considerable refinement and culture. Yet the price 

 of thirty-five dollars, absurdly low even for a sec- 

 ond-hand instrument, was much more than I was 

 able to pay. I disconsolately left the place. 



Almost daily thereafter I stopped at the window 

 to bestow a look of longing upon this new-found 

 love of mine. I had, in truth, almost abandoned 

 hope of ownership. But this did not prevent my 

 yearning glances and imaginary seances poring 

 through its eyepiece at wonders I knew existed but 

 which I had never seen. 



Nor did it prevent something more practical on 

 my part: the preparing of mounted objects for the 

 day when I might own either this microscope or its 

 counterpart. One could never tell — better days 

 might break at any time. 



Thus also, incidentally, came about my appren- 

 ticeship to the delicate art of making mounted 

 slides. I still have these slides. Occasionally I bring 

 them to light to astound my growing sons: for I 

 am secretly proud of them despite the fact that 

 they were made mostly of window glass. The 

 cover-glasses, of course, were purchased. 



On these occasions, too, I indulge in a revel of 



[16] 



