Understanding Portrait Photography

How to Shoot Great Pictures of People

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 New & Revised Edition of Beyond Portraiture

UNDERSTANDING

Portrait Photography

How to Shoot Great Pictures of People Anywhere

Bryan Peterson
author of Understanding Exposure

WATSON-GUPTILL
CALIfORNIA I NEW YORK
Text copyright © 2006, 2020 by Bryan Peterson
Photographs copyright © 2020 by Bryan Peterson

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Watson-Guptill Publications, an imprint of Random House,
a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
www.watsonguptill.com

WATSON-GUPTILL and the HORSE HEAD colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin
Random House LLC.

Originally published in different form in the United States as Beyond Portraiture by Amphoto
Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC in 2006.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020932210

Trade Paperback ISBN 9780770433130

Ebook ISBN 9780770433147

rhid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0
CONTENTS

Introduction

CHAPTER 1

Understanding People
Psychology 101
Approaching People
Observing People
People and Their Environment
People and Their Clothing
The Face as a Canvas

CHAPTER 2

Working with People

Choosing the Right People
Breaking Through the Shyness Barrier
Posed Versus Candid
People as Themes
People at Work
People at Play
Models

CHAPTER 3

Light
The Importance of Light
Frontlight
Sidelight
Backlight
Diffused Light
Dappled Light
Difficult Exposures

CHAPTER 4

Composing Powerful Portraits

What Is Composition?
Fill the Frame
The Vertical Format
The Rule of Thirds
Point of View
People as Abstracts
Working Your Subject
Scale
Backgrounds
Shutter Speed
Choosing the Right Aperture
Lens Choice
Artificial Light
In-Camera Double Exposures

About the Author

Index
Introduction

In the background, in another room, I can hear a familiar television

commercial. My daughter Sophie is watching “old” television commercials on
YouTube and just as I sit down to write this introduction to yet another book
on photography—a book about photographing people, a subject I’ve grown to
love more than any other—I hear the classic commercial for Timex watches
and their tagline, “It takes a licking and keeps on ticking.” No doubt this
tagline also describes me and my continued passion for image-making. Yes,
my passion has taken a licking, but it’s still here and it does keep on ticking!
My first book on photographing people, People in Focus, was a scary
proposition for me—not “scary” in the sense that I was afraid to photograph
people (although there was some of that), but in the sense that I was being
asked to write an entire book about a single subject, and I, of course, felt that
photography could not and should not be limited to a single subject, especially
people. Was there really that much to say, that much to show, that much to
share, that much to shoot on the subject of people?
Needless to say, my own maturation process has changed this way of
thinking. Now when I’m asked whether I’ll ever run out of ideas or subjects, I
always respond with the same emphatic “Not in this life!” In fact, despite being
told by my publisher, repeatedly, that I have more than enough material for
this new book (along with nine more books on the subject), I still wish I had
more time to gather additional examples of why people are such an
inexhaustible photographic subject.
Obviously, you, too, share my interest in photographing people—
otherwise, why are you holding this book in your hand? Whether your interest
is in photographing family, friends, yourself, strangers, young or old subjects,
people at play, people at work, people under strife, people celebrating, people
in foreign lands, or people in your own neighborhood, I get it! Pictures of
people tug at our hearts; they are, in many ways, pictures of ourselves. A
photograph of a sad and teary-eyed six-year-old with a melting ice cream cone
at her feet will touch most of us. We can feel her pain. Similarly, an image of
three elderly people sitting on a front porch laughing hysterically may
generate a number of interpretations, but one thing is certain: everyone can
understand and appreciate the meaning of laughter. In addition, most of us
have someone to thank—a mother, father, relative, or friend who had a camera
in hand—for forever preserving small yet revealing vignettes of our personal
histories.
Without realizing it, we are adding to one another’s histories with each
press of the shutter. Even if you have been photographing family and friends
for only a few years, those memories are capable of triggering a host of
emotions that will only get deeper as the years go by. Many people are
reminded of their youth as they look back on images of yesterday; that a photo
reminds people of an “easier” time is the most often-heard response from
viewers. Your children, just as you were with your parents, are amused by
pictures of you with your old-fashioned hairstyle and “vintage” outfit, or your
shoulder-length hair and beard, in sharp contrast to that shiny dome the
grandkids love to rub. You tell your children that “you had to be there” when
explaining your appearance back then and are quick to remind them that they,
too, will look back with nostalgia and perhaps even embarrassment at the
pictures you took of them just last week. “Whatever possessed me to wear
baggy jeans around my knees and have orange hair?” your son or daughter
might say.
At other times, photographs of people taken last year—or even today—give
pause for reflection. You sigh and wonder where the time goes as you look at
ten-year-old photographs of yourself and those you love. You are moved to
tears and laughter as you stare at photos of your toddler daughter, who’s now
eighteen and about to leave for college halfway across the country.
How you photograph your loved ones, friends, and even strangers can
reveal something about you. Surprised to learn this? I’m not a psychiatrist, but
I’ve done enough reading—and, more important, student critiques—over the
past forty years to conclude that how we compose photographs of friends and
strangers reveals some of our inner selves. Do your favorite pictures show
people in a vast landscape, causing them to appear small and diminished?
Perhaps compositions of this type reflect your own feelings of being
overwhelmed at times, or of just how lonely life can be, or even, still, of how
“small” you feel. On the other hand, do you find that you most often fill the
frame with just the face of your subjects? Such compositions might reflect the
great compassion you feel toward people, as well as your ability to feel free
enough to interact with most anyone. The reasons why you do what you do are
numerous, and in part, they define who you are; but photography—unlike any
other medium—can say volumes about you (by how you shoot your subjects)
in a single stroke.
My photography career didn’t begin with people as my main interest.
Waterfalls and forests, flowers and bees, lighthouses and barns, and sunrises
and sunsets drew 99 percent of my attention. This continued for more than
ten years until one day I found myself composing yet another snowcapped
peak reflected in a still foreground lake. That day proved to be a turning point
as I began to reflect on the absence of people not only in my private life but
equally so in my pictures. Spending countless days and weeks in nature was
making me lonely.
For the next five years, I found myself making a slow but deliberate
transition: I spent less and less time shooting compositions without people. I
felt a new passion as I realized that the most vast and varied photographic
subject was people. I felt lucky! As the song goes, “People who need people are
the luckiest people in the world.” And, I was quick to discover that my camera
could be a bridge in introducing myself to people—but I still had one hurdle to
overcome.
Since I’m normally an outgoing person, I was amazed to discover just how
shy I really was. On more than one occasion, I resolved to abandon my interest
in photographing people. After all, my landscape and close-up photography
was already well received by magazine, greeting card, and calendar publishers.
And, of course, there was one big distinction between nature subjects and
people: mountains didn’t move, flowers didn’t stiffen up (or throw nectar in
your face!), and butterflies never once asked for payment.
But try as I might, I couldn’t silence the steady voice inside me that kept
pushing me to return to people as subjects. The voice would grow louder when
I saw particularly striking subjects, such as a lone ice cream vendor in a city
square surrounded by hundreds of pigeons, a woman dressed in red walking
parallel to a blue wall with her white poodle leading the way, or a white-
bearded man of eighty-plus years sitting on a park bench and chuckling as he
read an Archie comic book. But even during those obviously great picture-
taking opportunities, I seldom was courageous enough to raise my camera to
my eye and take the picture. A wave of photographic shyness would come over
me. Any thought of approaching strangers, especially, would find me
panicking, overreacting, convinced that, with each closing step, anything I was
going to say or do would be an unwelcome waste of their time, no matter how
brief my request.
Unlike the landscapes with which I was so familiar, people can, and
oftentimes do, talk back, and they do have something to say. People require
interaction: I had to get involved with my subjects if I had any hope for
spontaneity as well as cooperation. Otherwise, if I just simply raised the
camera to my eye and took the picture, my subjects would immediately
become self-conscious. It was as if I were a doctor with a huge hypodermic
needle, about to administer the shot of their life.
As the weeks turned into months and I experimented more and more with
my feeble attempts at photographing people, it slowly became evident what
was behind this new “love” developing inside of me, this love of photographing
people. Surprisingly, it had little to do with the settings in which I viewed
them. It wasn’t the surroundings, the colors of their wardrobe, or the amazing
light that caused my emotions to stir, but rather the person in that scene.
Remove the main subject and the “sentence” would lose its impact; the person
was the exclamation point! Funny how only a few months prior, I’d been
cursing people for getting in my shot and now I was afraid they would leave—
unless, of course, I approached them and explained their importance to the
overall composition, and with any luck they agreed to stick around for “1/60 of
a second.”
I was soon approaching both friends and total strangers with the “truth.” I
would often say, “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but right now you are at
the heart of a truly wonderful picture!” or, “I don’t know if you’re aware of it,
but there are some really wonderful things going on just over there, and all
that’s missing is a person in the scene—and you are the person who can make
that scene a truly compelling composition!” Today, this simple approach often
continues to get me the permission I seek, though some situations require
more diplomacy than others. Above all, the most important thing is to show a
genuine interest in the people you are photographing. You will achieve a
greater degree of cooperation and spontaneity when your tone and intent are
sincere.
Having said that, I must stress that being a master at public relations is
only half the battle. I’ve witnessed countless instances when a photographer
has been given permission to photograph but then begins to fumble with the
camera and lens, uncertain about the settings and/or the overall composition
—and of course, it isn’t long before the person they wish to photograph begins
to fidget and, sure enough, the light is now gone or the subject’s time was
limited and they have to go, and so on.
No one will argue that every successful landscape shot or close-up relies in
large measure on its ability to evoke both mood and emotion, and that quite
often a bit of luck and opportune timing played major roles. But I’ve learned
that luck is seldom a factor when you try to shoot good images of people. Every
successful photographer possesses a combination of creative and technical
skills, as well as the ability to anticipate the often-decisive moment. If your
knowledge of f-stops, shutter speeds, great light, the right lens, the right
environment, and the right subject are limited, you will find, in this book, page
after page of valuable material that will close the gap between what you do not
know and what you do know, so much so that you will be enthusiastically
sharing your results with the person or people you photograph immediately
after taking their picture using one of the greatest public relations tools ever
developed in the world of photography: the LCD screen on the back of your
digital camera, a screen that says, “Wow, look at you and how amazing you
look!” My subjects and I both enjoy the instant gratification of seeing an image
within seconds of taking it. This adds to people’s willingness and enjoyment of
posing. (To be sure, there is some small resurgence of photographers shooting
film; film-users might consider shooting a quick smartphone snap to show the
person what you just did and serve as a substitute photo until you can scan
and send them a copy of the film print via email.)

