Bromide prints are always satisfactory, require no burnishing, do not fade, and when well printed and developed resemble engravings. They can be used for book illustrations, and will not curl or exhibit any of the disagreeable traits of the aristo prints. Will SIR KNIGHT HARRY HAMNER, of Philadelphia, please send his street and number? The Editor wishes to write to him in regard to a branch Camera Club in Philadelphia--which it is hoped he will organize. THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE. BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS. III.--ELECTRIC COOKING. "Hurrah!" cried Jimmieboy, in ecstasy. "This is great, isn't it?" "Pretty great," assented the Imp, proudly. "That is, unless you mean large. If you mean it that way it isn't great at all; but if you mean great like me, who, though very, very small, am simply tremendous as a success, I agree with you. I like it here very much. The room is extremely comfortable, and I do everything by electricity--cooking, reading, writing--everything." "I don't see how," said Jimmieboy. "Oh, it's simply a matter of buttons and batteries. The battery makes the electricity, I press the buttons, and there you are. You know what a battery is, don't you?" "Not exactly," said Jimmieboy. "You might explain it to me." "Yes, I might if I hadn't a better way," replied the Imp. "I won't explain it to you, because I can have it explained to you in another way entirely, though I won't promise that either of us will understand the explanation. Let's see," he added, rising from his chair and inspecting a huge button-board that hung from the wall at the left of the room. "Where's the Dictionary button? Ah, here--" "The what?" queried the visitor, his face alive with wonderment. "The Dictionary button. I press the Dictionary button, and the Dictionary tells me whatever I want to know. Just listen to this." The Imp pressed a button as he spoke, and Jimmieboy listened. In an instant there was a loud buzzing sound, and then an invisible something began to speak, or rather, to sing: "She's my Annie, I'm her Joe. Little Annie Rooney--" "Dear me!" cried the Imp, his face flushing to a deep crimson. "Dear me, I got the wrong button. That's my Music-room button. It's right next the Dictionary button, and my finger must have slipped. I'll just turn 'Annie Rooney' off and try again. Now listen." Again the Imp touched a button, and Jimmieboy once more heard the buzzing sound, followed by a squeaking voice, which said: "Battery is a noun--plural, batteries. In baseball the pitcher and catcher is the battery; in electricity a battery is a number of Leyden jars, usually arranged with their inner coatings connected, and their outer coatings also connected, so that they may be all charged and discharged at the same time." "Understand that, Jimmieboy?" queried the Imp, with a smile, turning the Dictionary button off. "No, I don't," said Jimmieboy. "But I suppose it is all right."