upon. It is no toy: it is a divine
gift, placed in our hands nominally by science, really by that
inspiration which is revealing the Almighty through the lips of the
humble students of Nature. Look through it once more before laying it
down, but not at any earthly sight. In these views, taken through the
telescopes of De la Rue of London and of Mr. Rutherford of New York, and
that of the Cambridge Observatory by Mr. Whipple of Boston, we see
the "spotty globe" of the moon with all its mountains and chasms, its
mysterious craters and groove-like valleys. This magnificent stereograph
by Mr. Whipple was taken, the first picture February 7th, the second
April 6th. In this way the change of position gives the solid effect of
the ordinary stereoscopic views, and the sphere rounds itself out so
perfectly to the eye that it seems as if we could grasp it like an
orange.

If the reader is interested, or like to become interested, in the
subject of sun-sculpture and stereoscopes, he may like to know what the
last two years have taught us as to the particular instruments best
worth owning. We will give a few words to the subject. Of simple
instruments, for looking at one slide at a time, Smith and Beck's is the
most perfect we have seen, but the most expensive. For looking at paper
slides, which are light, an instrument which may be held in the hand
is very convenient. We have had one constructed which is better, as
we think, than any in the shops. Mr. Joseph L. Bates, 129, Washington
Street, has one of them, if any person is curious to see it. In buying
the instruments which hold many slides, we should prefer two that hold
fifty to one that holds a hundred. Becker's small instrument, containing
fifty paper slides, back to back, is the one we like best for these
slides, but the top should be arranged so as to come off,--the first
change we made in our own after procuring it.

We are allowed to mention the remarkable instrument contrived by our
friend Dr. H.J. Bigelow, for holding fifty glass slides. The spectator
looks in: all is darkness. He turns a crank: the gray dawn of morning
steals over some beautiful scene or the _facade_ of a stately temple.
Still, as he turns, the morning brightens through various tints of rose
and purple, until it reaches the golden richness of high noon. Still
turning, all at once night shuts down upon the picture as at a tropical
sunset, suddenly, without blur or gradual dimness,--the sun of the
pict