S42 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
_ al * —_— 
s [ Nov. 27, 1884. % 
AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY. 
A TONING BATH. 
Hditor Forest and Stream: 
Afewmonths azo you published an arti¢le on ‘‘Amateur Photo- 
graphy,’ and gave your readers therein a formula for a developer 
which Lhave tried and found to answer admirably, Will you please 
give us one for a toning bath with particulars as to manipulation, 
etc.? H. R. 
Montrwar, Nov, 16, 1884, 
To tone prints successfully the first essential point is to 
have the prints to be toned properly printed. They should 
be carried beyond the reddish color to a dark brown, and 
after printing should be kept free from the effect of light. 
To tone prints three trays and three baths are required. The 
preparations to be used are as follows: (1) Put 1 ounce of 
bicarbonate of soda and 8 ounces of water into a bottle and 
cork, Call this A, (2) Dissolve in a bottle 74 grains of 
chloride of gold in 74 ounce of waters and cork. Call this B. 
(8) Onc hoitle of French azotate, AJlof these can be bought 
prepared, 
The first bath is made up of Gounces of water and 4 ounce 
of A, 
Por the toning bath put into another tray six ounces of 
water, one ounce of Wrench azotate and then add—always 
Jast—one ounce of chloride of gold solution from bottle B. 
Mix fhis by pouring into the graduated glass and back to 
tray two or three times. 
The last or fixing bath is made by dissolving one ounce of 
hypo-sulphite of soda ia eight ounces of water. All of these 
baths should be made with tepid water in winter. 
Put the prints into the first bath face down, and be sure 
to have each one wet before putting in another, Continue 
this until from 20 to 25 or lessare inthe tray. Let them soak 
about ten minutes and then pour all the liquid off, and rinse 
the prints in one or two changes of water, or until the water 
loses its milky appearance, Then add more water to the 
tray so as to partly fillit. Lift the prints out one by one and 
put into the toning bath. 
Tn this bath the prints will turn finally to arich blue, and 
should be sepsrated and turned over, so that the solution 
will come in contact with the whole face of the print. As 
fast as they become of the right color take them out and 
place in a basin of clean water andrinse. Now, fill the 
basin again with water and place them one by one in the last 
or fixing bath, where they will change first to a reddish 
brown, but Keep them here until they return to the original 
or a trifle lighter color than when in the toning bath. After 
this they can be taken ont and put into a basin of clean 
water, and there thoroughly washed. If the hypo is not 
all washed off, the prints will become yellow and fade out. 
The prints should now be hung up to dry slowly, but be 
aure that all the moisture is allowed to run off. 
Ghe Sportsman Gonrist. 
A PRAIRIE PICTURE. 
NE slim horn of the crescent moon showed its pale, sil- 
yery tip above the western horizon; in the east the olive 
of the over-arching sky was faintly mellowing to an ashy 
eray, and the hoar frost glimmered white on roof, and fence, 
and plank sidewalk, as a shaggy form gathered up the lines 
and climbed to a front seat, while two more fur-clad shapes 
aecupied the rear, and over the soundless dirt of a prairie 
road we left Carrelton behind, and were swallowed up in the 
vague «arkness, Somewhere ahead of us in the marsh 
lands of the north or west the mallard and the teal awaited 
our coming, perhaps even Wawa, the wild goose, and We- 
nockbish, the brant, might welcome us with vibrant clang of 
“‘haleyon vociferation.”” Forty pounds of dog meat wrapped 
up in a mangy hide, saoozed and blinked, gurgled and 
yelped at our feet; eight holes with iron around them, like 
so many round-cyed owls, gazed vacantly up to heaven, as 
if meditating the propriety of sending half a pound of chilled 
shot through the milky way, and three prophetic souls, pro- 
jecting themselves into the future, were wondering how, on 
the morrow, they could transport homeward the immense 
crowd of lamellirostrate natatores which would insist upon 
accompanying them, 
“At Buffalo, up leaped, of a sudden, the sun, 
And against him the houses stood black, every one.” 
Like a whirlwind of wrath we descended upon the one 
friend we had in. the place—patient, long-suffering, and full 
of kindness—and smote him with the besom of destruction. 
Mapnanimously he yielded himself to the inevitable, and 
offered up, on the sacrificial altar of friendship, gum boots, 
thick clothing, cigars, candy, pocket compass, cheese, all he 
had and was, to hurry uson our way, Leaving him denuded 
and spoiled, we wheel northward, and soon leave behind us 
the thin line of iron that links the east to the west. 