Whether you’re shooting digital or film, sometimes you’ll need to be able

to pose, direct, and ask your subjects to dress or look a certain way. These
tasks may seem relatively easy to accomplish with family and friends, but they
can prove quite challenging when you need the cooperation of someone you
met only ten minutes ago. Throughout this book, I address many different
situations, locations, and cultures with people (of course) as the central theme.
I also start off by discussing the psychology of people—not just your subjects
but yourself, as well—in great depth. For example, when I photograph people,
it is never my intention to embarrass them or call attention to a particular flaw
in their physical appearance. Unfortunately, the temptation to exploit or
embarrass a subject is, at times, so great that some photographers succumb to
it, and rather than gaining a subject’s trust, they turn the camera into an
enemy. I’m also not a big fan of shooting from the hip or using a wide-angle
lens to distort faces. Perhaps these are necessary photographs, but they’re not
the theme of this book.
As you’ll discover, Understanding Portrait Photography goes far beyond
simple portraits to discuss street photography, posed versus candid images,
tips for shooting selfies, using artificial light, and an extensive section
dedicated to the art of composition and the role the elements of design play in
the overall success of a photograph.
I firmly believe that taking photographs of people is the most challenging
and rewarding of all the photographic opportunities available today. No other
subject is as vast and varied. “People” can range from babies to great-
grandparents. Youthful skin or weathered skin, dark skin and deep brown eyes
or blue-eyed and blond, short or tall, fat or thin, big hair or no hair, clothed or
nude, male or female—when you combine these physical characteristics with
the seemingly infinite choices for surroundings (urban or rural, forest or
desert, international locale or your own backyard), the possibilities are truly
enormous. And because people are the subjects, it is paramount that you
embrace what is, perhaps, the greatest rule governing the human condition:
You rarely, if ever, get a second chance to make a first impression.
Psychology 101
As you think about some of your best images of people—whether posed or
candid, family, friends, or strangers—what do you feel was the single most
important factor in the images’ success? Was it your subject’s clothing, their
smile, their activity, their hair, their environment, the light that surrounded
them, your lens choice, your composition, your point of view? The answer
could be all of the above, but I’ll go so far as to say that at the root of most
successful people photographs is a spoken or unspoken “cooperation” between
the subject and the photographer.
Lucky is the photographer who has a sound understanding of human
psychology and the patterns of human behavior. If you’re going to be able to
motivate anybody to be a subject (family members included), you had better
be prepared to answer the biggest and most immediate question that’s either
spoken or thought by your subject(s): What’s in it for me? It is a fundamental
“law” of human psychology that self-interest governs most of what people do.
To date I have flown more than three million air miles and photographed
in just over one hundred countries, and without fail, I have repeated this same
ice-breaker over and over: “Hello, my name is Bryan and I’m a photographer
who loves to photograph people. You may not be aware of it, but right now at
this time and this very place, you are part of an incredible photo that in fact
would not be incredible at all if you were not here. Seriously! Can I take a
quick snap of you and show you what I mean? I am sure you will agree! And of
course, I would be happy to email you, almost instantly, a copy of this moment
that you were such a huge part of. And to be really clear, this will cost you
nothing.”
Almost without fail, this “truth” produces the desired result—and truth it
should be! When you analyze the reason(s) why you feel compelled to take
someone’s photograph, you will find it is often because at that moment the
person or people really are part of something compelling.
Likewise, if you are of the ilk to “choreograph” images, you will, again, be
enlisting the aid of family members, friends, even strangers. How can you
motivate them? More often than not, the answer in today’s world is to suggest
that they will probably receive a high number of “likes” on Facebook or
Instagram, assuming the ideas you have in mind are executed perfectly. Again,
cooperation between the photographer and subject is key. And in today’s fast-
paced, instant-gratification world of digital photography, both of you can be
immediately immersed in the joy of this cooperation as the images are quickly
viewed and hopefully celebrated.
This simple law—“What’s in it for me?”—is at the root of most, if not all, of
your motivation to do anything. Most of us form relationships and make both
small and life-changing decisions based on the what’s-in-it-for-me question.
In today’s world, this might mean more likes on social media, more clients
because of a stronger portfolio, or simply the desire to bring an idea to
fruition. And like it or not, your subjects share the same thought process in
response to your request. When your subjects don’t feel that there is anything
in it for them, they’ll say no, more often than not, to being photographed. And
yes, as many of you already know, this even applies to family members.
To be clear, I very rarely pay my subjects, because quite simply, it’s not
necessary, unless of course you’re working with hired models, or you’re
photographing people with the intention of placing the images with a stock
photo agency. In those cases, you’ll need a signed model release, in which one
of the provisions clearly states “for valuable consideration.” More often than
not, that valuable consideration is money, though it can also mean “x number
of photos from the photo shoot” or “a ten-speed bicycle” or anything else
deemed a fair trade of “valuable consideration.”
But again, most subjects are not holding out for some enormous fee. There
are only fourteen pictures in this book for which the subjects were actually
paid money; in three of them, the subjects were professional models who I
gladly paid a fee, and the other eleven expected payment as part of the
“tourism culture” for the native tribes of Ethiopia’s Omo Valley (and I can’t
stress enough that if you struggle with paying them their standard fee of 20
cents for ten minutes of their time, then please consider digging them a much-
needed freshwater well instead!).
What I’ve found throughout the 111 countries to which I’ve traveled is that
most people are willing subjects if your tone and intent are sincere. Lately I’ve
been traveling with a portable HP printer called the Sprocket. Using an app on
my iPhone, I’m able to print out a 2 x 3-inch color print—either a photo taken
by my phone or a photo processed in Photoshop and then sent to my phone via
email. Alternatively, I’ll send a photo via email if the subject has an email
account. Though at times there are language barriers, today’s language
translation apps have made this gap increasingly narrow.
Assuming you are presenting yourself as an aspiring photographer, and
even if your experience is truly limited, people are more apt to hear the
enthusiasm and passion in your voice and respond to that than they will to a
somewhat reserved, shy, insecure voice. It’s just another side of our human
nature: most of us feel “safe” when the tone of the person speaking to us is
self-assured rather than indecisive and unsure. Your subjects are more
inclined to feel motivated not by what you say but by how you say it; once
again, it comes down to the sincerity of your request.
And, no matter where or who you choose to shoot, you should be, first and
foremost, motivated to make images that feed the fires of your creative
endeavors. Here is my approach to choosing who to photograph: First, I
seldom ask anyone who I don’t find interesting, which of course is very
subjective, since what I find interesting may strike another as completely
boring. And second, I’ve discovered that a few minutes spent simply observing
a potential subject (sometimes discreetly) goes a long way toward determining
how I want to photograph that subject. It is during these several minutes that I
make mental notes about specific mannerisms or expressions I may wish to
capture. Also, it helps, when I do approach a person, that I explain the reason I
am interested in making the photograph.
Whether an image advances your career, wins a photo contest, or receives
ten or ten thousand likes on Instagram is truly secondary to the greater
reward. People photographers often work inside the fiercely protected
psychological boundaries that many subjects possess, but whether it be
immediate or several hours later, I often feel enriched by the shared
experience and am grateful for that best “high” of all: connecting with others
on what is surely a deeper level than the norm, whether they be family,
friends, or strangers.
Three cheers for travel without expectations! I was traveling with Nattakun, a
model and makeup artist I’ve known for several years. We were in Jodhpur,
India, and Natt wanted to get her hands painted with henna. Neither of us
