370 Cult. TO MY CLOSET_ I am weary of this turmoil, din and str I and weary of earth's jostling, selfish way ; I am weary of my sinning, of my groaning, of my life ; Open, closet, still and holy, Open, closet, bending lowly Let me enter; I would pray. O, toenter but with Jesus where 'tis still, There to pour out unreproved my pent-up tears ; In that hush to list His praying— Father. keep from ill ;" Open - , closet, still dud holy, • Open, closet, bending lowly, Take me where the Father hears 'Tis "the holiest of Holies" shuts me.in, The Sbechinall of God's pvisence drawing near, And. like incense plouds -to wrap me' is the Comforter within. Open, closet, still and holy, Opon, closet, bending lowly Take me—peace doth wait me here. 0, the nearness, 0, the sweetness of the place! Here with. Jesus only lingering "I stay 'Tis so near I grasp His loving hand, e'en al most see His face. Open, closet, still and holy; Open, closot, bending lowly, • Let me enter ; L must pray Here I cannot choose but grasp His offered hand; 'Tis so near, and taking, keep it all the day ; 0, so strong, it stays me sweetly, in His hp/cti ing I must stand. Blessed closet, still and holy, Open quickly, bending lowly Let me enter; I must pray. "WHO murmurs that in these dark days His lot is cast ? God's hand within the shadow lays The stones whereon his gates of praise Shall rise at last.. 'Turn and o'erturn, O, outstretched hand, Nor stint, nor stay-- The years have never dropped their sand On mortal issue vast and grand As ours to day. Already on the sable ground Of men's despair, Is Freedom's glorious picture f 4 ound, With all its dusky hands unbound, Upraised in prayer. Oh, small shall seem all sacrifice, And grief, and loss, When Gad shall wipe the weeping eyes, For suffering give the Victor's prize, The Crown—for Cross I" LOOKING BACK James Brainard. Taylor says in his journal, that we may regard it a bad szYn when we find ourselves looking back to past Christian, experience for evidences of piety. Truly it is one of Satan's most effectual devices. In the early ardor of a Christian hope, in the full energy and enthusiasm of youth, we may seem to accomplish much in :the service of 'Christ. But when that youthful ardor has abated, and enthusiasm, has become tamed by defeat, when worldlines has crept over the soul, slumbering on some lap of ease, and has shorn its, strength, we awake to take up the lamen i tation "Where is the blessedness I knew When tirat I saw the Lord." Then the danger is that we shall not return at once to our first love, and devotedness to the service of. Christ, but shall be content with an indolent purpose to do so, which day after, day remains unfulfilled. Then self.exami nation becomes a dark tisk from which we shrink. We avoid such present, and personal question§ as "Have I to day prayed as much and earnestly as I ought,? Have I to-day ' set a holy ex amplt before my family and the world? Have I to-day tried to lead any soul to Christ'? How much, easier for such an one to think and speak of what,he has done, or means to do, than of what he did to-day. I have heard people tell what they were enabled' to do for Christ twenty five years ago, till their hearts seemed to grow warm in the recital, ,but they spoke no word of what they had done for Christ that day. Oh there is no more fearful crisis in the soul's history, than that in which it stands, while it can only look back for evidence of a living faith in Christ. SELECTIONS. "I HEARD SINGING TO-NIGHT." " I'll tell you what, I heard singi to-night that made me wish I was in heaven, or good enough to go there," said an old backwoodsman to his wife, as, entering their log hut, he sat down to his evening ,meal. " Where did you hear it?" she 'asked. "At our neigh bor's, up' yonder. They must feel something I don't know about, or they couldn't sing so.". "When they first .came here," said the wife, thought they were proud and stiff; but they are real good neighbors . ; and I, heard they were good folks, too." " Weil," said he, " I mean to go to church, to-Mer -1 row, and see if can't hear some singin , like that." The singer knew that her neighbors were ignorant, rough, and unbelieving, nearing the decline of life, and unwilling to be approached on the subject of reli gion. The old wife especially was so nearly a heathen, that she would never enter a church, never allow the visit of a nainister, 'nor listeri:to the reading of God's word or even to the singing of a hymn. The man was apoor but honest day-laborer, who had ruined his worldly affairs by indulgence in strong drink, but had been lifted out of the pit, and been sober for many years. Still he was' a rough, swearing man, and his heart unsoftened-by any religious influ ences. One glorious • summer ,evening as the sun was going down, the lady Seated herself at the door, and involuntarily tuned her voice to Mrs. ileman's sweet vesper song, " Come to the nearest tree." She felt the spirit of the heavenly words, and sang with fervor. When near the close of the hymn, she cast her eyes to the field where her neighbor