The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1871-08-11
OUR PHOTOGRAPHER.

A little while ago, looking through an
old long-disused desk, ! found a pho
tograph the very existence Of which |
had forgotten. Those for whom it was
taken, those whose hands placed it
where it lay, are gone; it has no value
any longer, except for the memories
that linger about it. One of these days
it will be burned and no one will have
any loss, unless, perhaps, the Genius OF
Photography may bethink herself OF
weeping over one of her earliest and
rudest productions. In the meantime,
| keep it, rough as it is; and it has re-
minded me not only Of life which has
ended, with all its loves, joys and sor.
rows, IN obsourity and silence, but also
of a romance belonging neither to itself
nor 10 me, but to the story Of the wan
dering artist who took it.
Far away in the west of Canada the
borders of our little town were washed
by the waters Of one of the great lakes
on one side, and on the other inclOsed
by the forest. We lived entirely out of
the world, but connected with it by
channels of communication, along
which flowed constant, though slender,
streams Of intercourse all the summer;
while in winter we became almost a col
ony of hermits. Every day, while nav
igation was open, great steamers crowd
ed with passengers, gay with flags, noisy
with bands, went up and down, stop
ping for few minutes as they passed,
and drawing the idle population to the
wharf to see who came OF went, or what
news might be gathered and twice a
week all through the year there came
through the wood from the larger town
which served as our metropolis, lum-
bering stage, bringing our letters from
the other side of the world, and keep
ing us from absolute isolation during
these months when we were closed in
on every side by the ice and snow.
We were friendly and sociable COM
munity. If we had little knowledge of
the outside world, we knew a great deal
about our own. Not only the faces Of
our townspeople were familiar to us, but
even the histOries-in outline at least
of most Of them were so too; and GER
tainly few strangers of high degree or
low came among us without becoming
immediately the objects of lively, not TO
say curious, interest. In a large town
our photographer would have been no
body; in our town he became person.
age.
Our house stood at the end Of the
principal street-or rather Just beyond
the place where it ceased to be street,
and became a road, and after the houses
mad begun to be scattered, with gardens
and little spaces of ground between
them. One of these spaces, a little
larger than the rest, was covered with
grass and traversed by a brook, which,
having crossed the road, was making its
way 10 Join the lake. 1t was pleasant
enough little spot ten years ago, though
no doubt it has long since been built
over and ii was there that, one spring
day, q yellow van made its appearance,
and our photographer commenced his
career among US.
He was only a travelling artist, it must
be confessed His studio strongly re-
sembled one of those itnerant man
sions which appear mysteriOusly at fairs,
conveying giants and dwarfs, fat women
and living skeletons, from one admiring
circle of spectators to another: but
then it CaS a studiC---everybo body was as
-sured OF that by az inscription III large
crimson letters over the door, which
told rs also that it belonged to James
Patterson, Photographic Artist, and,
of course, was TO be looked at with re-
spect.
After all, he did know something of
his business, and managed sometimes to
make real likenesses. The one | have
is rough, and the figures badly posed,
but it represents undeniably the origi-
nails; and that is more than can always
be said for works Of far greater preten-
sion. So he grew popular, and was in
demand for all kinds Of photographs
landscapes, houses, pet animals he was
thought to have a specialize for pet dogs J,
children. grown people-everythin that
could be photographed he did. Natur-
ally he made money. Whether he had
brought any with him | do not know
but at the end of the year he certainly
found himself, over and above all his
expenses, master of several hundred
dollars.
ought perhaps to have said before,
that when Patterson arrived he brought
with him in his van wife and baby.
The baby was a pretty little girl OF
about year old the wife remarkably
nice.loolling woman of perhaps five
snd-twenty. She assisted her husband
in his work, and kept the Studio in
the most beautiful order; she and her
baby, being seen there all day long, be-
came almost as much public characters
as Patterson himself.
The summer of their arrival In our
town was one of great excitement. Oil
had been discovered about ten miles off,
and wells were were being dug and
worked with frantic eagerness. Every
one caught the oil fever more or less
violently we talked, thought, dreamed
of nothing but oil. Of course, oil be.
came a symbol-it was but the gold