knew where the henna shops were, yet we were both too stubborn to ask
for help. So, with a healthy dose of wanderlust, we hit the streets of Jodhpur
and, twenty minutes later, saw a big red sign advertising henna along with
sample photos of beautifully painted hands.
As we entered the establishment, we were greeted by a long, colorful
hallway of green and blue. I made a note to myself: shoot this hallway with a
wide-angle lens and a lone person standing in the one area of brightness,
looking up to the heavens with folded hands. Once we arrived in the actual
shop, I knew I had found my model. Dressed in green pants and an orange
dress (orange, fortuitously, being the color complement of blue!), she was
the owner of the shop. After she and her sister finished painting Natt’s
hands, she agreed to be my model for the shot you see here. I believe my
exact words were, “You may not be aware of this, but your long and colorful
hallway is a photographer’s dream and, considering the bright orange
clothing you are wearing, you would be the perfect addition to make that
hallway truly come alive. Of course, I will happily share a copy of the result
with you, and heck, you might want to even consider putting it on your
website promoting yourself as the henna artist that you are!”
NIKON D500, NIKKOR 18–300MM LENS, F/16 FOR 1/100 SEC., ISO 1600,
DAYLIGHT/SUNNY WB
How many photographs of people have you taken in which the subject was
expressing anger or sadness? It is not common for most of us to raise the
camera to our eye and begin photographing at the first sound of rage or
falling tears, yet it is our human nature to be drawn to other’s misfortune,
whether it be that couple arguing in Starbucks or the child screaming in
pain as he rubs his skinned-up knees following an unfortunate bike spill.
Despite being witness to these times of discomfort, seldom do we consider
making a photograph out of respect for the subject’s privacy. I get it, yet the
few times I have gone against the norm, I’ve been rewarded with an
emotionally charged image that evoked far deeper responses than your
standard “warm and meaningful” portrait. Thoreau was right: “The mass of
men lead lives of quiet desperation.” This quiet—and sometimes not so
quiet—desperation continues from birth until death, so why not consider
capturing the occasional sad time, along with all those other good times?
This little girl had just been given a flu shot from an outdoor medical clinic
on the streets of Jaipur, India. Her mother was honestly elated when I
showed her the photo and was quick to offer me her email address; that
evening, I sent her a copy.
NIKON D500, NIKKOR 18–300MM LENS, F/6.3 FOR 1/200 SEC., ISO 100,
DAYLIGHT/SUNNY WB
Following your very brief introduction (“Hi, my name is…I’m a
photographer…”), what compelling reason do you offer a complete
stranger you’ve asked to photograph? More often than not, my reasoning
(beyond the fact that I find him or her “attractive”) is that at that moment, in
that light, in that location, and with their attire, I believe that I will be able to
create a photograph they will find flattering. If I didn’t believe that, then it
would make very little sense to stop a stranger and take up their time for
what is essentially a practice session. If you need practice, choose a friend
or family member.
This woman was walking toward me on a very colorful street of painted
houses in Old Harar, Ethiopia. She spoke just enough English to understand
my desire to photograph her. The whole thing took, max, 15 seconds,
including the 1/125 sec. it took to press the shutter release for the exposure
you see here—of a great face, wrapped in colorful cloth, against a backdrop
of complementary color.
NIKON D810, NIKKOR 24–120MM LENS, F/11 FOR 1/125 SEC., ISO 400,
DAYLIGHT/SUNNY WB
Approaching People
So you love photographing people, yet you don’t like to approach strangers
and your family is comprised of just so many members. Where are you going
to find subjects to practice your craft? Short of being the most liked person in
the world, most of us are lucky enough to make a few new friends each year,
and how we make these new friends is, more often than not, through
“referrals”—friend of friends—since rarely does the person we sit next to on
the plane or share an elevator ride with become our best friend, let alone a
photographic subject.
With that in mind, I still know of no better way (and yes, I’m aware of the
countless “making friends” apps) to meet new people, people who can help
expand your pool of subjects, than through referrals. In the workplace, this is
called networking, and if you’re a serious people photographer, the practice of
networking should be high on your list of weekly tasks. The old saying “It’s not
what you know but who you know that counts” certainly applies to
photographing people. You’d be surprised at the number of willing subjects
your physician, minister, hairstylist, server, gas station attendant, and day-
care center staffer can provide. And again, it does bear repeating that your
sincerity and tone have a big impact on exactly how valuable these potential
contacts will be for you.
Keep in mind that everybody you meet has a certain look that is unique to
them, and the greater your circle of “looks,” the greater your opportunities to
photograph anyone from children to seniors with different styles of dress and
under a host of environmental settings. And of course, “what’s in it for your
subjects” is a chance to have fun as well as record some great memories.
When I ask students why they don’t take more pictures of people—in
particular, of strangers—the answer I hear most often is “fear of rejection.”
They assume their request will be rejected, and rejection can sometimes sting.
Truth be told, fear of rejection is justifiable. Throughout the world, the people
you wish to photograph—friends as well as strangers—have something to say
about you taking their picture, whether they express their opinion verbally or
with a rude gesture. Even the strongest photographers feel a pang of rejection
when a great subject makes it clear they are in no mood to be photographed.
On more than one occasion, I have been turned down at what I felt to be the
most inopportune time, as the location, the light, or the time of day was
“perfect”—perfect for me, of course, but at that moment not perfect for a
friend, family member, lover, or stranger.
 The reasons people don’t want to be photographed are, perhaps, many,
but I’ve concluded that there are two main ones. First, most people say “no”
simply because they feel that you couldn’t possibly take a good picture of them
at that time, at that place, wearing those clothes, and without them being able
to “freshen up” first. Ironically, these reasons for refusing are the very reasons
that draw you in in the first place: the time (the light is perfect), the place (the
environment complements their personality or character), their clothes (their
attire fits or contrasts sharply with the environment), and their appearance
(dirty face, messy hair, sweaty brow, or the joy or sexiness they’re exuding at
that moment).
Second, people say no because they don’t believe your intent. Again,
nothing plays a more pivotal role in winning people’s trust than the level of
sincerity you convey. This is true even when photographing family members.
Trust, like nourishment, is a universal need. Tell them why you want to take
their picture. There’s a reason, isn’t there? Of course I’ve been turned down,
many times, but I’m also quick to remind myself that every “No, thank you”
means I am one person closer to an “Okay, why not?”
Rarely, if ever, am I a fan of shooting surreptitiously. I don’t feel I’m being
fair to the subject, and getting them to sign a model release will be difficult, at
best, if getting model releases is your thing. Strictly speaking, there is not a
stock photography agency in the world that would use a photograph of a
person for commercial use (such as an advertisement promoting a product)
without a model release. So to be clear, that great shot of the stranger who, to
this day, has no idea you took their picture is useless in the commercial arena.
(For more about model releases, see this page.)
Although some photographers argue that being sneaky is the only way to
get “real” people shots, I strongly disagree. I’ve shot some of my best “candids”
because I made my presence known to the subject. The real joy in
photographing people comes when subjects are free to pose willingly and
when all parties involved agree that the final image is an accurate portrayal of
the subject. And again, for those shooting digitally, you can share that accurate
portrayal immediately via the monitor.
Finally, I want to stress just how important it is to listen to your subjects.
As mentioned earlier, people do talk back, and oftentimes, what they have to
say is worth its weight in gold. You may have everything all figured out in your
mind, but don’t be surprised if, after winning your subject’s trust, they also
have ideas about how they see themselves. One of the most important
questions I’ve asked strangers as well as family members is this: “If you could
look any way you want while being photographed, and in the environment of
your choosing, what would I see and where would you be?” The answers may
surprise you, but more than that, you may discover that they have is a favorite
dress or a favorite hairstyle, or a favorite trick they can do with their eyes, or
