materially to add to his discomfiture. Trivial as
this consideration may appear, it exerts a far
greater influence on the expression than most
persons are willing to acknowledge, even to
themselves. Placed in a position always chosen
by the operator (being, to save himself the
trouble of rearranging accessories, precisely the
same as that which the last sitter occupied),
his head screwed into a vice behind, he is told
to look at an indicated spot on the wall, and
keep still. Thus posed, he regards further
operations with much the same feelings of
distrust as he would those of a dentist. In
imagination, he hears the sharp rattle of the forceps,
or the punch. His breathing becomes thicker and
quicker as the critical moment arrives, his heart
beats audibly against his waistcoat, and a hazy
film falls over his eyes. In this delightful
condition of mind and body, he is enjoined to
"keep quite still, and put on a natural expression;"
as if expressions were as easy to put on
as gloves. The inevitable consequence is, that
he "grins horribly a ghastly smile," the like of
which never passed over his features before.
Yet both operator and sitter wonder why the
portrait is so very unlike.

"I should like to have a landscape background
for my portrait, if you please," is a
frequent, but most inconsistent request. What
can be more preposterous than to see a lady
in full evening costume, quietly seated in a
luxurious easy-chair, in the middle of a mountain
pass, with a roaring cataract rushing madly
down within a couple of inches of her immaculate
book-muslin? The rugged pinnacle to
which she is supposed to have flown (in her
easy-chair) being carefully adapted to her satin
shoes by a Brussels carpet, from which a tree
is vigorously springing. An actor wishing to
be represented in some particular character,
may, with propriety, require a painted
background to assist in the illusion that he is on
the stage, before his own painted scenes.
Addison remarks, in the Spectator, "a little skill
in criticism would inform us that shadows and
realities ought not to be mixed together in the
same piece. If one would represent a wide
champaign country filled with flocks and herds,
it would be ridiculous to draw the country only
upon the scenes, and to crowd several parts of
the stage with sheep and oxen. This is joining
together inconsistencies, and making the
decorations partly real and partly imaginary."

There are as much individuality and character
in the human figure, as in the human face.
Every one has some slight peculiarity of gesture
and carriage of body, as he has idiosyncrasy of
mind. Assuming this to be so, with how much
more character is a portrait in some accustomed
position endowed than if represented in one
to which he was unaccustomed. A right
reverend prelate, engaged in the manipulation of
three little thimbles and a small pea, or a blind
man looking through a stereoscope, would
scarcely be in harmony; yet photographs are
frequently perpetrated in which ladies and
gentlemen are represented in positions, and
engaged in employments, equally as foreign to
those in which their friends usually see them.
The conventional pillar and curtain are becoming
intolerable. The conventional Smith or
representative Jones, attired in his habit as he lives
(say the guinea paletot and the sixteen shilling
trousers), seldom has the opportunity of resting
his elbow on the base of a fluted column;
neither is he often interrupted in the study of
his favourite author (one finger between the
leaves of the book), seated in a lady's boudoir,
radiant with bouquets and toilet bottles, nor
with a mass of unmeaning drapery mixed up
with his hair, like the hood of an excited cobra.

When two or more persons are taken in one
picture, it is no uncommon thing to see them
standing without any connexion whatever with
each other, as isolated and independent as the
statuettes on the board of an Italian imageman;
or else, as if desirous of emulating the
silver bells and cockle-shells of perverse Mary,
celebrated in the nursery ballad—all in a row.

A lady or gentleman, having made up her or
his mind to be photographed, naturally considers,
in the first place, how to be dressed so as to
show off to the best advantage. This is by no
means such an unimportant matter as many
might imagine. Let me offer a few words of
advice touching dress. Orange colour, for certain
optical reasons, is, photographically, black.
Blue is white; other shades or tones of colour
are proportionately darker or lighter, as they
contain more or less of these colours. The
progressive scale of photographic colour
commences with the lightest. The order stands thus:
white, light-blue, violet, pink, mauve, dark-
blue, lemon, blue-green, leather-brown, drab,
cerise, magenta, yellow-green, dark-brown,
purple, red, amber, morone, orange, dead-black.
Complexion has to be much considered in
connexion with dress. Blondes can wear much
lighter colours than brunettes; the latter always
present better pictures in dark dresses, but neither
look well in positive white. Violent contrasts
of colour should be especially guarded against.

In photography, brunettes possess a great
advantage over their fairer sisters. The lovely
golden tresses lose all their transparent
brilliancy, and are represented black; whilst the
"bonnie blue e'e," theme of rapture to the
poet, is misery to the photographer; for it is
put entirely out. The simplest and most effective
way of removing the yellow colour from
the hair, is to powder it nearly white; it is
thus brought to about the same photographic
tint as in nature. The same rule, of course,
applies to complexions. A freckle quite invisible
at a short distance, is, on account of its
yellow colour, rendered most painfully distinct
when photographed. The puff-box must be
called in to the assistance of art. Here let
me intrude one word of general advice. Blue,
as we have seen, is the most readily affected by
light, and yellow the least; if, therefore, you
would keep your complexion clear, and free from
tan and freckles whilst taking your delightful
rambles at the sea-side, discard by all means