was at work, and saw that he was listening in tently. Instantly the thought' flashed into her mind, "Oh, if I could raise, that poor man to think of heaven." She closed her refrain and then com menced, " On Jordan's stormy banks I stand," singing it " with the spirit and the understanding also." The firma ment above her foreshadowed the glo ries of that state described by the hymn, and the beauty of the green earth reminded her of the pastures above ,where the redeemed are walking by the river of life. And as she sang, the old man listened, almost spell-bound. The singer did not wish ito call admiration of her full toned voice ; she wished to glorify God by leading one ,of his crea tures to think of him. " I will sing to God's praise whenever he can hear me,, and perhaps he may be led to praise the Lord himself," was her mental re solve. The next Sabbath the old, man was at church. This cheered the lady, and she said,' " I will sing whenever he comes." Ere another week was closed he was at' work again. This time she sang: Just as I am, without one plea, But that thy blood was shed for me.", Slowly, distinctly, she sang, that he might take in the full meaning of the words, and feeling their sweet pathos in her inmost soul, she poured out all the. hyrian. The' listener shook his head,r and rubbed his hand quickly over his eyes. ' tc Righteous The next Sabbath evening he was among the praying people of God, eal•n estly inquiring for the way of salvation. The singer had sowed, and earnestly asked the'Lord to make him one of his own- children. It may be that other influences led him to the house of-God and to think of his soul, but Certainly God has blessed the vOice of 'music as one of his instruments. Seeking further to do good, the lady encouraged his poor ignorant wife in many friendly ways, and one day invit ed her into the parlor to hear her piano. She had never seen nor heard such an instrument,, and was wonderstruck: The lady called, her daughters to her side, and all joined in singing, "All hail the , power of Jesus' name, ' in old Coro nation. 44 Do you like that ?" said. the lady. "Oh, it's nice. ' I b'l've I heard that tune somewhere when I was a ,gal,..but I've forgot." " Probably you heard it at church. It is often sung there. We cannoesing the, praises of Jesus too 'often, for he came, to save us, poor sinners." Then they sang, "Come humble sinner, in 'whose breast," &c. The woman rose and said she must go, and was invited to "come again." "Oh, I'll come often, if .I can hear you sing." " Mother, you take a strange way to , win souls ; do you think you will suc ceed ?" " Why not, my daughter ? Has not God commanded that whatsoever we do should be done to his glory ? And if he has given us voices to sing, - should we not use them in his service ? , i rhere are many ears who will listen to a hymn for the sake, of the tune, who .will not hear a word from the Bible. Our voi ces and our musical instruments should all be employed in winning lost sbuls." Parson Gillette said in his sermon last evening, we must scatter blessings, and Amy Woodford went home thoughtful. She was the wife of a year—a happy, be loved wife. Her home a perfect gem, everything new and nice about it a strong, handy Scotch girl to do the hard work, and Amy only had the par lors and her own room to put in order, and an occasional choice dish to prepare her husband, to look after things a little, and then she read and sang, and dallied over her sewing as she pleased. A quiet, happy life she led; but through it crept a shadow of dissatisfaction, for she was doing so • little to promote any good, and just seeking her own enjoy ment. MARA ARRELL The sermon had set her to thinking. Perhaps the work she might do went straying through her dreams, for she had not forgotten when Monday morning dawned the good resolutions of the night before, and after Mr. Woodford had gone to his office, she stood by the parlor window, idly scraping the frost from the pane with her, slender fingers and then she walked up to the fire and 'held the small, soft palm of her chilled ha.nds to catch the refreshing warmth. `;.'We must scatter blessings.' Well, and what can I do, in my little humble sphere? There are no prisons into which I can cai•ry the cheering light of human kind ness, and with the finger of faith point the poor, doomed criminal to that world, where,•through the mercies of a forgiv ing Saviour, he may one day be free no hospitals, where I can soothe and cheer the brave, noble men who have given their lives a sacrifice upon the altar of liberty ; not• cases of real, abject poverty which I can relieve, for -I know every one in this quiet village ; so what can I do?" - SCATTER BLESSINGS BY MINNIE W. MAY Amy sat clown almost discouraged, for tke want of something to present PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1864. itself right there by her own - fireside ; but it seemed in no ways likely to come; so she went alm)ut her morning work a little less cheerful than usual. It was a cold winter morning. The snow lay thick upon the