The History and Practice of the Art of Photography — A Reader’s Guide

A Practical Manual, Not a History

Despite its title, Snelling's book devotes only one of thirteen chapters to history. The bulk of the text is procedural: chapters on apparatus, the daguerreotype process, paper processes, and coloring. The author repeatedly insists on the superiority of American practice. For instance, he claims that English works are "much inferior to those practised in the United States" and that their apparatus "cannot compare with ours for completeness, utility or simplicity." This national pride is not mere rhetoric; it shapes the selection of techniques described. Snelling omits or dismisses methods he considers outdated or foreign, such as certain European gilding formulas. Readers should approach the historical chapter as a brief prelude, not a comprehensive survey.

The Gilding Anecdote as a Window into Practice

One of the most vivid passages in the excerpts recounts a dispute over hyposulphite of gold versus chloride of gold for gilding daguerreotypes. Snelling tells of a gentleman who first condemned hyposulphite as "good for nothing," only to later order three bottles after becoming familiar with its use. The anecdote reveals several things: that practitioners experimented with competing chemicals, that Snelling acted as a consultant ("by my advice"), and that he valued persistence in technique. The detailed instructions for preparing the gold solution—dissolving fifteen grains of chloride of gold in a pint of distilled water, then mixing with hyposulphite of soda—show the precision expected of the reader. Snelling also warns that dirty equipment, not faulty plates, often caused failures.

Skepticism Toward Coloring

In chapter XII, Snelling expresses doubt about the practice of coloring daguerreotypes. He writes that he "very much doubt[s] the propriety of coloring" and believes pictures are "little, if any, improved by the operation, at least as it is now generally practised." He lists the artistic requirements—talent for drawing, taste, discrimination of effect—and bluntly states that "very few of these are possessed by our operators as a class." This critical stance is unusual for a manual aimed at beginners; it suggests Snelling saw himself as an arbiter of quality rather than a mere compiler of recipes. The passage also implies that coloring was widespread enough to warrant a chapter, even if the author disapproved.

Structure and Intended Audience

The book's table of contents shows a logical progression: from history and theory to apparatus, then step-by-step processes, and finally specialized topics like lunar photography and the photographometer. The preface explicitly targets "young beginners" and those who found English works deficient. Snelling's voice is direct and opinionated, often using first-person anecdotes to illustrate points. The excerpts include a detailed troubleshooting narrative about a plate that failed due to dirty wash dishes. This practical, problem-solving orientation suggests the book was meant to be used at the workbench, not just read. Readers should expect a mix of technical instruction, commercial advice, and personal commentary.

Snelling's manual rewards a selective reading: focus on the procedural chapters (V–XII) for hands-on guidance, and treat the historical and theoretical sections as context. The author's strong opinions—on American superiority, on coloring, on chemical brands—are part of the book's character, but they do not always reflect standard practice. For a first reading, pay attention to the anecdotes and troubleshooting tips; they reveal the real challenges of mid-19th-century daguerreotypy more vividly than the recipes alone.

I keep thinking about that old 1849 photography manual—how its author cared so fiercely that Americans do things their own way, with their own hands, not borrowed from Europe. It’s the same quiet pride I found wandering through the pages of The Architecture and Landscape Gardening of the Exposition A Pictorial Survey of the Most Beautiful Achitectural Compositions of the Panama-Pacific International — Inside the Classic, where every column and garden felt like a held breath, a moment someone wanted to keep.