that they’ve always wanted to be photographed inside that barn down the road
(a barn you’ve always wanted to get access to but didn’t know who to ask). Or
you may discover that they have a beach house and an infinity pool that meets
up with the distant blue waters of the ocean, and now you have access to a
location that would normally cost a fortune to rent.
Listening to your subjects, taking an interest in them, is absolutely vital.
The many interactions I have had over the years have led to a number of the
ongoing relationships I still have today, relationships that lead to invitations to
return to these subjects’ homes around the world, where awaiting me upon my
arrival are several new subjects that my friends have found for me, thinking
that of course I would like to photograph them as well.
It can be frustrating when, at times, you can’t communicate with someone
who does speak your language and of course even more so when neither of
you speaks the other person’s language. It creates a level of frustration akin
to sitting in a dental chair and being asked to answer important questions
while your mouth is jacked open and full of dental instruments!
Despite several attempts to communicate with this street merchant in
Jodhpur, India, I don’t know how long he had been cleaning these very
worn and battered pots and pans, nor whom his customers might be. But in
a matter of minutes, his roaring fire and a mysterious white granular powder
turned the insides of these pots into gleaming mirrors with better-than-new
finishes. The speed at which he spun the very hot pots was really
impressive; while one hand gripped each pot with a pair of pliers, his other
hand wiped his “magic powder” on the inside of the pot and kept it
spinning simultaneously.
It was the roaring flames and the spinning of the pot that triggered me to
shoot at the relatively slow shutter speed of 1/20 sec., producing the
motion effect. A note about postprocessing here: my primary exposure was
for the dramatic, bright fire, which in turn created a lot of darkness in the
shadows. To open up the shadows and recover detail, I later moved the
Shadow slider to almost 90 percent, which accounts for the image’s
somewhat odd look—almost an HDR look, though it is only a single
exposure.
NIKON D500, NIKKOR 18–300MM LENS, F/11 FOR 1/20 SEC., ISO 1600,
DAYLIGHT/SUNNY WB
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Soon after sunrise the mist began to dissipate, and the surface of
the water to appear for miles around roughened as if by a smart
breeze, though there was not the slightest breath of wind at the time.
“How do you account for that appearance?” said I to one of the
fishermen. “Ah, lad, that is by no means so favourable a token as the
one you asked me to explain last night. I had as lief see the Bhodry-
more.” “Why, what does it betoken? and what is the Bhodry-more?”
“It betokens that the shoal have spawned, and will shortly leave the
frith; for when the fish are sick and weighty they never rise to the
surface in that way. But have you never heard of the Bhodry-more?”
I replied in the negative. “Well, but you shall.” “Nay,” said another of
the crew, “leave that for our return; do you not see the herrings
playing by thousands round our nets, and not one of the buoys
sinking in the water? There is not a single fish swimming so low as
the upper baulks of our drift. Shall we not shorten the buoy-ropes,
and take off the sinkers?” This did not meet the approbation of the
others, one of whom took up a stone, and flung it in the middle of the
shoal. The fish immediately disappeared from the surface for several
fathoms round. “Ah, there they go!” he exclaimed; “if they go but low
enough; four years ago I startled thirty barrels of light fish into my
drift just by throwing a stone among them.”
The whole frith at this time, so far as the eye could reach, appeared
crowded with herrings; and its surface was so broken by them as to
remind one of the pool of a waterfall. They leaped by millions a few
inches into the air, and sunk with a hollow plumping noise,
somewhat resembling the dull rippling sound of a sudden breeze;
while to the eye there was a continual twinkling, which, while it
mocked every effort that attempted to examine in detail, showed to
the less curious glance like a blue robe sprinkled with silver. But it is
not by such comparisons that so singular a scene is to be described
so as to be felt. It was one of those which, through the living myriads
of creation, testify of the infinite Creator.
About noon we hauled for the third and last time, and found nearly
eight barrels of fish. I observed when hauling that the natural heat of
the herring is scarcely less than that of quadrupeds or birds; that
when alive its sides are shaded by a beautiful crimson colour which it
loses when dead; and that when newly brought out of the water, it
utters a sharp faint cry somewhat resembling that of a mouse. We
had now twenty barrels on board. The easterly har, a sea-breeze so
called by fishermen, which in the Moray Frith, during the summer
months, and first month of autumn, commonly comes on after ten
o’clock A.M., and fails at four o’clock P.M., had now set in. We hoisted
our mast and sail, and were soon scudding right before it.
The story of the Bhodry-more, which I demanded of the skipper as
soon as we had trimmed our sail, proved interesting in no common
degree, and was linked with a great many others. The Bhodry-
more[24] is an active, mischievous fish of the whale species, which has
been known to attack and even founder boats. About eight years ago,
a very large one passed the town of Cromarty through the middle of
the bay, and was seen by many of the townsfolks leaping out of the
water in the manner of a salmon, fully to the height of a boat’s mast.
It appeared about thirty feet in length. This animal may almost be
regarded as the mermaid of modern times: for the fishermen deem it
to have fully as much of the demon as of the fish. There have been
instances of its pursuing a boat under sail for many miles, and even
of its leaping over it from side to side. It appears, however, that its
habits and appetites are unlike those of the shark; and that the
annoyance which it gives the fisherman is out of no desire of making
him its prey, but from its predilection for amusement. It seldom
meddles with a boat when at anchor, but pursues one under sail, as a
kitten would a rolling ball of yarn. The large physalus whale is
comparatively a dull, sluggish animal; occasionally, however, it
evinces a partiality for the amusements of the Bhodry-more. Our
skipper said, that when on the Caithness coast, a few years before, an
enormous fish of the species kept direct in the wake of his boat for
more than a mile, frequently rising so near the stern as to be within
reach of the boat-hook. He described the expression of its large
goggle eyes as at once frightful and amusing; and so graphic was his
narrative that I could almost paint the animal stretching out for
more than sixty feet behind the boat, with his black marble-looking
skin and cliff-like fins. He at length grew tired of its gambols, and
with a sharp fragment of rock struck it between the eyes. It sunk with
a sudden plunge, and did not rise for ten minutes after, when it
appeared a full mile a-stern. This narrative was but the first of I no
not know how many, of a similar cast, which presented to my
imagination the Bhodry-more whale and hun-fish in every possible
point of view. The latter, a voracious formidable animal of the shark
species, frequently makes great havoc among the tackle with which
cod and haddock are caught. Like the shark, it throws itself on its
back when in the act of seizing its prey. The fishermen frequently see
it lying motionless, its white belly glittering through the water, a few
fathoms from the boat’s side, employed in stripping off every fish
from their hooks as the line is drawn over it. This formidable animal
is from six to ten feet in length, and formed like the common shark.
24. Properly, perhaps, the musculous whale.
One of the boatmen’s stories, though somewhat in the
Munchausen style, I shall take the liberty of relating. Two Cromarty
men, many years ago, were employed on a fine calm day in angling
for coal-fish and rock-cod, with rods and hand-lines. Their little skiff
rode to a large oblong stone, which served for an anchor, nearly
opposite a rocky spire termed the chapel, three miles south of
Shandwick. Suddenly the stone was raised from the bottom with a
jerk, and the boat began to move. “What can this mean!” exclaimed
the elder of the men, pulling in his rod, “we have surely broken loose;
but who could have thought that there ran such a current here!” The
other, a young daring fellow, John Clark by name, remarked in reply,
that the apparent course of the skiff was directly contrary to that of
the current. The motion, which was at first gentle, increased to a
frightful velocity; the rope a-head was straitened until the very stem
cracked; and the sea rose upon either bows into a furrow that nearly
overtopped the gunwale. “Old man,” said the young fellow, “didst
thou ever see the like o’ that!” “Guid save us, boy,” said the other;
“cut, cut the swing.” “Na, na, bide a wee first, I manna skaith the
rape: didst thou ever see the like o’ that!”
In a few minutes, according to the story, they were dragged in this
manner nearly two miles, when the motion ceased as suddenly as it
had begun, and the skiff rode to the swing as before.
 THE TWIN SISTERS.