ground, and the tread. of the few passers-by sounded out sharPly from the crisp, hard walks. Amy went to the kitchen on some simple er rand, and found Macdown, the house maid; washing the breakfast dishes, with one foot upon the chair,; the tears run ning down her plump, red cheeks, and the usually neat apartment in a sad state of confusion. " Why, Macdown, what is the matter ?", was Amy's in voluntary exclarnatior‘ in a kind but surprised, voice. " Oh, Miss Amy, b t I have had the' dreadfullest fall! Iw s going down the icy steps to hang out n y last basket of clothes, and down I we t, with my poor ankle turned right in, nd it does pain me bad. I shall have ip take the work easy to-day, mem; I'll get, through it in time." "Indeed, you will not do anything more, Ilacdown. Why did you not come directly to me ?" " And what good would it do to worry you, dear child?" You felt at once the kind-hearted housemaid loved the young housekeeper, and that she deserved it. "Now wipe your hands immediately, Macdown, and let hie wheel the settee , before they dining-room fire, and you come right in and lie down. Let me help you, poor thing ! how cruel for you to try to work in such pain !" Amy put her arm about the girl, and almost lifted her along, Macdown in too much pain to offer any resistance. She bathed the Swollen limb, adjusted the cushions under her head, and covered her with /a warm blanket, and telling her never once to think of the work, went out to her task in the kitchen. It was quite a formida,ble one, unused as she was to hard labor, but she knew how it should be done, and an hour brought drder out of confusion, and she went back to tell Macdown how everything was complete; the dinner all ready to put on in its proper time, and that she felt better for the exercise • but Macdown was crying bitterly. Amy pulled a footstool to her side, and sat down, laying her hand upon the hot forehead. "Poor Macd,own! I'm sorry you suffer so," she said kindly. "It isn't the pain, ma'am; i believe it is all gone ; at least, I am so happy I cannot feelit. I have been thinking how good God is to give me such a home— me, a poor orphan girl, that hasn't any body in the whole of this big world to care anything about her, and there was such a great, tender feeling came over me I could not help crying. You dear little soul ! God will bless you." It was pleasant to hear those words, even from the lips of a servant, and Amy thought for the first time of the soul of the poor ignorant, girl, that , t had been in a measure given to her keeping ) , and learned with surprise that the poor serving-girl-was far in advance of her in the Christian graces of faith, and love and that it was this ,that always made her labor so faithfully and cheerfully. Then Amy wentlo answer the door-bell. It was a boy who had followed a load of coal which Mr. Woodford had ordered, and he stood twisting his chilled fingers awkwardly as he asked—"Please,ma'am, and can I put in the coal ?" He looked into her face very wishfully, as if his life almost depended upon her answer. Certainly, if you wish to," Amy re plied, with a light laugh, for to her the putting in a ton of coal was a light matter, and she had never before. been troubled with such errands. The little fellow sprang quickly away, and caught up the shovel. Amy half closed the door, and then upon a sudden impulse opened it and asked the child if he was not cold. "A. little ; but I will soon get warm at work." She went in and sat down to the piano, and running her fingers over the keys in a lively prelude, commenced singing a pretty Scotch ballad, she knew particu larly delighted Macdown, and she had left the door leading to the dining-room open. She glanced up at the window as she concluded, and tie brighest, happi est face she ever remembered having seen was pressed close to the pane ; but soon as :the Child perceived he Was discovered, he crept back to his•work. Amy watch ed him till the last piece of coal was in, saw how carefully he closed the door and left everything safe, and then she went and called him to her. It Was al most a miracle to see a child of his years so thoughtful and industrious. "You are a good boy," she said 'softly, "and here is a dollar for you." " Oh, it is only half a dollar for one load, ma'am." The child turned the bank note over and over in his hand, smoothed it affec tionately, and looked up, with his eyes brimful, of astonishment and joy.' " I do not believe I ever had so much mon ey in all my life befev. It will help along so much." „ Ts your mother very poor, little boy? „ ” Oh, not dreadful. We are pretty comfortable when father has stork; but lately there isn't much doing, and some weeks he does not get hardly anything, and then we have to live on potatoes and salt, and a little corn bread, and •' I thought if I could just get a littlo ter with my half dollar, it would Pe so nice." 't And 'where do you live?" "Father owns a .bit of land and the. small frame house just on 4:11 Mon mouth road, and mother says vi "Never mind : you may keep it all." get. in debt, 'cause it is so hard to get out, so we jesf?