Photographs for Illustrations

All magazines are continually deluged with photographs of every description, photographs ranging in subject from mountain to sea, and submitted by photographers of widely divergent talent. In the selection of photographs for reproduction few consider the care and judgment exercised by the editors, and ofttimes the rejection of pictures, seemingly perfect, causes the photographer to wonder what is really wanted by the publisher. In reality it is no easy task to lay hard and fast rules to govern the making of photographs for illustration, but as it comes within the province of this department, certain suggestions are offered which, if followed, will at least insure the photographer and his wares prompt and careful consideration.

In the first place, all publishers welcome a carefully made series of pictures on one subject. It is far easier to write matter to accompany pictures than to make photographs to illustrate the writing. For this reason a coherent series of pictures is of more value

than a collection of prints of different subjects. In the selection of the subject there is a wide range. Study the publication you wish to submit pictures to, note the class of matter and the manner in which the illustrations are handled and then look around your own neighborhood for subjects of like interest and character.

There is just as much latitude in the handling of the photographic subject as in its choice. If the engravings in the magazine selected are good and the paper of fair quality no change from your usual style is necessary as modern half-tone making has been reduced to such a science that almost any print can be reproduced. If the subject is of a technical nature endeavor to get all possible detail and yet retain the approximate color and light values. If the pictures are to be descriptive of a locality handle it from the standpoint of the artist; study the composition of the scene and try to reproduce in the finished photograph as much of the natural beauty of the subject as possible. It is not at all nec

Reverie of An Angler

Awake and stirring ere the break of dawn, Coaxing the embers of last night's campfire into flame;

A hurried breakfast-and away in the halflight,

With rod and line and well-worn creel;
To revel in the angler's gentle art.

Down a narrow, tortuous trail,
Skirting the stream;

And up the mountain-side-
Climbing, crawling, sliding;

A wild and rocky, winding way.

Now through a grove of fragrant pines
Where fleet-footed tree-squirrels scamper
In blissful freedom,

And innumerable birds join in a matin song, Full of the understanding of springtide's promise.

Mile over mile of wild and rugged land

Is traveled, ere the sun peeps o'er the mountain-top;

The toil-worn, wearied burdened self
Has vanished far adown the road,
And in its place Youth is walking,
Heart filled with joy; the eye is clear
And mind alert: attune with Nature.

Deep hidden in the wooded wilderness,
Among moss-covered boulders,

Nestle the feeding springs of the stream;

Clear, crystal waters, rippling from out cool

caverns,

To plunge in glistening cascades

Down the furrowed mountain side; Forming, here and there,

Deep, green pools, thick-shaded

By full-leafed, graceful alders,

Where sport the mountain trout.

A dark, lonely spot, full of brush-tangle,
Invites my first cast-a brown hackle.
Lightly it falls, barely skimming the surface,
Floating o'er a flat, green rock,
For one brief moment.

There! An eddying of the water-
A dart, a snap! Away he goes,
Plunging, diving, swirling,
Hurrying in mad confusion

Back and forth, and down the stream!
Now the first blind rush is ended,
And he tries to seek safe cover
Underneath a deep-sunk rock.
But I draw him gently nearer,
With a firm and steady rhythm,
Till he tires of such vain effort;
Then a sharp pull-and I hold him,

Fluttering, in my trembling hand.
Into the creel-the day's prize beauty-
To repose on a bed of sweet grasses.

Thus I travel through the morning,
Trying one pool, then another;
And the swift, enticing riffles
Dancing in the morning sunlight.
Snaps and snares abound in trout streams;
Tangled lines but teach one patience;
Failure spurs to greater art.

To one who loves the sweet, free life
There is no idling sport like this;
Health-inspiring, soul-enchanting.
Giving purpose to the outing,
Bearing fruits well worth the winning.
-Edna Rowell Schley.

Contradictions

Love rhymes! Indeed! I've had enough
Of such quaint medieval stuff;
The light of science be my guide,
Then armed am I whate'er betide.
And yet such contradictions rise
Before your grey, hypnotic eyes!
Now, let me think! Love is a dream
And things are never what they seem;
But stop! I can't philosophize
Unless you take away those eyes!
Bertha Monroe Rickoff.

They

There's a wonderful class of people somewhere,

In a land that's neither here nor there;
A wonderful people whom they call They,
A people who neither work nor play.

They say, it is said, that a man is so,
And whether 'tis weal or whether 'tis woe;
The world believes in its careless way
The wonderful people whom they call They.

And some of these build and some destroy,
The steps of a man are cursed while a boy
By what they said and what they say-
This wonderful people not far away.

Aye, riches and health and power and friends,
The parting of life and the meeting of ends,
Are smitten or healed in a wonderful way
By the terrible words, "That's what they say."

O much that is good and much that is bad,
And much that is joyful and much that is sad,
Is caused by the people whom they call They,
That wonderful people not far away.
-Nels Anderson.