398 



THE BEB-KEEPFK.S' REVIEW 



Fktorg 



For some seven or eight y ars I have been 

 working with a camera. I have read books and 

 journals on \ hotography, and studied the sub- 

 jcci something as we bee-keeperR study bee- 

 keeping. I have learned that there is ;x differ- 

 euce between a view and a picture The latier 

 mus not only please the eye, must appeal to oiir 

 love of the beautiful and the picturesqu , but it 

 must al o TELL us SOMETHING. It must awaken 

 thought; n ust suggest more than is shown. 

 Then there must be technical perfection. We 

 mus' I ot have our attention distracted, or our 

 pleasure niari ed, by bungling workmanship. 

 Not once in a thousand times do we get a "chance 

 picture.'' A real picture is studied over, and 

 thought out, and planned, and exLsts in the mind 

 of the artist long before he puts hand to the 

 camera; which is simply 1 he tool that aids him 

 in pu ting his ideas into tangib e, visible form. 

 The more sk Uful the handling of the camera, 

 the more perfect the knowledge regarding the 

 processes of dtvelopiiig, printing, toning, etc., 

 the more clearly and beautifully can the artist 

 picture his ideas. 



Of the hundreds of views that I have taken, 

 perhaps a few might be fairly entitled to the 

 honor of being called pictures. There are four, 

 in pa ticular, at which I never tire of gazing 

 and I often wish that my friend , the readers of 

 the Review, might enjoy them with me I have 

 thought about this so much, how subscribers 

 might delight in having upon their walls pic- 

 tures ninde b.. their editor's own hand, that I 

 have decid d to describe these pictures, and al- 

 low my friends the opportunitj- of securing 

 them. 



THE OLD MILL DAM. 



At the bottom of a deep gorge, its banks lined 

 with thrifty lindens, drooping elms and dark 

 green pines, somebodj-. years ago, built a high 

 dam, with a mill close beside it, just above where 

 a brook went tumbling down over a series of 

 rocky ledges. The water comes down over the 

 dam in thin hheets here and ttiere, so thin thnt 

 its liquid clearness can be seen, almost felt, and 

 then, in filmy whiteness, goes dashing from one 

 ledge of rocks to another into a limpid pool at 

 their feet. In some places the black rocks can 

 be seen through the delicate, white, misty veils 

 of water that hang in front of them. The dark 

 holes up in under the big timbers forming the 

 flume that carries the water to the mill are such 

 as might awaken strange, weird fancies in an 

 .mag^iuative mind. In sheltered nooks about 



the old mill with its broken windows, robins 

 build their nests, and, at evening, warble their 

 vespers from the withered limbs of a tall, dead 

 pine standing near. Over all is the golden sun 

 shine, throw ng into bold relief all thing- 

 upon whicli it falls, making beautiful contrn.sl.- 

 with objects left in the shade, and filling the 

 very .\ir with its vi-armth and brightness. 



IN THE SWEET SPRINGTIME. 



This is a scene in an old apple orchard, taken 

 at that season <,f the year when the whole coun- 

 try is one blush of bloom, filling the air with a 

 fragrant sweetness; when fleecy clouds float 

 lazily evergreen meadows, and, from topmost 

 boughs, happy birds are cheering their mates 

 sitting patiently upon nests hidden away among 

 the branches be ow. Under foot the new grass 

 is yet soft and tender, and the wide-spreading 

 branches of the apple trees are almost hidden 

 by the masses of pink and white promises of 

 future fruitfulness. Almost instinctively, in 

 looking at this picture, the bee-keeper listens 

 for the hum of the bees. 



WHERE THE SUNSHINE LOVES TO LINGER. 



In Michigan, fifty miles north of Detroit, lies 

 a farming country delightfully picturesque. 

 Hills and valleys, cultivated fields and green 

 meadows, clumps of evergreens and .scrub-oaks, 

 little gems of lakes and babbling brooks, big 

 red barns and comfortable farm-houses, all com- 

 bine in making a picture of comfort and con- 

 tent upon which the sunshine loves to linger. 

 I,ast July I packed mj' camera, took the train 

 for Davisburg, Oakland County, and was fortu- 

 nate enough to fine a characteristic view just as 

 the sun, very reluctantly, was giving up the 

 Ian .scape to the coming twilight. In the fore- 

 ground is a hay field, and the long shadows cast 

 by the hay cocks and clumps of bushes show 

 most conclusively that the sunshine clings as 

 long as possible to the lovely scene with its 

 brook, and lake, and hills, and farm-buildings, 

 and beautiful, dreamy, white clouds overhead. 



FAREWELL SUMMER. 



Corn in the shock, big yellow pumpkins on 

 the ground, goldenrod blooming in the fence 

 corners, brown leaves falling from the maples, 

 a mellowness in the sunshine that gilds the 

 ripened corn, all proclaim that the reign of sum- 

 mer is ended. . 



Into these pictures I have put my whole 

 heart; spending days in selecting the scenes and 



