Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 February 1886 — THE TALE OF A DRY PLATE. [ARTICLE]

THE TALE OF A DRY PLATE.

BY W. S. GILBERT.

I am a junior partner in a large mercantile house. Certain irregularities had,occurred in our Singapore branch, and 'I was despatched by the firm to investigate them, and to place matters on a more satisfactory footing. I need not gollnto details on this point, as they are • irrelevant to my story. I sailed by the Kaiser-i-Hind from Tilhurv, accompanied by my valet. At the Liverpool Street terminus, an elderly lady in widow’s mourning asked me some questions as to the conveyance of luggage from the Tilbury station to the ship. She should have sent her luggage to the dock, but had omitted to do so. As I replied to her questions, I saw that she was accompanied by a very beautiful girl -of 18. There is no need tcT beat about the bush —I fell in love with her, there and then. It is a commonplace way of putting it, but I don’t know that I could make matters clearer by a more elaborate method of expression. As they" and I traveled to Tilbury in the same compartment, we entered into conversation, as people will readily do who know that they are about to travel many thousand miles together. I learned that the lady was a Mrs Selby,, widow of a Colonel Selby, who had died about ■ip months since. Broken in health, arid weakened by long weeping, she hacl been advised to take a sea voyage. in\he belief that change of scone and beneficent sea air would do much to restore her to health, if not to happiness. As I happened to have met Col. Selby on two occasions—once in London and once in a country house-r-my acquaintance with liis widow and his daughter rapidly ripened into friendship. We sailed on a fine October afternoon, and, by the time we were off the “Start,” I had almost established myself on the footing of an old friend.

Pass over the voyage. It lasted five weeks, but it seemed like five days. I lived but in Clara's presence. I scarcely ■poke to anyone on board except to Clara and her mother. People see more of each other, if they care to do so, in a few weeks’ voyage than in a life-time on shore, and before we reached Colombo I had declared my love to Clara, and she had accepted it. If there is unalloyed happiness on earth, it was given to ns as we neared Ceylon. Unalloyed, save by the ..thought that we were about to part for a time; for Clara was to go on to Calcutta, where her late father's brother was quartered, whereas I was to remain in Singapore for'U tree months. We were to return to England at about the same date, and it was arranged that as soon as possible after onr arrival we were to be married. I have some little skill in photography, and I had brought with me a camera and some dry plates, intending to photograph any striking scenes that I might come across during the journey. By the aid of dry plates, photography, and especially traveling photography, is much simplified. The traveler can take a photograph, shut the plate in a light-tight box, and develop it twelve months afterward if he pleases. There is no need to encumber with chemicals; all tlie messy portion of the process can be done at home, in tlie seclusion of one’B own dark room. I had not intended to take any photographs on the voyage, for dry plates are extraordinarily sensitive to thle action of the faintest ray of light, and it was

practically impossible to make my cabin dark enough to allow of my transferring plates from the dark box to the slides without absolutely spoiling them. But Ihapp ened to have left two plates in one of the slides, and before we reached •or'destination X devoted ope of these to Clara, and one to Mrs. Selby. * We parted tearfully, but not unhapofly. We were to meet in three months' iime.tand our lives were then to ; be passed together, I believe we were too full of happiness in this prospect to grieve very much over our part ing. As tnasKaiser steamed away for Penang. I kepi the happiness of our next meeting steadily before me. and it ' served me in good stead. Tho time passed slowly, but it passed. I had received biro letters ► from Clara, written ' from Calcutta, full of jiife and hope and joy at lbs prospect before us. Site was going to spend a month at Allaha-

bab, and a fortnight at Bombay, and then she was to return to Marseilles by a Mcssageries ship, the captain of whielj was an intimate friend of the uncle witli whom she had been staying at Calcutta. By this arrangement she would arrivq in England about a month before me. At length my sailing orders came, and on one of the happiest days of my life 1 set foot on board the good ship Mirzaporo, which was to convey me t<, Alexandria, on my way home via Brim disi. I had written to Mrs. Selby, beg*) giiig her to bring Clara to meet me iq l’aris. Her doing so would but sliorteq our period of separation lvv some ten op twelve hours, but FTtne.W that those hours were golden to her as well ns to me, and I was selfish for both of ns. Aftgr a stormy voyage I reached Brin-) disi in due course; I hurried “to the post restante, for I lmd asked her to re-t ply me there, lutt ' there was nothing for pie. It was evident that my letter had not reached her; perhaps she hail delayed a few days in Paris on her way home. She had a trousseau to prepare, and it is a strange article of faith amon« women that this cau be. done more effectually in Paris than elsewhere: coiiser quently, nothing was more probably than that she was there at that moment, my letter would probably be forwarded to her, and if so, she would surely be a) the station on the arrival of the'train from It niv.

