uld buy a
microscope at that figure; it is needless to add that the microscope
had long since been selected in the shop, and was decidedly superior
to mine. We could hardly contain our impatience to enter upon the
marvellous world whereof this instrument was the key; that twelfth
birthday seemed long in coming, but at last it came.

I was to go with my friend to the shop to see him make the purchase;
and I was at his house betimes in the morning. But what a stupendous
surprise awaited me! Eddy was too much excited to say anything; with a
face beaming with emotion, he led me into the sitting-room, and there,
upon the table, was a microscope. But such a microscope! It was of such
unheard-of magnificence and elaborateness that it took my breath away,
and we both stood gazing at it in voiceless rapture. It was tall and
elegant, shining with its polished brass and mirrors, and its magnifying
powers were such as to disclose to us the very heart of nature's
mystery. It was quiet Mr. Thompson's birthday present to his son. That
gentleman sat smiling in his armchair by the window, and presently he
said, with a delightful archness, "Well, Eddy, I suppose you are ready
to give me back all that money you've been collecting?" Eddy grinned
radiantly. He spent his savings for microscope-slides and other
appurtenances, and for weeks thereafter he could hardly take his
eye away from the object-lens. He was luminous with happiness, and I
reflected his splendor from my sympathetic heart. Dear old Eddy! In
after years he entered West Point and became a soldier, and he died
early; I never saw him after parting from him in Italy in 1859. But he
is still my first friend, and there has been no other more dear.

I am not aware that Rome has ever been described from the point of
view of a twelve-year-old boy, and it might be worth doing; but I have
delayed attempting it somewhat too long; the moving pictures in my
mind have become too faded and confused. And yet I am surprised at the
minuteness of some of my recollections; they have, no doubt, been kept
alive by the numerous photographs of Rome which one carries about,
and also by the occasional perusal of The Marble Faun and other Roman
literature. But much is also due to the wonderful separateness which
Rome retains in the mind. It is like nothing else, and the spirit of it
is immortal. It seems as if I must have lived a lifetime there; and yet
I cannot make out that our total residence in th