The seventh picture is a series of dissolving views that suggest the portrait of a lady standing with her back to the onlooker and gazing at her own face reflected in a mirror opposite. A few months after the book was published, its author, attracted by the title of an article, purchased a new review to while away a railway journey. She read the article--and pondered. It seemed strangely familiar and soon she realized that it was in effect one of the chapters in her own book. It had not even suffered “a sea-change into something rich and strange,” for the illustrations used were the same that the first author had collected from the experiences of her personal friends, and to every one she could have attached a name, as presumably the second author could not do. The second in the series of dissolving views is of a correspondence with a gentleman who had given a course of lectures on domestic service in a remote city. The author of the book had expressed a desire to sit at the feet of Gamaliel and at length secured the loan of the manuscript from which the lectures were given. Probably a sea-change was not to be looked for in an interior city, and the author of the book rejoiced to find so much community of interest with the author of the lectures. The third in the series of dissolving views was of a certain bibliography. It had appeared in the first number of a new report on household affairs and the author was interested in it as a probable illustration of thought transference. Here was the title of a book she had consulted in the Bibliothèque Nationale and that presumably was not to be found in American libraries. Here was the title of a curious book she had picked up when “bouquinering” on the Quai Voltaire and had added to her private library. This was the title of another curious book found in a great university library,--interesting, but of little value. This was the line-long title of a collection of technical German laws found in Saxony. Here was the title of an old book that had been valued as a family heritage, but of no special importance to any one else. The compiler of the so-called “books of reference” had overlooked the sub-title in the book--“full titles of works referred to in the text”--and had not realized that the use of the word “bibliography” had been demanded by the exigencies of type. To recommend for use as a working bibliography a list of “full titles of works referred to in the text,”--was it perhaps donning an evening dress when starting for the golf-links?