By Alexander Balfour.
One of these men is genius to the other;
And so, of these which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who decyphers them?
Shakspeare.

Emma and Emily Graham were twin daughters of a respectable

farmer and cattle-dealer in Perthshire. The girls bore such a striking
resemblance to each other, that their mother found it necessary to
clothe them in different colours, as the only method by which they
could be distinguished. As they grew up, their similarity became, if
possible, more perfect; the colour of their eyes and hair had no shade
of difference; and, indeed, every feature of their faces, their form and
stature, were so exactly alike, that the same distinction of different
dresses continued necessary. They had a brother, Edward, about
fifteen months younger, who bore as great a likeness to both as they
did to each other. When the girls arrived at nine or ten years of age,
they gave promise of being rather above the ordinary stature of their
sex, with a very considerable share of personal beauty. But it was
only in externals that the resemblance was complete; for, although
both had excellent dispositions, with a large share of good nature,
their minds were in most respects dissimilar.
Emma was sedate and modest, even to bashfulness; while Emily
was so free and lively, that many thought her forward, and her
lightheartedness akin to levity. Edward’s mind resembled that of his
younger sister as closely as his personal appearance. She was all
mirth and frolic, and, by changing clothes with her sister, amused,
perplexed, and sometimes fretted her parents; in all which Edward
delighted to bear a part. At school there was an ample field for these
sportive tricks; and the teacher himself was often sadly teased by
their playful metamorphoses.
When the sisters completed their seventeenth year, they had more
the appearance of grown women than is common at that age; and
their resemblance still continued perfect. Their voices, although
slightly masculine, were pleasant and musical; and both had the
same tone and sound, pitched to the same key. The dispositions
which they had exhibited in childhood still seemed to “grow with
their growth, and strengthen with their strength.” In one thing they,
however, agreed, which was, that whenever they appeared in public,
they dressed perfectly alike, and were frequently amused and
delighted with the mistakes produced by the uniformity. To
distinguish their clothes, every article belonging to Emma was
marked Em. G., and those of Emily with E. G. only.
As Edward grew up, his striking likeness to his sisters continued;
even their difference of voice could be distinguished only by a fine
and delicate ear; and with this close resemblance he was so highly
pleased, that he used every means by which it could be preserved. To
add to the perplexity of their friends, Emma would assume more
than her usual vivacity, while Emily would put herself under some
restraint; although the one was apt to become suddenly grave, and
the other relax into lightheartedness. But they were now divided; for
Emma went to reside with an aunt, at fifty miles’ distance, and there
she continued for a considerable time.
Both the girls had been courted occasionally by the young men of
their acquaintance; but their hearts had never felt a reciprocal
passion. There was, in particular, an old widower, Francis Meldrum,
who had become enamoured of Emily; and, as he was rich, her
parents anxiously wished to promote the match. But their daughter
shrunk from it with the most decided aversion: no repulse, however,
could release her from the importunity of his addresses, as he was
countenanced and encouraged by her parents.
During the summer, their father was in the practice of going into
England with a drove of cattle, sometimes not returning till the
approach of harvest. He now departed on his usual excursion; and,
soon after, the mother was called away to visit her sick grandmother,
from whom the family had considerable expectations. The farm and
house were thus left under the charge of Edward and Emily, both
willing to do their duty, but both thoughtless, and delighting in
frolic; which, now that they were relieved from the surveillance and
remonstrances of the sedate Emma, they had a better opportunity of
indulging.
There was a fair in Perth, only a few miles distant, and Emily
requested her brother to accompany her thither, that they might
have at least one day of pleasure. Her proposal was most readily
acceded to by Edward; and they departed together. A company of
military, part of the —— regiment, were quartered in Perth, under
the command of Captain Munro, who had received orders to recruit
during his stay. The fair was a good opportunity for that purpose,
and the Captain, with his troop, paraded the streets in their best
array. From a window in the inn where they were dining, Edward
and his sister saw them pass along the street. Emily had never known
what it was to love; but she had a susceptible heart. Her hour was
now come, and her lively fancy was enraptured with the fine, martial
appearance of the gallant Captain. Little accustomed to reflection,
she fell in love at first sight; and unpractised in disguising her
feelings, although she did not express her thoughts to her brother,
she was at little pains to conceal the impression made on her heart.
This he soon perceived, and began to rally her on the subject, when
she frankly acknowledged that she thought the officer the most
handsome-looking man she had ever seen, expressing an anxious
wish to know his rank and name. That information was easily
obtained by Edward, in a casual conversation with the waiter, who
said he was from the same quarter with Captain Munro, who was the
son and heir of a landed gentleman in Aberdeenshire, was
unmarried, and a great favourite with the ladies in town. When the
couple reached home, Emily’s head and heart both full of the
handsome Captain, they had a message from her mother, intimating
that the old woman was dying, and that she could not return till she
saw the result. There was also a letter from their father, requesting
Edward to follow him into England with a supply of cattle, as
speedily as possible.
Captain Munro had occupied Emily’s sleeping and waking
thoughts; and she began to wish that an opportunity might occur for
her becoming acquainted with him. With her characteristic love of
frolic, she formed a plan which promised to facilitate her wishes; and
circumstances seemed favourable for its execution, but it required
the assistance of her brother for carrying it into effect. It was
communicated to Edward; and he, equally rash and imprudent as
herself, was prevailed upon to play his part, which was no less than
to enlist himself with Captain Munro as a recruit, and trust to his
sister relieving him, according to a scheme pointed out by her, and
which appeared feasible to Edward. In compliance with the plan
which they had concerted, Edward, with a servant, left the farm for
the cattle. Having put them on the way, and arranged to rejoin the
servant, he rode into Perth, and enlisted with the Captain, receiving a
shilling of earnest. Promising to come back next morning to receive
his bounty, and be attested, Edward mounted his horse, and pushed
forward to England, leaving Emily to settle the business as best she
could.
The day when he had promised to return passed away without any
appearance of the recruit. Being a fine-looking fellow, the officer was
reluctant to loose him; therefore, next morning, he despatched a
serjeant, with a party, to inquire after him. On their arrival at the
farm, they found only Emily and the servants. The serjeant had seen
Edward when he enlisted, and now believed that he saw, in Emily,
the same person in disguise; in consequence of which he threatened
to carry her before his commanding officer; but, preserving her good
humour, she held his threats in defiance, and, for his own sake,
requested him to take care what he did. Some of the party had
remained in the kitchen, and there learned from the servants, that
Emily sometimes assumed her brother’s dress; and, they had no
doubt, had personated her brother, as a joke on the Captain. Emily
now regaled the party with hospitable cheer, and, dismissing them in
excellent humour, requested the serjeant to make her compliments
to Captain Munro, trusting that he would take better care of his next
recruit. The serjeant imparted all this to his superior, together with
what the soldiers had heard in the kitchen, from which the officer
was persuaded, that either himself or the serjeant had been
completely hoaxed, and, determined to investigate the matter fully,
both in discharge of his duty, and for the gratification of his curiosity,
which had been highly excited, he next morning visited the farm,
intending to judge for himself. This was just what Emily wished and
expected. She had therefore taken care to inform herself, in a short
interview with her brother, of almost every circumstance which had
passed between him and the Captain, the relation of which, she
trusted, would convince him of her being the recruit. The moment
Captain Munro looked at her, he was convinced of her being the
identical person he had enlisted, although he still had doubts about
her sex; while, at the same time, he felt that he had never seen one of
his own with features so fine and delicate. Although Captain Munro