But the atmosphere is growing hazy, the blue sky is turn- 
ing gray, a creosotic odor replaces the tang of morning ozone, 
and a blur of smoke on the northern and western horizon 
tell us the prairies are on fire. Who cares? Are we not 
salamanders? Let us proceed! The road has long since 
dwindled to a gopher track and run down a hole, so bear off 
for that break in the line of smoke yonder, and we'll see if 
we cant win through. But on that ridge to the left see the 
fire fash over the top, and come down upon us with the 
speed of a racer. Out! and set back-fires if you don’t want 
to be roasted before your time! Hurry, you’ve uo time to 
lose! Up into the wagon again, turn your backs on the foe 
that is leaping toward you with ravening jaws, and follow 
closely the wall of flame that sweeps eastward in your rear. 
Lash your frightened horses into a run, it’s a race for life or 
death! Never mind the smoke that blinds and chokes, keep 
your eyes and mouth shut, cover the cartridges, that a flying 
spark may not blow you skyward; turn up your coat collars 
and pull down your hats tightly over your head, so that the 
fierce heat may not bake your brain; keep the horses ou the 
jucap, and bar gopher holes, we'll beat the fire yet! And so 
we do; and pulling up on the burnt, bare sward, we watch 
the riotous flames go roaring past on either side, as though 
maddened at losing their expected prey, (As the grass was 
fully two inches high, the experienced plainsman will see at 
once how terrible was the fate we so narrowly escaped.) And 
now stand up in the wagon and look around. What do you 
see? 2,356 miles (be the same more or less) of burned and 
blackened prairie. Any chance for ducks in that waste of 
charred stubble and gray ashes? Drive on, coachee! we 
came a-hunting and are not going to turn back merely be- 
cause there’s nothing to hunt, 
Methinks I see, on the dim horizon bar, the square outline 
of human habitation. There will be rest, till to-morrow’s 
sun lights us on our homeward way. Hullo! it’s a school 
house! Drive up, and let’s interview the school ma’am. 
Hullo again, it’s filled with wheat up to the level of the 
windows. Education and agriculture hand in hand. But 
from where, in this flat expanse of vacancy, can come the 
children which shall, or the wheat which doth, fill this 
temple of learning? Ah! here be wagon tracks, tlem Jet us 
follow, and mayhap the mystery shall be solved, And so, 
in good time, itis, for here at last, run to earth, is our solitary 
wheat and children raiser, with his 7x9 house, and his 70x90 
barn and stable. ‘Settled here three years ago, organized a 
school district, twelve miles long by six wide (two families 
therein—his and Dutch Charlie’s—latter consisting of Charlie 
wand dog), votes tax, issues bonds, builds a tive hundred 
dollar school house, and, while his babies are growing up, 
utilizes it (thrifty man!) as-a wheat granary.” Such his 
simple story. But his hospitality is as large as his sebool 
district, and just now includes more hungry mouths within 
its bounds. Supper over, let us listen to his epic of Pluelx 
and Poverty. 
Four years ago he was standing on the railroad platform at 
Valley City, watching the train that had borne him thither fade 
away in the west. Assets, a fair stock of clothing and bed- 
ding, an axe, a wife, three babies, and fifteen dollars in cash. 
Hires out to work and wife takes in washing. During winter 
carries mail on horseback to Page, thirty miles away; up one 
day and back the next. Only freezes his nose, ears, fingers 
and feet once a week on an average. In spring takes up 
claim, nearest neighbor sixteen miles, builds shack, and on 
Noy, 15, after paying off debts, finds himself ready to face a 
Dakota winter with twenty pounds of flour, no meat, no 
sugar, no coffee, nofuel butdried sod. Spends his only five- 
dollar bill for steel traps; traps mink, traps badger, traps 
muskrat, shoots and traps geese snd brant, carries them 
twenty miles to market, and in spring has over a hundred 
dollars in pocket. At present has comfortable house, good 
barn, four horses, ten head of cattle, twenty pigs, a hundred 
head of poultry, two farm wagons, two reapers, a thresher, 
six hundred bushels of wheat, forly tons of hay, fuel and 
provision for winter, and owes no man anything. __ 
This Iliad being sung, we spread our blankets on fresh- 
thrashed wheaten straw, and fallasleep. Next day’s ‘‘slow- 
descending sun” witnesses our re-entrance into Casselton. 
‘‘How many ducks did we kill?” What is that to thee, 
O inquisitive one? Ask Charlie or Fred; as for the writer, 
he scorns to degrade the record of a two-days’ “‘outing” into 
the mercenary catalogue of a poulterer’s bill. 
H, P, Urrorp. 
