THE voyage from Liverpool to Boston was interesting to Giusippe. In the first place there was the wonder of the great blue sea—a sea so vast that the Italian boy, who had never before ventured beyond the canals of the Adriatic, was bewildered when day after day the giant ship and still, despite her speed, failed to reach the land. Sunlight flooded the water, settled into darkness, and yet on every hand tossed that expanse of waves. Would a ever be reached, the lad asked himself; and how, amid that pathless ocean, could the captain be so sure that eventually he would make the port for which he was aiming? It was all wonderful.  
Fortunately the crossing was a smooth one, and accordingly every moment of the voyage was a delight. What happy days our travelers passed together! Miss Cartright was the jolliest of companions. She dressed dolls for Jean—dressed them in such gowns as never were seen, dainty French little frocks which converted the plainest china creature into a wee Parisian; she read aloud; she told stories; she played games. Hannah surrendered when, one morning after they had been comparing notes on housekeeping, the fact leaked out that Miss Cartright's mother had been a New Englander. That was enough!
 
"She has had the proper sort of bringing up," remarked Hannah, with a sigh of satisfaction. "She knows exactly how to pack away blankets and how to clean house as it should be done. She is a very unusual young woman!"
 
Coming from Hannah such praise was phenomenal.
 
Mr. Cabot seemed to think, too, that Miss Cartright many .
 
At any rate he enjoyed talking with her, and every evening when the full moon touched with beauty the wide, pulsing sea he would tuck the girl into her steamer chair and the two would stay up on deck until the clear golden ball of light had climbed high into the heaven.
 
So passed the voyage.
 
Then as America came nearer Giusippe witnessed all the strange sights that the approach to the new continent; he saw the lights dotting the coast; he watched steamers which were outward bound for the old world he had left behind; he strained his eyes to catch, through a telescope, the outlines of the land.
 
"Here is still another use to which glass is put, Giusippe," said Mr. Cabot indicating with a gesture the red flash-light of a far against the horizon. "Without the powerful reflectors, lenses, and prisms which are in use in our lighthouses many a would be . For not only must a lighthouse have a strong light; it must also have a means of throwing that light out, and increasing its effectiveness. Scientists have discovered just how to arrange prisms, lenses, and reflectors so the light will travel to the farthest possible distance. At Navasink, on the highlands south of New York harbor, stands the most powerful coast light in the United States. It equals about sixty million candle-power, and its beam can be seen seventy miles away. The carrying of the light to such a tremendous distance is due to the strong reflectors employed in conjunction with the light itself. The largest lens, however, under control of the United States is on the headlands of the Hawaiian Islands. This is eight and three-quarters feet in diameter and is made from the most carefully polished glass. And by the way, among other uses that science makes of glass are telescopes, microscopes, and field-glasses, which are all constructed from flawlessly ground lenses. Often it takes a whole year, and sometimes even longer, to polish a large telescope lens. Without this magnifying agency we should have no astronomy, and fewer scientific discoveries than we now have. The glasses people wear all have to be ground and polished in much the same fashion; opera glasses, magic lanterns, and every contrivance for bringing distant objects nearer or making them larger are dependent for their power upon glass lenses."
 
"Even when making glass I never dreamed it could be used for so many different purposes," answered Giusippe.
 
"I wish we had counted up, as we went along, how many things it is used for," Jean put in.
 
"We might have done so, only I am afraid you would have become very tired had we attempted it," laughed Uncle Bob. "In addition to optical glass there are still other branches of science that could not go on without glass in its various forms. Take, for instance, electricity. It would not be safe to employ this strange force without the protection of glass barriers to hedge in its dangerous current. Glass, as you probably know, is a non-conductor of electricity, and whenever we wish to confine its power and prevent it from doing harm we place a layer of glass between it and the thing to be protected. The glass checks the progress of the current. In all chemical laboratories, too, no end of glass test-tubes, thermometers, and are in demand for furthering research work. Science would be greatly in its usefulness had it not recourse to glass in its manifold forms."
 
"What a wonderful material it is!" ejaculated Jean. "I never shall see anything made of glass again without thinking of all it does for us."
 
"Be grateful, too, Jean, to the men who have discovered how to use it," replied Mr. Cabot gravely. "Certainly our many a time owe their safety to just such warning as the one ahead. We must ask the captain what light that is. Just think—to-morrow morning we shall wake up in Boston harbor and be at home again."
 
A fell on the party.
 
"I shall be dreadfully sorry to have Miss Cartright leave us and go to New York; sha'n't you, Uncle Bob?" said Jean at last, slipping her hand into that of the older woman who stood beside her. "Wouldn't it be nice, Miss Cartright, if you lived in Boston? Then I'd see you all the time—at least I would when I wasn't in Pittsburgh, and then Uncle Bob could see you, and that would be almost as good."
 
"Almost," echoed Uncle Bob.
 
"But you are coming to New York to see me some time, Jean dear," the girl said with her eyes far on the horizon. "You know your uncle has promised that when you go to Pittsburgh both you and Giusippe are to stop and visit me for a few days."
 
"Yes, I have not forgotten; it will be lovely, too," replied Jean. "Still that is not like having you live where you can dress dolls all the time. Why don't you move to Boston? I am sure you would like it. We have the loveliest squirrels on the Common!"
 
Everybody laughed.
 
"I have been trying to tell Miss Cartright what a very nice place Boston is to live in," added Mr. Cabot softly.
 
"Well, we all will keep on telling her, and then maybe she'll be convinced," Jean declared.
 
So they parted for the night.
 