`conomizes." " What were' you doing up at the window a little while ago ?" Amy asked, with a twinkle of fun in her eyes. The child hung down his head. " Oh, I couldn't help listening, : it was such a pretty noise," he faltered, in affright. "I am not going to scold you, my boy : but do you want me to play some more for you?" The bright eyes grew still brighter, and fairly sparkled with delight when she struck into the quick variations of a popular air, which the child recogni zed at once. Then she sang a few sim ple songs, and finally raised the lid of the strange instrument, and explained its mysterious workings to the wonder ing mind, and was rewarded by a genu ine, heartfelt " Thank ' you; I think when I get to be a man I will make one of them, and if yours is worn out by that time, I will make you one too." She set out a simple lunch upon the dining-room table, and went to the kit chen to add some coal to the wasted fire, and as the child watched hei retreating form, he gave vent to his admiration by turning to. Macdown, who was watching the hippy child with pleasure, and ex-, claiming—" Oh, but aint she a beauty, though. She is the prettiest of any body I ever did see!" And Macdown thought the child quite right. Now no one thought of calling Anly Woodford a beauty, or even pretty, for her figure was very slight, her face thin, and her features irregular, her eyes and hair too light to be beautiful ; but ihere vat always a sweet expression about the small 'mouth that made every one love the plain face after all, and her hus band firmly rdee,lared she was charming; but Amy kept at- her work without thinking or even 'caring whether she was beautiful or not, so long as she was be loved. - A big basket found its way down to the small brown house that morning, and there was,' besides two tempting rolls of butter, sufficient to keep the small family in luxuries for a week, and the boy went dancing hOme with it up on his arm, the happiest child in the whole village. Mr. Woodford came home late to din ner that day. Someho', everything had gone wrong with him, and Amy saw at once there was a cloud upon his - brow. She, did not question him, however, and though he was unusually moody and tac iturn, she did not chide, and when he spoke almost sharply, to Macdown for her carelessness, she did not reprove him, though the words trembled on her lips, but went, on .telling him how much she had accomplished that, morning, how light-hearted she felt; fOr all she was a little weary, and at length the cloud ,be gan to, uplift itself, and by and by van fished altogether, and her husband kiss ed her and called her his little sunshine. He produced a pile of blanks that t be filled 'that afternoon, said his 'clerk had gone off td the city, his partner was sick, and he . had an argument in his brain that he believed would help him gain a case if he only had time to note it down before he lost the thread, and .Amy begged that she might do the writing. Her husband, jestingly told. her it would not be fair to make a law yer of her, but seemed in no wise reluc tant td accept of her proffered assis fance, and after taking down names and boundaries upon slips of paper, left her to her task. Her penmanship was very fine, and she had a great deal of inge nuity, though little knowledge of deeds and mortgages; but when her husband .returned at evening, it was all done and well done, and he praised her. t She had not been free from interruptions, however. Once a peddler had come in to/the hail, and she felt like sending him away in Aker ; but he looked cold and weary, so she had given him a seat, by the kitchen fire, and made a trifling purchase. At another time, .an Irish woman had ccme to the, door, inquiring if she knew where she could get work, and Amy had spoken kindly, and recommended her to an aCquaintance who Was in want of a girl, and the poor woman had gone away with a blessing, telling her the sight of her pleasant face had done her good: Amy felt that evening that she had not scattered her, blessings very widely, but her heart was light and joyous, and a glad, happy tear stole into her eyes, `tas the last verse of the evening lesson fell from her hnsband's lips : . " And whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little. ones a cup of cold eater only in the name of a - disciple, verily . I say unto you he . shall in no wisp lose his reward.!'