raspberry-bushes thrust themselves through the yawning crevices between
the logs; and in front of the sunken door-sill lay a rusty, broken iron
stove, like a dismantled altar on which the fire had gone out forever.

After we had feasted upon the view as long as we dared, counted the
lakes and streams, and found that we could see without a glass more than
thirty, and recalled the memories of "good times" which came to us from
almost every point of the compass, we unpacked the camera, and proceeded
to take some pictures.

If you are a photographer, and have anything of the amateur's passion
for your art, you will appreciate my pleasure and my anxiety. Never
before, so far as I knew, had a camera been set up on Ampersand. I had
but eight plates with me. The views were all very distant and all at a
downward angle. The power of the light at this elevation was an unknown
quantity. And the wind was sweeping vigorously across the open summit
of the mountain. I put in my smallest stop, and prepared for short
exposures.

My instrument was a thing called a Tourograph, which differs from most
other cameras in having the plate-holder on top of the box. The plates
are dropped into a groove below, and then moved into focus, after which
the cap is removed and the exposure made.

I set my instrument for Ampersand Pond, sighted the picture through the
ground glass, and measured the focus. Then I waited for a quiet moment,
dropped the plate, moved it carefully forward to the proper mark, and
went around to take off the cap. I found that I already had it in my
hand, and the plate had been exposed for about thirty seconds with a
sliding focus!