A CONTRIVANCE, by M. M. Bartholomew of New York, weighing about three pounds, costing forty dollars, about the size and shape of a man’s hand, with five different keys and a roll of narrow paper, something like a spool of silk, designed for “fast writing,” is the Stenograph; so named, because that is the meaning of the word in Greek.

This queer little creature can make its mark, that’s all. But it can do it so quickly and put it in so many different places and orders when its fingers are touched by wire and spry human fingers that it can write all your pen can write and do it in a fraction of the time, while the operator’s eyes are looking away into the face of the speaker whose words are being taken down.

Then, you can learn to “make it talk” in three months!

Suppose, now, some of you Pansies manage in some way to own a Stenograph and teach the dear to mind the moment you speak to it. It would be a delight to you to play upon it as upon your piano. Besides, it would probably make music for your pocket. There is money in it. You would be in demand at conventions and other places as a reporter of speeches and sermons. And you could command good pay, if you were a good stenographer.

Who knows but some of you will get your “bread and butter” by means of this queer little creature?