---,Lady's Friend. A GRANDMOTHER Isn't it a. nice thing to be •a grand , mother ? To have six little, feet come pattering to meet you when you get home • to be juvenated with kisses, and have little legs and' arms coiling round you like clinging vines, and swaying you to and fro like rollicking winds, while merry laughter and clamor for preced ence breaks forth like dashing, jubilant fountains Isn't it, a happy thing to be a grand pother ? To haire young hands laid in your lap when they are weary, and young ears. listening for'" Sing a song of six= pence," and little legs astride your knee galloping to the' tune of Ride a Jack-borse To Bambury Cross, To see what Charlie can buy— A penny brown loaf, A sweet sugar cake, And a half-penny apple pie? Did not our grandmother sing that same for us fifty years ago ? Are *e one day older just now than we were then ? Then to have-the little pink toes come out of the stockings, and put up at us .so temptingly for Hinta mints cuta corn Apple-seed and apple-thorn ; _ Wire-briar, limber-lock., Five gray geese in a flock, and so on to the end of that delicate story. Isn't it joyful to be a - grandmother? To sit in your son's' or daughter's best parlor, filling the great arm chair in the centre, which has been set for you by such kindly hands, and looking up into the four-foot mirror on the wall to see' yourself in the midst of a cluster of young life, fresh as the apple blossoms that sur round the •central stem. To see yourself —gray hairs, wrinkles, shadows and all, but what of it? You see too, where the shine of your May-day locks has gone to as you stroke back Fannie's bonnie brown hair ; and the roses which you delighted in at fifteen have only transferred themselves to her plump cheeks. Liz-. zie has the laughing blue of her eyes ; 'while Charlie, as he mounts the chair back, and comes rollicking down over your shoulder into your lap, smashing your head-gear and tearing away pins and fastenings, makes you wonder how you can have one nerve of power left, with which to catch the bundle of frolic and save it from annihilation. He is, your own again. Isn't it a maternal thing to be a grandmother ? . v To see yourself all du plicated and triplicated, over and over; to • find every missing energy, every ripple of a laugh, every flash' of feeling, every atom of the don't care, infini tesimal pill of mischipf or of mirth,which made merry childhood's days to ,you— living, 'glowing, growing; and swelling into a life beyond and worth living for in a half dozen others. • And do we grudge our darlings these treasures, once all ours % Not a whit more than we would grudge the candies and sweetmeats that we have no taste for, now that the uphill, of life is done with, and we are travellineclown to wards its sunset rest. • 'lsn't it a holy thing to be a grand mother ? To bring the wisdom of a life,- time, like rich;.ripe fruit, for the hands Of those we love ; to turn the young feet from danger, and to fix the young eyes upon the beautiful; to watch, to guide, to guard ; to sing sweet lullabies to pride and folly; to snatch the temp tations of passion from unwary fingers; I teach the young hands. to be useful, the young hearts to be brave, and the soul to be pure and trust in God. 0 it is good to be a grandmother, to card and spin, and weave all that is left that is, goodt of the old garmeints of our own lives into' the low fabrics which , shall clothe and adorn many others, who shall stand in our places when we shall be no more. But woe unto her who makes shoddy of her work.—lnde pendent. MAKING TRACKS A light snow had Wien, and the boys desired to•make the most of it. It was too dry for snowballing and was not deep enough for coasting. It did very well to make tracks in. There was a large meadow near the place where they were- assembled. It was proposed that they should go to a tree which stood near the centre of ,the meadow, and that each one should start from it, and see who could make the straightest track—that is, go from the tree in the nearest approach to a straight line. The proposition was assented to, and they were soon at the tree. They ranged themselves around it, with} their backs toward the triilak. They were equally distant from each other. If each had gone forward in a straiglit line the paths would have been like the' spokes of a wheel—the tree represent ing the hub. They were to go till they reached the boundaries of the meadow, when they were -to retrace their steps to the tree. They did so. I wish I could give 'a map of their tracks. Such a map would not present much resemblatkce to the spokes of a wheel. - - " Whose is -the btraightest ?" said James 'Allison to Thomas Sanders, who was-at the tree first. "'Henry Armstrong's is the only one that is straight at all." "How`could We all contrive to go so crookedly, when the groundis so smooth, and nothing to turn us,out of our way ?" said Jacob Small. " How; happened' you to. go so straight said. Thomas. "I fixed my eye on that tall pine tree on the hill, yonder, and never looked away from it till I reached the fence." " I went as straight as I could, with out looking at anything but the ground," said James. ' So pa I," said =other. . "'So did .1," said several others. It appeared that- nobody- but Henry . had aimed at a particular object. They attempted to go straight without any definite aim. = They failed. Men can not succeed in anything good without a definite aim. In order to mental im provement there must be a definite aim. In order to do good there must be a definite aim. General purposes, gene ral resolution; will not avail. You must do as Henry did—fix upon some thing distinct and definite-as an object arid go steadily forward to it. Thus only