in Cambridge it was difficult to find him. Boston, at the time, was loud in the praises of an opera-singer, a native of the city, who was on the eve of starting for England to exhibit her wonderful powers in London, and who afterwards drew forth the plaudits of the passengers in the steamer in which we crossed the Atlantic. There was no such celebrity accorded to the obscure worker in glass, who, with marvellous art and dexterity, was fashioning instruments to extend the limits of creation, and open up to view new worlds and systems. Yet, Mr Clarke was as proud of the limited circle that recognised his labours, as the opera-singer was of the applause of the crowd in the steamer or the theatre.
When we reached his neat villa, we were shewn to the rear, where stood his observatory and workshop, in a building precisely similar to an old Scottish keep, consisting of a square tower of several stories, with a single apartment in each. The middle story, reached by a ladder, was his reception-room, in which the lighter work was executed. The basement floor was devoted to the heavier and coarser work, and the highest was reserved for an observatory, in which a, beautiful equatorial was placed. We came in upon him at an inopportune moment. He was bent on being courteous, but he was evidently preoccupied with some grave care, which greatly perplexed him. The cause of his anxiety we soon found to be some tapping going on in the workshop below. Every
