The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1885-01-10
PSYCHICAL RESEARCH.
An Amateur Photographers Story
sH of a Mysterious Picture.


"Well, Wilde, l am glad to see you
back again. I'm sorry | can't introduce
you to my wife just now, but she is out,
and won't be back very much before
dinner, l expect. She left apologies and
all that sort of thing for you, though"
1t was my most intimate friend and
school-fellow, Barry, who spoke, as he
stood with his back to his drawing
room fire, and reclined almost at his
feet in the easiest of easy chairs. l had
only returned to England three days be-
fore, after more than two years of East
ern wanderings, during which the only
news | had of Barry had been vague
announcement of his approaching mar
rage. On my arrival | had promptly
obtained from the Arts Club his address
at passionate Brompton, and as soon
as | had a moment to spare | went to
see him, only giving him notice of my
intentions in a note posted the night be-
fore.
My friend was an amateur photogra-
pher of the most enthusiastic type, and
/ knew him too well not to be aware
that a quarter of an hour would not pass
without his hobby's coming into the
conversation somehow or other. After
five or ten minutes inconsequential
chatter it came.
'You would like a before-dinner
cigar" he said. my wife doesn't al
low them here-says they spoil the cur
tains. Come up into my study and I'll
show you some of my work. | have not
done much lately, but l worked hard
before | was married, and / think some
of the Derbyshire scenes are really worth
looking at.
The room into which I followed him
needs no description. One room full
of photographs is uncommonly like
another. Cigars lighted, there followed
ten minutes or so of the boredom of
looking at photographs of rocks, glens
and waterfalls; interesting to the taker,
no doubt, but utterly without attraction
to any one else. With an immense pile
of cardboard still before me | deter
mined to break the tyranny at any price,
or at least change the form of inhic-
ton.
by the way" I said, "the instanta-
AlOObto plOGCSS w CtS DtCOlIlll2 IdSulOudDlc
when | left England, Have you done
anything in that way?"
Alas! He had
go, yes" he answed cheerfully, drag
ging down a huge album from a shelf;
''all these were done by the new process.
Look at them"
pushed the pile of scenery away. I
had got rid of that at any rate, and |
took the huge BOOK upon my Knees with
about as lively a sense of relief as that
with which convict turns away from
the sober occupation of oakVm picking
to the lighter frivolity of the trcad-mill
Snow, | thought, for trains in mo-
ton without wheels, horses galloping
with fifty legs apiece, and swans on the
Thames with half a dozen necks each.
l opened it at the first page
''By Jover' Ii this was the sort of
thing my friend had been instantane-
ously photographing by all means,
plenty of it.
The first picture in the book was
portrait. A head. A woman's head
and nothing more. Though little in
distinct and blurred in outline, there
was definiteness enough in the photo
graph to make manifest beauty such
as might have inspired the delicate pen
Gil of Leighton in his most ideal mood.
1t was face which had it been exhibited
in a gallery of Types of Beauty"
would have represented my views on
the subject with perfect accuracy, and
venture to think would have been
awarded the palm Cor the golden apple,
isn't itD by nine-tenths Of my fellow
men The expression of the face was
one Of sadness, but only the sadness of
n passing thought, not deep-seated
sorrow; such an expression as might
shade the face of an angel on a tenn
porary visit to our EARTH and which
would pass away with the first stroke Of
thowings in its flight homeward. These