o can you succeed. DINAH, THE SLAVE 3IOTHER Dinah was a slave mother. When her first baby was born, she did, not rejoice over her darling as other mothers do. ".Ben," she said, " this child aint °urn ; it may be tok from us and sold any day. ff " Well," said poor Ben, " it may be der Lord's chile if it aint ourn." Twelve children were'born. to Dinah, bright, handsome, healthy; frolicksome babies, dear to Dinah's tender and lov ing heart, and they, grew up children that a mother might well be proud of; but she had no part or lot -in them. Home, with its treasured affections, was not for her. As they grew up, one boy and one girl after another were rent from her. Her mistress was often pressed for money ; and when she had two or three hundred dollars to pay for the education and accomplishments of her children, the slave-trader would call, and laying down six or eight hundred dollars in gold and bills for Dinah's Lucy, or George, or Tom, they were sold. " Selling my chil'en to pay for her ail'en," cried poor Dinah in an agony . of spirit. " Whit is your gal worth ?" asked the trader, eyeing one of Dinah's beau tiful girls of fourteen years. " Sir," said Dinah bitterly, " she's worth to me what your daughter is worth to you." But the trader took no account of that. A slave-mother's heart, a slave mother's tears, a slave-mother's grief, had no entry in his 'Calculations. Then her husband's master sold out and moved away. He had lived on a neighboring plantation, and he took Ben with him, and Dinah heard of him no more. " Dere don't no letters go 'tiveen us," sobbed poor grief-stricken Dinah. "We can't write, and it is as good as: being dead ; no, no, not so good." The poor woman hugged her last little one to her bosom ' and, looking up to the . sky, her whole face wore the look of that agoniz ing prayer of the Saviour, "My God, my. God, why hast thou forsaken me ?" Ah! thou poor slave-mother, God has neither forgotten not forsaken thee or thy suffering people. Thy wrongs have come up before him. The blood of the .poor crieth unto him. "Like as a father pitieth his chil dren, sol the Lord pitieth them that fear him. The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him and his righteousness unto children's children."-- , --Chad's- Paper. THE PHOTOGRAPHOSCUE CATOPTRIC LANTERN. The November number of the Phila delphia Photographer .has the account of an instrument, invented by George Sibbald, Esq., of this' city, and exhi bited for the first time before the Pho tographic Society, on the evening of October sth, which is likely to super sede the magic lantern, for the display of views of nature or art. The design of this lantern is to repre r sent upon the wall, or through a screen, opaque objects, such as prints, photo graphs, or drawings, whether plain or colored. Its construction is simple, and the cost of working it trifling, being lightel.l by lamps burning coal oil, the cheapest possible material. It' is ever, ready for use. The great advantage it . possesses over all other magic lanterns, consists in representing by reflection, instead of transparency ? all opaque' sub jects, such as card photographs, whether plain or colored, engravings, lithographs, coins, Medals, plaster -casts, &c. &c. The brilliancy with which metals and colors are transferred is particularly remarka ble. The objects can be multiplied, ad ilnitu,m, and at the least possible cost, considering that any one can manufac ture his own slides, by simply fastening with ordinary paste upon card-boards, whatever drawings or prints are to be shown in the lantern. In the report of the meeting of the Photographic Society, held on the even ing above mentioned, the following notice of the instrument occurs: The Society now adjourned to wit ness Mr. Lafitte's beautiful exhibition of the `Photographoscope Catoptric. The lantern was soon placed in position, the screen arranged, room darkened, a com mon vignette card placed in the slide, 'and quick as lightning-flash a life size portrait appeared upon the screen as sharp and distinct as the carte itself. A butterfly was next placed in the 'slide, and, magnified a hundred times, it ma jestically lit upon the screen in all its gaudy finery, and cheer after cheer greeted it. Charming songsters then followed, in colors, and so' delicate were tithe details, that each tiny fibre. and feathery wing could be quickly discern ed. Portraits, landscapes, architectu ral views, sculpture, and copies of en gravings were passed in and out in great number, each one adding to the triumph of the yet imperfect instrument. It is lit by kerosene oil, can be fixed ready for use in ten minutes, pictures can be exhibited in any variety without cost of glass slides, and many other advantages which we mention elsewhere, are deserv edly belonging to it. It has advantages over the old 6n style of lantern, and will doubtless b4ome a popular parlor amusement. HE that blows the coals• in quarrels he has nothing to do with, has no right to complain if the sparks fly in his face.
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