was in every respect a gentleman, yet the extraordinary
circumstances which had produced this interview, warranted a
freedom of manner which, in other cases, he could not have
employed, where he was so much a stranger. He therefore now
informed Emily, that he was fully convinced of her being the person
who had enlisted with him, and also quite satisfied that she now
appeared in the habit which belonged to her sex; still, he presumed
he had some right to inquire her motive for a step so uncommon, and
which she appeared so early to relinquish.
This question, although she had anticipated it, brought deep
blushes into Emily’s face; and her heart palpitated as she replied,
that, although she now regretted having adopted a measure so
incompatible with female delicacy, she felt it a duty which she owed
to herself, to inform him of her inducement, lest it might be
attributed to something still more unbecoming. She then went on to
state that she had, for a long time past, been persecuted with the
odious addresses of a widower, old enough to be her father, and
whom her parents wished her to marry because he was rich; but,
although he had been her equal in age, their dispositions were so
opposite, that she must have despised him, for he was a miserly,
stingy, jealous, and contemptible wretch; and she had availed herself
of the absence of her parents to adopt a measure which, she was
sure, would, on its coming to his knowledge, have the effect of
relieving her from his offensive importunities; and, although she now
saw the imprudent folly she had committed, her regret would be
diminished, if it produced the consequences she so anxiously wished.
The part she was now acting, and the situation in which she had
placed herself, in spite of all Emily’s natural forwardness, called forth
that modest timidity which still adds to the loveliness of a young and
beautiful woman, suffusing her cheeks with crimson, and softening
the brightness of her sparkling eye. Altogether, her appearance and
behaviour made a powerful impression on the heart of the gallant
soldier; and he contrived to protract the interview till the latest
period that good breeding permitted. When Emily offered to return
the shilling which her brother had received, the Captain refused it,
saying, with a smile, that he had not yet renounced his claim on her,
but reserved it for further investigation, for the discussion of which
he proposed repeating his visit.
With self-possession, but becoming modesty, Emily replied, that
although she had already overstepped the bounds of female
decorum, she was neither ignorant of, nor indifferent to, that
propriety of conduct which her situation required; and would
therefore request, that if he was again inclined to visit the farm of
Greenbraes, it might be after the return of her parents. The Captain
now left Emily, nearly as much fascinated with her as she had been
with his first appearance; while the respectful propriety of his
behaviour, in a case where some freedom of speech might have been
excusable, raised him in her estimation; and she flattered herself that
he had not seen her with indifference.
The Captain was now impatient for the return of her parents; as,
afraid of incurring the displeasure of Emily, he could not venture to
visit Greenbraes till that time; but he, oftener than once, threw
himself in the way by walking in the vicinity, hoping to meet her
whom he now found it impossible to forget. Emily had seen him
sauntering in the fields, and rightly conjectured his purpose; but she,
actuated, no doubt, partly by a little coquetry, had uniformly
disappointed him.
Her father now returned from England; and Emily, who had never
before disguised her actions, convinced that her parent must soon
hear, from some officious friend, what had already made much noise
in the place, resolved to tell as much of the truth as suited her
purpose. She therefore informed her father that Edward, in a frolic,
had enlisted; but that she had sent him out of the way, and
represented him when the Captain came to claim his recruit, and
that officer had laughed heartily at the joke.
“Ah, Emily! you are a light-hearted, and lighter-headed lassie,”
said the fond father. “You carry things ower far; and I’m fleyed ye’ll
tine your ain character, or render it no worth the keeping. What will
Francie Meldrum say to that business? I’ll think shame to see him.”
 “My dear father, if naebody’s angry but Francie, I’ll never rue
doing that for my brother. Say that you’re no angry, father, and set
my heart at ease.” And, looking in her father’s face with a timid, but
affectionate smile, she laid her arm around his neck, pressing her
glowing lip to his bronzed cheek.
“I am angry, you little flattering gipsey; but promise to gie ower
thae light-headed pranks, and I’ll forgive you for this.”
Emily had reason to congratulate herself on this speedy
reconciliation with her father, who she saw was in good humour; for,
looking from the window, she saw Francis, the object of her
detestation, approaching, although he had never tormented her
during the absence of her parents. Leaving her father to receive the
unwelcome visitor, Emily secreted herself in an adjoining closet,
where she could hear every word of the conversation, which soon
became more agreeable to her than she had expected; for Francis
began to speak of her frolic with an asperity which her father did not
think it merited. They came to high words, the result of which was,
that the farmer conducted his guest to the door, requesting him
never to enter it again till Emily bade him welcome. This was so far
beyond Emily’s expectations, that her heart bounded with delight;
and, had it not been that she must have betrayed her being a listener,
she would have rushed in, and, kneeling to her father, thanked him
for the deliverance.
The fact was, that her father, on his return from England, had
stayed in Perth to deposit some money with his banker, who insisted
on his dining with him, as he was to see a few friends that day.
Captain Munro happened to be of the party, and, hearing the
farmer’s name and residence, endeavoured to make himself as
agreeable as possible, in which he succeeded admirably. Before
parting, he took an opportunity of having a private conversation with
the farmer, relating circumstantially what the reader is already
acquainted with, as far as consisted with his own knowledge. He
concluded by confessing the impression which Emily had made on
him, which all that he had since heard concerning her had
contributed to deepen; and that her motive for the frolic which had
given him the pleasure of knowing her was a sufficient apology; and,
as it was obvious she would never consent to marry the widower, he
begged the farmer to sanction his addresses, instead of a man whose
age certainly rendered the match very unsuitable. For his own
character and family he referred him to the banker, under whose roof
they were, requesting the pleasure of another interview before he left
town.
The honest farmer was rather vexed at the first part of this
relation, but the conclusion put him in good humour; and, in a
conversation with the banker, he learned that Captain Munro was
the son and heir of a landed gentleman in Aberdeenshire, and that
the young officer bore a highly respectable character, both as a man
and a soldier. The farmer and Captain again met, when the former
gave the officer his hearty permission to address his daughter,
adding, that as she had several times perplexed him with her
harmless tricks, of which the Captain had seen and felt a specimen,
he wished this interview to be kept secret, and, when they met at
Greenbraes, that they might appear strangers to each other. The
Captain approved of the suggestion, esteeming it a good joke; and
they parted, both in high spirits.
Emily was highly delighted with the dismissal of the importunate
widower; and, just as she was wondering whether the Captain knew
that her father had returned, she, one morning, saw him approaching
the house.
Although this was by no means a disagreeable discovery, yet, when
commanded by her father to join them in the parlour, she entered
with a palpitating heart, and her cheeks blushing like a half-blown
rose.
The Captain met her with the respectful ease of a gentleman and
an old acquaintance, when her father, in rather a severe tone, said,
“Emily, you informed me of a joke which you played off upon this
gentleman, and gave me to understand it was all settled and
forgotten; but I find that is not the case. Captain Munro insists that
you received earnest money from him, which you still retain; and,
therefore, he is entitled either to your services, or satisfaction for the
insult offered to him. What do you say?”
“When Captain Munro explains what he wants, I shall then know
how to answer,” replied Emily.
“That is easily done, Miss Graham,” replied the Captain. “You
engaged to be a soldier for life, and I claim the fulfilment of your
agreement—wish you to follow the drum. In a word, dear Emily, I
love you, and wish to make you a soldier’s wife. When I last had the
pleasure of seeing you, I informed you that I reserved my claim for
further discussion, and requested permission to visit you, which you
very prudently declined till your father’s return. He is now present,
and I wait your reply. A soldier hates trifling.”
“My first engagement with you, Captain, was rash, and I repented,”