DOWN THE MUSQUAGUMAGUM. 
this day the Northern Peninsula of Michigan is a 
2 
iy o wilderness. Settlements more or less extensive lie upon 
its borders, but their influence on the back country is unfelt, 
There it lies, a vast region, covered with pine forests and 
seamed with iron, dotted with Jakes and netted with rivers, 
Camps of the lumbermen are beside some of the greater 
streams, and iron mines are in intermittent operation in the 
north and along that portion known as the ‘““Menominee 
Range.” But by far the greater part of the country is ab- 
solutely unsettled, and uninhabited save by a few of the 
Chippewa and Menominee Indians— 
‘Whom our gentle Uncle Samuel 
Is improving yery smartly, 
In the face of all creation, 
Off the face of all creation’ ’— 
as Punch eloquently remarked years ago. 
The Menominee River forms a part of its southwestern 
boundary. This river receives from the north two principal 
tributaries, the Michigamie and the Paint; beyond the mouth 
of the Paint the river changes its name and becomes the 
Brulé, and as such receives another tributary stream, the lron 
River. All these rivers may be investigated with profit. 
The hunting and fishing thereabouts might be described as 
the Irishman described whisky: ‘‘To be sure,” says Paddy, 
“some brands may be better than others, but there is no such 
thing as bad whisky.” So of these rivers; they are all 
good. We, however, decided to explore the Paint, because 
nohody seemed to know anything about that stream, and 
whoever was questioned seemed to consider it not a privilege, 
put a duty, to lie most solemnly concerning the same. 
Thereby was our interest excited. 
The Paint River, also called the Musquagumagum, is 
formed by the union of two streams, which meet at a point 
about thirteen miles N. N. W. of the town of Iron River, 
whence it flows ina general southeasterly direction, and 
meets the Menominee about two miles north of Florence, 
From the north the Paint receives the Hemlock and the Net 
rivers, which latter is upon some maps marked as the main 
stream, and from the south the Chicagon River, the outlet 
of Chicagon and Trout lakes, Other affiuents there are, 
both north and south, but generally too shallow for even the 
lightest draft canoe. ‘i i 
There were four of us inthe party, three hailing from Chi- 
cago, and one from Milwaukee, and we subsequently en- 
gaged a guide at Iron River, making, all told, five souls im- 
periled in the expedition Our plan of action, which is 
hereby recommended to others, was to take the Chicago & 
Northwestern Railroad and go to the town of Iron River, 
and intrust our lives and fortunes to the care of Captain 
Boyington, who keeps the Boyington House at that place, 
and whose hospitality, courtesy, and good will toward all 
men, has deservedly made his place a rendezvous for sports: 
men from the cities. Then, with the Captain’s aid, to trans- 
port our boats and impcedimenta by wagon to the nearest 
point on the Paint, descend the stream by easy stages to 
Crystal Falls, take the railroad there, and return to our sey- 
eral places of abode. ‘ ; 
By section line, Crystal Falls is about sixteen miles east 
of ee River, but the Paint isa sinuous stream, and we 
the winding and bending thereof, our pad- 
timated that b. 
dl ‘ fifty miles before we reached the 
dles would measure some 
eae of our voyage. The estimate proved substantially cor 
rect. : 
Accordingly on the 17th of July we left Iron River, two 
Wagons carrying our boats (two clinker skiffs and a bark 
canoe) and the other “duffle,” the amount of which would 
have struck terror to the heart of ‘“Nessmuk,” A fourteen 
mile march through a dense forest. of pine, and in a rain of 
more than ordinary wetness brought us to the log buildings 
of Frazier’s lumber camp, on the south branch of the Paint, 
about two miles above the forks of the river. Here we 
pitched our tent and slid our boats into the stream. 
The rain continued, and we lay in camp the remainder of 
that and all of the following day, fishing the river as faith- 
fully as the intermittent drizzle permitted and meeting with 
small success, 
At this point the Paint is less than twenty-five yards in 
breadth, and is rather shallow. The water would hardly 
averave more than a foot or eighteen inches in depth, 
sufficient indeed for canoe navigation, but vexatious heeause 
of the irregularity of the bed, which abounded inshoals and 
banks, They extended up the river, and across the river, 
sometimes a mere ridge, and again as flat as a table and 
twenty rods long, with perhaps a channel on one side, and 
perhaps not, but if so, invariably on the wrong side. Fre- 
quently these broad banks lay entirely out of water, their 
roomy beaches giving excellent standing room to gigantic 
cranes and myriads of snipe. ‘The current of the river was 
swift and broken by frequent rapids which varied in dignity 
from mere riffies fo cataracts, Most of these are easily run, 
at a few the water is too shoal to float a canoe, but only one 
compels a portage around it, and this one is the last of the 
Hemlock Rapids. 
