IN AN IDLE HOUR.

Dominion, Volume 2, Issue 473, 3 April 1909, Page 14

IN AN IDLE HOUR.

A SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATION.

"VERY ELEMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY."

(BY "WI.")

Henceforth I shall regard photographers with profound respect, as gentlemen who have, successfully assaulted the principles or a complicated science. I have not always so regarded them. Hitherto I have looked lightly upon their achievements;, in a discreet sort of way I have nourished dislike to certain of them, and have frequently endorsed, as appropriate and distinctive, the i term "camera fiend," which someone, in a moment of exasperation, thought fit to apply to them years ago. Bufr—ali, yes, those "huts I" Whatever contumely I may have heaped upon them in the past, I now unreservedly withdraw. In the light of my recent personal experiences, I conceive these gentlemen to belong to the distinguished company of scientific investigators, patient explorers in the mazes of a baffling subject, who have martyred their friends and relations; and imperilled their immortal souls. I Buy a Camera. I will now tell you why I say these things. In one of my rare moments of affluence, 1 conceived the idea of making _ an experimental investigation in the science or photography, and to that end I bought a second-hand camera. It was of an oldfasbioned box type, quarter-plate, con " strncted to carry twelve plates, and fitted with an exceptionally good lens. _ This last attribute I quote on the authority of the man who sold me the camera. He was an honest and respectable man, and I believe he told the truth. It mattered nothing to mewhether 1 the camera was old-fashioned or, not. The business of the moment was to' learn how to produce photographs, and so far as elementary principles are concerned, one. camera is as good as another. With the camera under my arm, and an indefinable sense of elation in my deportment, I went to a certain establishment where all sorts and conditions _ of photographic lure were temptingly displayed to new. The man took one look at the camera, another at me, and drew his own conclusions. 1 noted his features and resolved upon strategy of a subtle and phychological kind. I played the "greeny" for all I was worth. I said: ( "I know nothing about photography—absolutely nothing." He nodded, comprehendingly, and I went on: "I want you to equip me on a modest but reliable scale, to the extent that I shall have the means, if not the ability, to produce photographs—see?" He saw, and was straightway filled with a compassionate regard for my personal and- scientific interests. Would I leave the selection to him? I would. I did. Next day a large parcel, about three feet long and one foot and a half wide, arrived at my place of abode. I deduced from the label, "fragile—with care," that the parcel contained photographic apparatus ; of the precise nature of the same I was ignorant, pleasantly ignorant. Anticipation. There were tremendous possibilities in that f.rcel; the idea tickled my imagination, and was conscious of an agreeable sensation of anticipation. I opened the parcel. About a dozen pamphlets, tho- publications of vari- ' ous enterprising firms, fell out and were scornfully thrust aside. Then came a manual of the art; this was treated with ■ some , respect, as its author, I hoped, would be my guide, philosopher, and. friend. I won't . mention his name, for at a later stage in this chronicle of scientific research I shall have occasion to complain of this gentleman. Suffice it to say that as a guide ho was incompetent, as a philosopher he was a failure; my friend he can never be. But let that pass. I laid the book down, and took out the other articles. A large porcelain trough, a small dish, a measure-glass, one dozen plates, two dozen self-toning papers, a galvanised ■ tin contrivance like a toast-rack, a deep japanned tin trough, a large package labelled "hyposulphite of-soda"—this legend inspired witnin me considerable awe—a / bottle labelled "meto-quinol"—more awe inspired here—and a tin candlestick fitted with a thick red-coloured glass shade, with a corrugated cone-shaped top. With the parcel also came my camera, "loaded." I handled it carefully, as if it were a loaded revolver. All that mortal man could di) for me had now, I presumed, been done" and thus organised I commenced my investigations in photographic science.

The Spirit of the Fiend. Next day I went across tie . harbour. in the ferry steamer,'and on the way over I began to realise something of the sensation which inspires the camera fiend to his worst excesses. It was a morbid kind of feeling, of the sort that must possess animals of prey when in search of quarry, or the killing lust ■ which overwhelms the small boy who goes into the bush with his new pea rifle. I fairly itched to "snap" something. Seated not far away was a lady absorbed in her book. She was neither beautiful nor beautifully dressed. Yet when my eye fell upon her on tho deck of the steamer an overpowering desire possessed me to "snap" her. All I had to do —or thought I had to do—was to see that her imago was correctly focussed in the viewfinder, and "press tho button." I did so, and throughout that afternoon I continued to do so. I was in the full grip of the "camera fiend." In the "Dark Room."

111 uit? uurn nuum. I The next phase of the investigation was that mysterious process called "develop- * ment," and I proceeded to read, slowly and - carefully, the chapter which my guide, philosopher, and friend had written under that heading. The author had described it as a "book for boginners." Whatever it was, it was certainly not that. He told me in a ponderous, didactic sort of way, what I had to do. If ho had told mo what not to do, I should have been better pleased, for everything I should not have done, I did. I put both feet through every canon, rule, regulation, principle and law of photographic development extant, spilled about a gallon of cold water over my legs, and' lost my temper. I made no negatives that evening. I drew "blanks" every time, and discovered, on retracing my mothods, that I had omitted to uncover the' lens before pressing the instantaneous shutter button. Under these circumstances, I might have "snapped" for a week and accomplished nothing. There was therefore nothing for it but another try. Tho Gat Injured. Noxt day began auspiciously. Before I went to bed at night, I had taken two successful "snapshots," two good "time exposures," developed with fair success, spoilt all. with a supreme act of folly, lost my temper, and seriously injured an unoffending cat. It was this way. Having taken the photographs, I retired to the dark room, and thanks to a little more care and system, and attention to detail, emerged with four promising negatives. These were scrupulously washed, in compliance with tho regulations made and provided, and had the remainder of the work been given th< Banto patience and care, I really believt that I should have succeeded. ' It was getting on in the afternoon, I wa! desperately anxious .to get a print, and ] yielded to a temptation to hurry on matter! a little. Tho "book" had said,- "dry thi plates in a warm plaoe." • Now, warmth is i matter of degree, I reasoned, that if th< plates would dry satisfactorily in a warn place, they might be expected to dry mor< quickly in a warmer plaoe, : nnd so I put then all in the oven. About a quarter, of'an hou later I abstracted them. They were ruined completely. Long black canals trickled, acros tho plates, and dripped disconsolately on t ■ the floor. I said nothing. The occasion wa beyond the resources of language. I opene the window, stuck the plates-together—the stuck gladly—and hurled them into the bac yard. An ear-splitting oee—ra—owl wen np immediately afterwards. Tho arrival c the plates in the vicinity of the dustbin ha synchronised with the arrival, at the sam spot, of a large grey torn cat.