replied Emily. “I am afraid you have imitated my folly, in the present
declaration, which you would probably regret on reflection. I shall
take time to deliberate; and, when we both know each other better, if
you continue in the same mind, I shall then be prepared to reply.”
This response, while it did credit to Emily’s prudence, was such as
gave the suitor every reasonable hope of success; as the expression,
“when we know each other better,” was sufficiently encouraging to
induce him to continue his visits. Love had already done his work
with both hearts, and in a short time they perfectly understood each
other.
Emily’s mother now returned; and, after the necessary
preparations, the wedding-day was appointed, when the Captain was
called to Edinburgh, as member of a court-martial, to be held in the
Castle. They had known each other but a short time, and both had
been so much engrossed with their own affairs, that, although the
Captain had heard Emma’s name mentioned, he was ignorant of the
striking resemblance which she bore to her sister. Emily had also
continued unacquainted with the Captain’s first interview with her
father, till she happened to overhear the latter relating it to her
mother, and chuckling over it as a good joke which he and the
Captain had played off on Emily. Although not displeased at the
imposition practised on her, she resolved, sooner or later, to pay
both her father and lover in their own coin; and her fertile invention
soon contrived a scheme, in which, if she could engage her sister as a
confederate, she trusted to enjoy the pleasure of full retaliation.
A letter had been despatched to Emma, announcing the intended
nuptials, and requesting her presence, to officiate as bride’s maid on
the occasion. This message had, however, been crossed on the road
by another from Emma, to the same tune; informing her parents of
her intended marriage, two days before that fixed for Emily’s
wedding, and requesting the same service of her sister which had
been expected from her.
This contretemps was a disappointment to both; however, a
second letter arrived from Emma, congratulating Emily on the
approaching event, and intimating that she and her husband
intended doing themselves the pleasure of being with them in time to
witness the ceremony.
The absence of some important witnesses in the case before the
court-martial had prevented its sitting; and a letter arrived from
Captain Munro, intimating, that, however much it vexed him, he
found it would be impossible for him to be at Greenbraes sooner
than the day appointed for their union; and, even then, the hour of
his arrival was uncertain, but he hoped to be in time for dinner.
Edward arrived from England on the eve of the wedding-day; and
Emma, with her husband, in the morning. After the mutual
congratulations among so many friends, Emily took an early
opportunity of communicating her intentions, and requesting their
assistance; especially as it was the last opportunity she would have of
indulging in frolic; as, in a few hours, she should be sworn to love,
honour, and obey her husband. Edward was highly delighted with
the scheme; and Emma’s husband, who loved a joke, prevailed on
her to comply with her sister’s request, and perform her share in the
plot, as explained by Emily; and the striking likeness of the two
sisters being still as strong as ever, rendered success almost certain.
As a necessary preliminary, it was agreed that the sisters should be
dressed exactly alike, in every, the minutest article, except that
Emma should wear a bandeau of artificial rosebuds, by which she
could be at once distinguished from her sister. All this was carried
into effect; and, when dressed, the distinction was pointed out to
their parents, to prevent, as they said, any ridiculous mistake at the
approaching ceremony.
The farmhouse of Greenbraes had, in former times, been the
mansion-house of the estate, and still had attached to it an extensive
and old-fashioned garden. The house stood on a rising ground, and
had a commanding view of the road by which the bridegroom must
approach. Emily had every thing ready; and, when she saw him at
some distance, she joined her brother, with Emma and her husband,
in the garden, where they had been for some time; but, as she passed
out, requested her mother to conduct Captain Munro to the garden,
on his arrival, contriving some excuse for leaving him as he entered,
as she wished to she him privately.
The party had disposed themselves in order, waiting his approach;
and, when they heard the garden-door open, Edward and Emily
withdrew, secreting themselves in a thicket of evergreens; and the
Captain entering, beheld Emma and her husband sauntering most
lovingly, at a little distance before him. They did not seem to observe
the bridegroom; but, on turning the corner of a new-clipped yew-
hedge, Emma, as if by accident, dropped her handkerchief, and the
next moment they were out of sight. Captain Munro believed at first
glance that it was Emily he had seen, but still was reluctant to
suppose it possible that she would permit any other man to use the
freedom he had just witnessed; and endeavoured to persuade himself
that the lady must be a stranger, invited to the wedding. However,
the handkerchief seemed a probable clue to solve his doubts; he
approached, took it up, and found it marked Em. G. In no very
pleasant mood, he stepped forward a little farther, when he heard a
soft whisper, which he knew proceeded from a rustic bower; and he
was aware that, by a slight circuit, he could discover the occupants
without being seen. He now saw, as he believed, Emily seated in the
bower, her head leaning on the shoulder of a handsome-looking
young man, whose arm encircled her waist. Rage and jealousy now
took possession of the bridegroom’s soul, and he was at first
disposed to leave the farm, without speaking to any one, but,
standing for a few minutes in a stupor, he determined to see the face
of him for whom he had been so cruelly deceived. He therefore
walked up in front of the bower, and, with all the calm respect which
he could assume, said, “Madam, permit me to present your
handkerchief, which you dropped in the walk.”
“I thank you, Sir,” replied Emma; “may I inquire to whom I am
indebted for restoring it to its owner?”
The cool composure with which this question was put, raised the
indignation of the maddened bridegroom to its highest pitch; and,
with a glance of the most sovereign contempt which he could
assume, he replied, “To one, madam, who despises you from his soul,
and thanks God for his timely discovery of your infamy!”
 Her husband now started to his feet, and said, “Sir, you bear the
insignia, although you want the manners of a gentleman. But were
you of the blood-royal, you should not insult my wife with impunity.”
Captain Munro started at the word, and repeated, “Wife! did you
say, Sir? Permit me to ask one question, to which your candid reply
will oblige me. How long has that woman been your wife?”
“For these two days.”
“Enough. Farewell for ever! infamous woman!”
Edward now sprung from the thicket, and standing right before
the Captain, in the exact costume in which he had enlisted, said, with
an arch and good-humoured smile, “My honoured Captain, excuse
the freedom of your recruit. I cannot patiently hear those
opprobrious epithets applied to my sister; perhaps she could explain
all this if you had patience.”
The Captain was now fairly bewildered, and stood staring, first at
the one, and then the other, in half-frantic amazement, when, to his
relief, the farmer approached; and, seeing the four looking in gloomy
silence on each other, exclaimed, “Why, what is the matter with all of
you, that you stare as if bewitched?”
Captain Munro, recovering himself a little, replied, “It is even so,
Sir; and you are come in time to remove the spell. Say, who are these
before you?”
The farmer surveyed the group, and observing that Emma had not
the bandeau of rose-buds by which she was to be distinguished from
her sister, replied: “Captain, what do you mean? The young man is
my son Edward; the other is Dr Malcolm, my son-in-law: you surely
do not require to be told that the female is my daughter, and your
bride.”
“She is no bride of mine—I renounce her for ever!” said the angry
soldier, in a most indignant tone.
While the farmer stood, as much amazed as the Captain had been,
Emily came forward from the thicket, and, standing close beside her
sister, said, “Dear father, let not the gentlemen quarrel; you have
certainly a daughter for each of them; and as both of us are quite
willing to have husbands, have the goodness to give our hands to
those for whom you intend us;” and both sisters stood with the
stillness, gravity, and silence of statues. The astonished father found
the distinguishing badge wanting in both, and replied, “I must
confess I am fairly bewildered; gentlemen, choose for yourselves, for
I cannot!”
Edward now put on Emily’s playful smile, and looked at the
Captain in a manner which made him at once clasp the youth in his
arms, crying, “My dear Emily! I know you now.”
The loud laughter of the party again renewed the confusion of the
bridegroom and farmer, which was enjoyed for a considerable time
before they condescended to give any explanation. It was, however,
at last made; all was set right, and the evening passed at Greenbraes
in hilarity and unclouded happiness.
 ALBERT BANE:
AN INCIDENT OF THE BATTLE OF
CULLODEN.

