAINES, Bellloj? At the Old Price, 25 center THE WHILE STOCK OV ' ‘DRESS GOODS , . SELLING OFF AT REDUCED PRICES, . To make room for Spring Stock. WENTZ BROS., No. 5 East King etroet. feb 18, tf 6] PENNSYLVANIA ST ~A T E CONVENTION.- TO PABTORB, SUPERINTENDENTS AND AND FRIENDS OF THE SABBATH-SCHOOL OAUBE IN TUB STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA. Deab Bbsthben : At a meeting of the Philadelphia Sab* batb'Scbool Association, held in the Bar. Dr. Wadsworth’s church, February 17,1862, it was unanimously resolved to holds' STATE SABBATH-SCHOOL CONVENTION IN TUB CITY OF PHILADELPHIA, ON WEDNESDAY, MAY 28, 1862, Commsso.lsQ.it 10 O’.OIOOK. A. M. Iff THE “ FIRST fyPKPENDBSrT CHURCH/* BROAD STREET, BKLOW OETESTNDT. The object of the Convention U la .brief: ... First. To obtain an accurate view and survey of the State in Its Sabbath-school aspects. Second. To devise ways and means by which to impart increased vigor and efficiency to the Sabbath-schools; reach the deetitntlons, and increase the general interest.. Bach and all of yon-are most earnestly and respectfully requested to co operate with os in these otyeets, and. we particularly request, ' ' . 1. Your presence to the Convention at Philadelphia. Bring yonr pastor with yon, if possible. 2. Gather up and send ns by mail, withontdelay, aßtha well ascertained statistics bearing -on this subject, and especially the condition and destitution of the' schools'ln yoor town and county. . ' ;: . 3. Fill ihe blanks in the annexed statistical table 'as nearly accurate as possible, and forward It to ns by .mail, with as little delay as practicable. . ' 4. Appoint at least one delegate to represent your school in the Convention, add report to ns by May 1. A general and earnest invitation Js extended to all the friendscf the Sabbath-school cause to. attend; bnt.Jt.ls specially desired and expected, that each Sabbath-school will be represented by at least one delegate*. Send'your best tnon, brethren, to this important Convention. Excursion tickets will be issued, at half fare, to dele* gatee 6n starting by the following railroads: Pennsylva nia Central, Northern Central,-Beading, North' Pennsyl vania, and Cumberland Valley. , -V Liberal arrangements will be made fbr the entertainment of delegatesj and to enable this to bo done in a suitable manner, it is particularly requested that delegates'should inform the Committee at-an earlydato; of their appoint ment and expected attendance at the Convention. , - Delegates will plfcaserepoTi on their arrival, at tbe rooms of the Young Men’s Christian Association, Nos. 1009 and 1011 Cbpstnut street. All commonicatlons shoald be addressed tha Com mittee on State Bonday-School Convention, JBox No. : 020, Philadelphia P. 0.” JAMES POLLOCK. V WILLIAM 'GETrY, JOHN M. HARPBB, ' _S.B. SIMON&. ' <3oa f nltt# f‘ JOHN A. NEFF, r. L. L. HOUPT; ■ J statistical tabl;b*.. Name and location of school. . i..' WheD crganfced ? Name of snperintendent. How many tochers? Ho#maay-sdnolara? Average attendance. How many scholars' converted .since the orgahiiatioiif How many Bible-classes ? ....... Do you hold a teacberVmoctSbgf; - •" Doyoasupportamlwion-school? . Do yon hold a monthly Sunday-school concert ? Do you hold one.or two sessions.!^' -'vv- ■:* £.r Number of volumes In library. ; How m*ny ‘of the teachers were Aube scholars in a Sunday-school l : / . - Contributions to- Christian and benevolent otrjeets post year. ; ; What proportion of the children in youreo min amity are in Sunday-schools? ; ; v . faprl tf 12 BRESSLEa*Bv HATH JXKJSLBY STOSS, : : - No. aJS Bth Stud* J&OTK-TUGM, . PHILADELPHIA. .. - Onfcaad andfor sale,; aVchoiceCaaSortmeßt’oi ropetfor patterns, and wHI plait to order . BRACELETS,^ r V-- 1 • EARRINGS,.- FTNGKIt'ItHSrGS,'' BREAST-PINS, “ CROSSES, ---,- - . '/ iNBOKDAOTBi • GUABB. AND,- '• sr~\;: TBBTOHMN9. 49* Orders enclosing the bair to,iftjwW WJlttWj by mail. G ire a drawing m De “ ** £££ 2 n «S.^ff‘** n 4 «ncIOM E«tll , iaadOnt *»y?‘‘ ■», ,- Ctete'U lollops »WS* BonaHi,Ai i “ I *A TMM > *Vft N0.16*
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers