At the expiration of a month I
commenced the grinding and polishing of the lens, a work of intense
toil and exquisite delicacy. The great density of the stone, and the
care required to be taken with the curvatures of the surfaces of the
lens, rendered the labor the severest and most harassing that I had
yet undergone.
At last the eventful moment came; the lens was completed. I stood
trembling on the threshold of new worlds. I had the realization of
Alexander's famous wish before me. The lens lay on the table, ready
to be placed upon its platform, my hand fairly shook as I enveloped
a drop of water with a thin coating of oil of turpentine, preparatory
to its examination--a process necessary in order to prevent the
rapid evaporation of the water. I now placed the drop on a thin slip
of glass under the lens, and throwing upon it, by the combined aid
of a prism and a mirror, a powerful stream of light, I approached my
eye to the minute hole drilled through the axis of the lens. For an
instant I saw nothing save what seemed to be an illuminated chaos, a
vast luminous abyss. A pure white light, cloudless and serene, and
seemingly limitless as space itself, was my first impression. Gently,
and with the greatest care, I depressed the lens a few hairs'
breadths. The wondrous illumination still continued, but as the lens
approached the object, a scene of indescribable beauty was unfolded
to my view.
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