From a very early period of my life the entire bent of my
inclinations had been towards microscopic investigations. When I was
not more than ten years old, a distant relative of our family,
hoping to astonish my inexperience, constructed a simple microscope
for me, by drilling in a disk of copper a small hole, in which a
drop of pure water was sustained by capillary attraction. This very
primitive apparatus, magnifying some fifty diameters, presented, it
is true, only indistinct and imperfect forms, but still sufficiently
wonderful to work up my imagination to a preternatural state of
excitement.
Seeing me so interested in this rude instrument, my cousin explained
to me all that he knew about the principles of the microscope,
related to me a few of the wonders which had been accomplished
through its agency, and ended by promising to send me one regularly
constructed, immediately on his return to the city. I counted the
days, the hours, the minutes, that intervened between that promise
and his departure.
Meantime I was not idle. Every transparent substance that bore the
remotest semblance to a lens I eagerly seized upon and employed in
vain attempts to realize that instrument, the theory of whose
construction I as yet only vaguely comprehended. All panes of glass
containing these oblate spheroidal knots familiarly known as
"bull's eyes" were ruthlessly destroyed, in the hope of obtaining
lenses of marvellous power. I even went so far as to extract the
crystalline humor from the eyes of fishes and animals, and
endeavored to press it into the microscopic service. I plead guilty
to having stolen the glasses from my Aunt Agatha's spectacles, with
a dim idea, of grinding them into lenses of wondrous magnifying
properties,--in which attempt it is scarcely necessary to say that I
totally failed.
At last the promised instrument came. It was of that order known as
Field's simple microscope, and had cost perhaps about fifteen
dollars. As far as educational purposes went, a better apparatus
could not have been selected. Accompanying it was a small treatise
on the microscope,--its history, uses, and discoveries. I
comprehended then for the first time the "Arabian Nights'
Entertainments." The dull veil of ordinary existence that hung
across the world seemed suddenly to roll away, and to lay bare a
land of enchantments. I felt towards my companions as the seer might
feel towards the ordinary masters of men. I held conversations with
Xanure in a tongue which they could not understand. I was in daily
communication with living wonders, such as they never imagined in
their wildest visions. I penetrated beyond the external portal of
things, and roamed through the sanctuaries. Where they beheld only a
drop of rain slowly rolling down the window-glass, I saw a universe
of beings animated with all the passions common to physical life,
and convulsing their minute sphere with struggles as fierce and
protracted as those of men. In the common spots of mould, which my
mother, good housekeeper that she was, fiercely scooped away from
her jam pots, there abode for me, under the name of mildew,
enchanted gardens, filled with dells and avenues of the densest
foliage and most astonishing verdure, while from the fantastic
boughs of these microscopic forests hung strange fruits glittering
with green and silver and gold.
It was no scientific thirst that at this time filled my mind. It was
the pure enjoyment of a poet to whom a world of wonders has been
disclosed. I talked of my solitary pleasures to none. Alone with my
microscope, I dimmed my sight, day after day and night after night
poring over the marvels which it unfolded to me. I was like one who,
having discovered the ancient Eden still existing in all its
primitive glory, should resolve to enjoy it in solitude, and never
betray to mortal the secret of its locality. The rod of my life was
bent at this moment. I destined myself to be a microscopist.
Of course, like every novice, I fancied myself a discoverer. I was
ignorant at the time of the thousands of acute intellects engaged in
the same pursuit as myself, and with the advantages of instruments a
thousand times more powerful than mine. The names of Leeuwenhoek,
Williamson, Spencer, Ehrenberg, Schultz, Dujardin, Schact, and
Schleiden were then entirely unknown to me, or if known, I was
ignorant of their patient and wonderful researches. In every fresh
specimen of Cryptogamia which I placed beneath my instrument I
believed that I discovered wonders of which the world was as yet
ignorant. I remember well the thrill of delight and admiration that
shot through me the first time that I discovered the common wheel
animalcule (_Rotifera vulgaris_) expanding and contracting its
flexible spokes, and seemingly rotating through the water. Alas! as
I grew older, and obtained some works treating of my favorite study,
I found that I was only on the threshold of a science to the
investigation of which some of the greatest men of the age were
devoting their lives and intellects.
As I grew up, my parents, who saw but little likelihood of anything
practical resulting from the examination of bits of moss and drops
of water through a brass tube and a piece of glass, were anxious
that I should choose a profession. It was their desire that I should
enter the counting-house of my uncle, Ethan Blake, a prosperous
merchant, who carried on business in New York. This suggestion I
decisively combated. I had no taste for trade; I should only make a
failure; in short, I refused to become a merchant.
But it was necessary for me to select some pursuit. My parents were
staid New England people, who insisted on the necessity of labor;
and therefore, although, thanks to the bequest of my poor Aunt Agatha,
I should, on coming of age, inherit a small fortune sufficient to
place me above want, it was decided, that, instead of waiting for
this, I should act the nobler part, and employ the intervening years
in rendering myself independent.
After much cogitation I complied with the wishes of my family, and
selected a profession. I determined to study medicine at the New
York Academy. This disposition of my future suited me. A removal
from my relatives would enable me to dispose of my time as I pleased,
without fear of detection. As long as I paid my Academy fees, I
might shirk attending the lectures, if I chose; and as I never had
the remotest intention of standing an examination, there was no
danger of my being "plucked." Besides, a metropolis was the place
for me. There I could obtain excellent instruments, the newest
publications, intimacy with men of pursuits kindred to my own,--in
short, all things necessary to insure a profitable devotion of my
life to my beloved science. I had an abundance of money, few desires
that were not bounded by my illuminating mirror on one side and my
object-glass on the other; what, therefore, was to prevent my
becoming an illustrious investigator of the veiled worlds? It was
with the most buoyant hopes that I left my New England home and
established myself in New York.