By Henry Mackenzie.

When I was, last autumn, at my friend Colonel Caustic’s in the

country, I saw there, on a visit to Miss Caustic, a young gentleman
and his sister, children of a neighbour of the Colonel’s, with whose
appearance and manner I was particularly pleased.
The history of their parents, said my friend, is somewhat
particular, and I love to tell it, as I do everything that is to the honour
of our nature. Man is so poor a thing, taken in the gross, that when I
meet with an instance of nobleness in detail, I am fain to rest upon it
long, and to recall it often, as in coming thither over our barren hills
you would look with double delight on a spot of cultivation or of
beauty.
The father of those young folks, whose looks you were struck with,
was a gentleman of considerable domains and extensive influence on
the northern frontier of our country. In his youth he lived, as it was
then more the fashion than it is now, at the seat of his ancestors,
surrounded with Gothic grandeur, and compassed with feudal
followers and dependants, all of whom could trace their connection
at a period more or less remote with the family of their chief. Every
domestic in his house bore the family-name, and looked on himself
as in a certain degree partaking its dignity, and sharing its fortunes.
Of these, one was in a particular manner the favourite of his master.
Albert Bane (the surname, you know, is generally lost in a name
descriptive of the individual) had been his companion from his
infancy. Of an age so much more advanced as to enable him to be a
sort of tutor to his youthful lord, Albert had early taught him the
rural exercises and rural amusements, in which himself was
eminently skilful; he had attended him in the course of his education
at home, of his travels abroad, and was still the constant companion
of his excursions, and the associate of his sports.
On one of those latter occasions, a favourite dog of Albert’s, whom
he had trained himself, and of whose qualities he was proud,
happened to mar the sport which his master expected, who, irritated
at the disappointment, and having his gun ready cocked in his hand,
fired at the animal, which, however, in the hurry of his resentment,
he missed. Albert, to whom Oscar was a child, remonstrated against
the rashness of the deed in a manner rather too warm for his master,
ruffled as he was with the accident, and conscious of being in the
wrong, to bear. In his passion he struck his faithful attendant, who
suffered the indignity in silence: and retiring, rather in grief than in
anger, left his native country that very night; and when he reached
the nearest town, enlisted with a recruiting party of a regiment then
on foreign service. It was in the beginning of the war with France,
which broke out in 1744, rendered remarkable for the rebellion
which the policy of the French court excited, in which some of the
first families of the Highlands were unfortunately engaged. Among
those who joined the standard of Charles, was the master of Albert.
After the battle of Culloden, so fatal to that party, this gentleman,
along with others who had escaped the slaughter of the field,
sheltered themselves from the rage of the unsparing soldiery among
the distant recesses of their country. To him his native mountains
offered an asylum; and thither he naturally fled for protection.
Acquainted, in the pursuits of the chase, with every secret path and
unworn track, he lived for a considerable time, like the deer of his
forest, close hid all day, and only venturing down at the fall of
evening, to obtain from some of his cottagers, whose fidelity he could
trust, a scanty and precarious support. I have often heard him (for he
is one of my oldest acquaintances) describe the scene of his hiding-
place, at a later period, when he could recollect it in its sublimity,
without its horror. “At times,” said he, “when I ventured to the edge
of the wood, among some of those inaccessible crags which you
remember a few miles from my house, I have heard, in the pauses of
the breeze which rolled solemn through the pines beneath me, the
distant voices of the soldiers, shouting in answer to one another
amidst their inhuman search. I have heard their shouts re-echoed
from cliff to cliff, and seen reflected from the deep still lake below the
gleam of those fires which consumed the cottages of my people.
Sometimes shame and indignation wellnigh overcame my fear, and I
have prepared to rush down the steep, unarmed as I was, and to die
at once by the swords of my enemies; but the instinctive love of life
prevailed, and starting, as the roe bounded by me, I have again
shrunk back to the shelter I had left.
“One day,” continued he, “the noise was nearer than usual; and at
last, from the cave in which I lay, I heard the parties immediately
below so close upon me, that I could distinguish the words they
spoke. After some time of horrible suspense, the voices grew weaker
and more distant; and at last I heard them die away at the further
end of the wood. I rose and stole to the mouth of the cave, when
suddenly a dog met me, and gave that short quick bark by which they
indicate their prey. Amidst the terror of the circumstance, I was yet
master enough of myself to discover that the dog was Oscar; and I
own to you I felt his appearance like the retribution of justice and of
heaven. ‘Stand!’ cried a threatening voice, and a soldier pressed
through the thicket, with his bayonet charged. It was Albert! Shame,
confusion, and remorse stopped my utterance, and I stood
motionless before him. ‘My master!’ said he, with the stifled voice of
wonder and of fear, and threw himself at my feet. I had recovered my
recollection. You are revenged, said I, and I am your prisoner.
‘Revenged! Alas! you have judged too harshly of me; I have not had
one happy day since that fatal one on which I left my master; but I
have lived, I hope, to save him. The party to which I belong are
passed; for I lingered behind them among those woods and rocks,
which I remember so well in happier days. There is, however, no
time to be lost. In a few hours this wood will blaze, though they do
not suspect that it shelters you. Take my dress, which may help your
escape, and I will endeavour to dispose of yours. On the coast, to the
westward, we have learned there is a small party of your friends,
which, by following the river’s track till dusk, and then striking over
the shoulder of the hill, you may join without much danger of
discovery.’ I felt the disgrace of owing so much to him I had injured,
and remonstrated against exposing him to such imminent danger of
its being known that he favoured my escape, which, from the temper
of his commander, I knew would be instant death. Albert, in an
agony of fear and distress, besought me to think only of my own
safety. ‘Save us both,’ said he, ‘for if you die, I cannot live. Perhaps
we may meet again; but whatever comes of Albert, may the blessing
of God be with his master!’”
Albert’s prayer was heard. His master, by the exercise of talents
which, though he had always possessed, adversity only taught him to
use, acquired abroad a station of equal honour and emolument; and
when the proscriptions of party had ceased, returned home to his
own country, where he found Albert advanced to the rank of a
lieutenant in the army, to which his valour and merit had raised him,
married to a lady, by whom he had got some little fortune, and the
father of an only daughter, for whom nature had done much, and to
whose native endowments it was the chief study and delight of her
parents to add everything that art could bestow. The gratitude of the
chief was only equalled by the happiness of his follower, whose
honest pride was not long after gratified by his daughter becoming
the wife of that master whom his generous fidelity had saved. That
master, by the clemency of more indulgent and liberal times, was
again restored to the domains of his ancestors, and had the
satisfaction of seeing the grandson of Albert enjoy the hereditary
birthright of his race. I accompanied Colonel Caustic on a visit to this
gentleman’s house, and was delighted to observe his grateful
attention to his father-in-law, as well as the unassuming happiness of
the good old man, conscious of the perfect reward which his former
fidelity had met with. Nor did it escape my notice, that the sweet boy
and girl, who had been our guests at the Colonel’s, had a favourite
brown and white spaniel, whom they caressed much after dinner,
whose name was Oscar.