It was in coming down the river the next day that we 
partly learned its character. Not anticipating the mournful 
contingency of having to wade the stream and drag our boat 
over shoals, I and my companion, ‘‘Hobomok,” had retained 
our usual leg gear. When, however, our boat grated gently 
on a gravelly beach completely bridging the stream, and we 
saw the water ahead still shallower by many inches, betok- 
ening that poling was a vain amusement, we sorrowfully 
bared our legs and went overboard, Ush! but the water was 
cold, and, ouch! the stones were sharp. Such, omitting the 
more emphatic parts, were our remarks as we seized Lhe 
painters and dragged the boat over into deeper water. The 
other boats being less heavily laden met with less difficulty, 
but our experience wasrepeated at frequent intervals in the 
course of the morning. The stones cut our feet and the sun 
burned and blistered our legs, all which was exceedingly 
grievous, and glad, indeed, were we to -run our boat ashore 
at noon and nibble a few crackers. This was at the mouth 
of the North Branch, but we stayed not to investigate that 
Stream, and therein was error, but paddled two miles further 
on to a log bridge, which leads the supply road from Iron 
River toa lumber camp on the north bank known as Arm- 
strong’s, A lumber camp in summer is a gruesome thing to 
behold. A skunk or two generally take up their abode in 
the deserted buildings, attracted, doubtless, by the similarity 
of odor, and the chances are greatly im favor of finding ani- 
mals of a lower order and more parasitic natuxg.on the 
ground. These considerations militate somewhat Against 
the advantage of shelter which the log shanties possess, and 
incline the wanderer to seek other quarters. Still, it is 
profitable to camp near such places, as one can find boards, 
benches and other articles of use there, not to mention worn 
out shoe packs, and an extensive assortment of battered tin- 
ware and broken whisky bottles. 
We pitched our teut near the end of the bridge and stayed 
there two days fishing and hunting, with a success that 
should have decided us to remain, but the prospect down 
the river tempted us sorely, omnia tgnota, pro mirifico, and 
for aught we knew to the contrary the veritable happy hunt- 
ing grounds were only a few miles further down. We be- 
lieved so implicitly at the close of the second day, and on 
the following morning we were again embarked, and again 
our paddles were pushing back the swirling water. 
T remember nothing more pleasant than those days on the 
river, despite the shoals and the wading o¢casioned thereby. 
The three boats were sometimes in company, buf more fre- 
quently separated by some distance and hidden from each 
other by the bending of the stream, It was impossible to 
get an unobstructed view of half a mile in any direction, 
unless toward the zenith, and often the oyer-arching trees 
cut off that. The dense forest came down on either bank to 
the water’s edge and stretched back unbroken for miles. 
No sound came out of its gloomy depths save the cry of a 
crow, or of that unknown entity the ‘‘gilligilee bird,” nor 
was there any sign of habitation on either hand. It wasa 
new world, and 
‘We were the firsh that ever burst 
Into that silent sea.”’ 
The appreciation of which fact frequently induced me to 
drop my paddle and light my pipe. And Hobomok did like- 
wise. Occasionally (that is once) we saw 2 deer drinking in 
mid-stream, Enormous cranes were continually starting up 
before our boats, generally flying in pairs, but we rarely got 
a shot at them; ducks, too, frequently flew up, and were less 
frequently bagged. This last remark, however, is not in- 
tended as an insinuation against myself. 
In that morning’s run we passed the mouth of the Net 
River, We had projected a camp at that point and a week’s 
stay for exploring the stream and the country round about, 
but our guide (he afterward swore, may God forgive kim, that 
we never apprised him of our wishes) kept on a mile ahead, 
and as he had all the provisions, we were fain to follow him 
in hope of arresting his flight. It was a hopeless chase. 
Before we caught up with that son of the forest, the Net was 
four miles behind and several rapids lay between. To re- 
turn was out of the question and we therefore advanced, 
and at four o'clock landed and went into camp for the 
night, When morning came, however, there was manifest 
reluctance to proceed, it amounted to actual mutiny, infect- 
ing all hands, the guide and secretary of war. Hobomok 
swore that his feet were so lamed by dragging those boats 
(he specified the kind) that it would be sure death to go on, 
while the rest of the party with joint and several mendacity 
asserted that the writer hercof in his eagerness to be on the 
river, was hurrying them out of the woods. They were 
wrong, it was the mosquitoes and punkies that I sought to 
escape. 
The day following we took to our boats, The water had 
become deeper as we had advanced, the river wider, and 
the rapids less frequent though larger, A ren of two or 
three feet of water under our keels brought us to a log dam 
across the river, built by the lumbermen for their logging 
operations. This dam is not far below the mouth of the 
emlock River, which we bad passed witheut ebserying 1 
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