of them promptly answered "Yes; and Ogres,
too, for that pill-box contains gentlemen's
and ladies' 'Flesh.'"

These terrific creatures—who had quite the
ways of damsels able to eat rice pudding
in an honest manner—then made us
acquainted with a few dry facts. The colours
used by them were all dry minerals, and
were laid on with the fine point of a dry
brush; pointed between the lips, and left to
become dry before using. A little rubbing
caused these tints to adhere to the minute pores
upon the plate. Each colour was of course
rubbed on with its own brush, and so expertly,
that a large plate very elaborately painted,
with a great deal of unquestionable taste, had
been, as we were told, the work only of an
hour. On a subsequent occasion, we saw in
the same room our picture of the Doctor
under the painter's hands, and undergoing
flattery. We admired the subdued tone
which the artist had, as we thought, taken
the wise liberty of giving to the glare of the
red coat. "Yes," she replied, "but I must
make it redder presently; when we don't
paint coats bright enough, people complain.
They tell us that we make them look as if
they wore old clothes."

And we may observe here that another
illustration of our vanities was furnished to
us on a different occasion. Daguerreotype
plates commonly present faces as they would
be seen in a looking-glass, that is to say,
reversed: the left side of the face, in nature,
appearing upon the light side of the miniature.
That is the ordinary aspect in which
every one sees his own face, for it is only
possible for him to behold it reflected in a mirror.
This reversing, of course, alters in the slightest
degree the similitude. The sitter himself is
generally satisfied. But M. Claudet has
taken up the parable of the poet; and has
undertaken to be the kind soul who, by
virtue of a scientific notion, "Wad

                             the giftie gie us
               To see ourselves as others see us."

Few of us would thank him for it morally,
and it is a curious fact that few of us are
content to have even our faces shown to us as
others see them. The non-inverted daguerreotypes
differ too much from the dear images of
self that we are used to learn by heart out of
our looking-glasses. They invariably please
the friend to whom they are to be given,
but they frequently displease the sitter.
For this reason, though M. Claudet has of
course made public the secret of his "giftie,"
we are not aware that any other photographer
has thought it profitable for his use.

Somebody asks, "how are those
non-inverted images produced?" The question
causes us again to drop the kernel of our
story, and apply ourselves to a discussion of
the nutshell. A daguerreotype formed in the
usual way and inverted, if held before a
looking-glass, becomes again inverted, and
shows therefore a non-inverted picture of the
person whom it represents. If the picture in
the camera fell, by a previous reflection,
inverted on the plate, it would in the same
way be restored by a second inversion to its
first position. This object could not be
attained by any arrangement of glass mirror
in the camera, because a piece of looking-glass
reflects both from its outer surface and from
the quicksilver behind, and this, though
unimportant for all ordinary purposes, would
make it perfectly unfit for photographic use.
A piece of polished metal would have but a
single surface; but the exquisite polish
necessary would make the preparation of it
difficult and costly, and its liability to damage
great. The first reflection is made, therefore,
by turning the side of the camera to the sitter
and causing his image to fall upon one face of
a large prism placed before the glasses
otherwise in use: an image is then deflected into
the camera, which falls in the required
manner on the plate.

In the present state of photographic art,
no miniature can be utterly free from distortion;
but distortion can be modified and
corrected by the skilful pose of the sitter, and
by the management of the artist. The lens
of the camera being convex (in order to
diminish the object, and to concentrate the
rays of light upon the silver plate) the most
prominent parts of the figure to be transferred
—those parts, indeed, nearest to the
apex of the lens—will appear disproportionately
large. If you look through a diminishing
glass at a friend who holds his fist before
his face, you will find the face very much
diminished in proportion to the appearance
of the fist. The clever artist, therefore, so
disposes his sitter, that hands, nose, lips, &c.,
shall be all as nearly as possible on the same
plane in apposition to the lens. In a sitting
figure hands placed on the knees would seem
prodigious—placed on or near hips, no more
prominent than the tip of the nose, they
would seem of a natural size. It is for this
reason that daguerreotypes taken from
pictures instead of living figures, are never
distorted, because they are actually on a flat
surface.

Concerning the action of light in the
formation of the picture on the iodized
plate within the camera, one or two facts
are curious. Light contains rays that are
not luminous. In the dark spaces above
and below the solar spectrum some of the
most decided chemical effects of light are
manifested. It is probable that the chemical
rays of light are, to our eyes, perfectly dark.
Cover a picture with a piece of yellow glass, and
you can see it very well. But place it before
the camera, and you will get no photographic
copy. Cover a picture with a piece of dark-
blue glass, and it is totally invisible; but,
placed before the camera, the chemical rays
pass through and imprint a photographic
image as distinct and clear as if there