As I rushed across Europe I had one-thought'in my mind—would Clara; be’at the Paris terminus to meet me? Tile towns flew by me when I thought of her, and yet at times the intervals between them seemed interminable. Every stoppage irritated me, yet «tlio two days were not tedious. I could always lose all count of time by ; allowing Hiy mind to dwell upon the incidents of our voyage together, and especially on the crowning incident that was yet to come. But when the doubting question arose whether or not we should meet in Paris, the train seemed to dawdle as train never dawdled before. At length we reached the terminus. I eagerly scanned the few people on the platform as we entered the station, and niy heart sunk when I saw that she was not there. Then I remembered that on French railways friends of are not. as a rule, allowed on the' platforms, and my hopes rose again. They were soon dashe'd, for there was no (Tara for me in the waiting-rooms or at the entrance.

A dim sense of calamity—unknown,and tlie more terrible for being unknown —-took possession of me. I hurried across Paris to the “Nord,” reached Calais in due course, crossed to Dover and made my way to London, which I reached late at night. The next day, at nine in the morning, I hurried to Mrs. Selby's house in Oxford Square. I rang tlie bell, and it was answered by a maid-servant in deep black. I asked for, Mrs. but so inarticulate that the girl cua not understand me. T pulled myself together and repeated the question. The . girl stammered awkwardly. Had I not heard? No. I had heard nothing; was anything wrong? The French ship in which Mrs. Selby and Clara bail sailed from Bombay had been lost—as it was supposed—in a hurricane between Bombay and Aden, and all souls were drowned. I staggered as from a strong mans blow. I reipembered nothing until I found myself lying on the sofa in .the dining-room, tended by an elderly gentleman, Mrs. Selby’s brother and administrator. He, of course, did not know me; still less did he know of my relation toward his dead liiece. I told him all. and lie treated me with the greatest kindness. He could give me no hope; the ship was then six weeks overdiie, and the insurance on her had been duly paid. Desolate and broken-hearted, I left him and went to my mother's house in Devonshire. After three weeks of fever I began to "recover strength, but the light of my life was extinct, and ap indefinable sense of night was all that remained to me. As soon as I fwas strong enough to stand, I thought of the photographs I had taken at Singapore. Thev were all that was left to me of

—,'—r - my dead love, and, with a feeling of unspeakable awe, I proceeded to raise her presentment, “as it were, from the grave. In the closely-darkened room, illuminated only by the dim red light of mar developing lamp, I prepared the necessary chemicals with a trembling and uncertain hand. I took the plate’ from the slide in which it had been enclosed for so many months, and as I looked upon its plain, creamy surface, so soon to be sanctified by her image, I almost felt that I was engaged in some unhallowed deed of necromancy. Breathless with excitement, I poured the developer upon it, and. as I awaited the result, I eould hear my heart thumping against my chest. I had not long to wait. Slowly, but snrelv and distinctly, the features ol my darling came to me from the 'grave. Notwithstanding the inversion of its tones, it stood plainly before me —herself in every detail. As I watched the gradual perfection of the port ait I cried like a. little child. At length the development was complete, and, shaking like a leaf? I took it from its bath to examine it morttclosely. As I did so, the door of the room was suddenly opened, a flood of light was admitted, and the-*’ photograph was ruined beyond reparation. . With mi inarticulate cry I seized the intruder in my weakened grasp—it. was my valet, who had accompanied me on my voyage out and home. I know not what I said to him in my furious despair —the words, whatever they were, passed into forgetfulness as they were spoken. “Sir, sir.” said he, “I bring yon great news. Miss Selby—Mrs. Selby. Their boat was picked up by a sailing ship. She encountered adverse winds, and only reached Plymouth yesterday—and —and—Miss Clara is heae—and I have come to tell von so! 7