With the morning came the and confusion of landing. Much of Uncle Bob's time was taken up with the of trunks, and with Giusippe sign papers and answer the questions necessary for his admission to the United States. Then came the parting. They bade a hurried good-bye to Miss Cartright, whom Uncle Bob was to put aboard the New York train, and into a cab bundled Hannah, Giusippe, and Jean, in which equipage, almost in luggage, they were rolled off to Beacon Hill.
 
Nothing could exceed Giusippe's interest in these first glimpses of the new country to which he had come. For the next few weeks he went about as if in a trance, struggling to adjust himself to life in an American city. How different it was from his beloved Venice! How sharp the September days with their early frost! How he missed the golden warmth of the sunny Adriatic and the familiar sights of home! During his journey through France and England the constant change of travel had carried with it sufficient excitement to keep him from being homesick; but now that he was settled for a time in Boston he got his first taste of what life in the United States was to be like. Not that he was disappointed; it was only that he felt such a stranger to all about him. The , subways, elevated roads, all confused his brain, and the dusty streets made his throat smart with dryness.
 
Daily, however, he became more and more accustomed to his surroundings, and when at last he ventured out alone and discovered that he could find his way back again his courage rose. Then he began going on errands for Hannah, and was proud and glad to be of use. He accompanied Uncle Bob to his office and arrived home alone in safety. Gradually the strangeness of his new home wore away. Every novel sight he , every custom which was surprising to him, everything that he did not understand he asked a score of questions about. It was why, why, why, from morning until night. His questions, fortunately, were intelligent ones, and as he remembered with accuracy the answers given him and the knowledge thus gained to future conditions he made amazing headway in becoming Americanized. He got books and read them; he visited the churches, Library, and Art Museum. And when he saw how much of its beauty the New World had borrowed from the Old he no longer felt cut off from his Italian home.
 
Uncle Bob, in the meantime, had been forced to so deeply into business that he had had little opportunity to aid his protégé in these explorations. But one Saturday noon he came home and announced that he was to treat himself to a half holiday.
 
"I am not going back to the office to-day," he declared. "Instead I intend to carry off you two young persons and show you something very beautiful, the like of which you will see nowhere else in all the world."
 
"What is it?" cried Jean and Giusippe.
 
"Oh, I'm not telling. Just you be ready directly after to go with me to Cambridge."
 
"Cambridge! Oh, I know. It is the University, Mr. Cabot. It is Harvard!" exclaimed Giusippe, very proud of his knowledge.
 
"Not quite," Mr. Cabot said, shaking his head, "although, being a Harvard man, I naturally feel that the equal of my Alma Mater cannot be found elsewhere. But you are on the right track. It is something which is out at Harvard. Guess again."
 
"I don't know," confessed Giusippe.
 
"Well, you may be excused because you have not been in this country long enough to be acquainted with all its . But Jean should know. Where are you, young lady? You at least should be able to tell what treasures America possesses."
 
"I am afraid I can't."
 
"Then we must excuse you also; you are so young. I see plainly that we must appeal to Hannah. She who is ever Boston can of course tell us what it is that Harvard University possesses which is unsurpassed in any other part of the world."
 
Hannah looked .
 
"You do not know?" went on Uncle Bob teasingly. "Oh, for shame! And you such an Bostonian! Well, so far as I can see there is nothing for it but for me to take you all three to Cambridge as fast as ever we can get there. Such ignorance is deplorable."
 
You may be very sure that during the ride out from the city every means was employed to get Uncle Bob to tell what particular wonder he was to display. At last, driven to desperation by Jean's questions, he answered:
 
"I will tell you just one fact. The things we are going to see are made of glass."
 
"Glass! But we have already seen everything that ever could be made from glass, Uncle Bob," cried Jean in dismay.
 
"No, we haven't."
 
"Is it stained glass windows?"
 
"No."
 
"?"
 
"No."
 
"A telescope?"
 
"No."
 
"What is it, Uncle Bob?"
 
"Never you mind. You would never guess if you guessed a lifetime. You better give it up," was Mr. Cabot's smiling answer.
 
Cambridge was soon reached, and after a walk through the College Yard that Giusippe might have a peep at Holworthy, where Uncle Bob had spent his student days, the sightseers entered a quiet old brick building and were led by Mr. Cabot into a room where stood case after case of blooming flowers. There were garden blossoms of every variety, wild flowers, tropical plants, all fresh and green as if growing. And yet they were not growing; instead they lay singly or in clusters, each bloom as perfect as if just cut from the stalk.
 
"How beautiful! Oh, Uncle Bob, it is like a big greenhouse!" exclaimed Jean.
 
"This is what I brought you to see."
 
"But you said we were coming to see something made of glass," objected Giusippe.
 
"You did say so, Uncle Bob."
 
", even as I said!"
 
"Bu-u-t, these flowers are not glass. What do you mean?"
 
"On the contrary, my unbelieving friends, glass is what they are made of. Every blossom, every leaf, every bud, every seed here is the work of an expert glass-maker."
 
Mr. Cabot watched their faces, enjoying their incredulity.
 
"Glass!"
 
"Even so. Shall I tell you about it?"
 
"Yes! Yes!"
 
"This collection of flowers is called the Collection, the name being out of compliment to Mrs. and Miss Ware, who generously donated much of the money for which to pay for it. Sometimes, too, it is known as the Blaschka Collection of Glass Flower Models, for the making was done by Leopold Blaschka and his son Rudolph, both of whom were Bohemians. It happened that several years ago Harvard University wished to equip its Botanical Department with flower which might be used for study by the students. The question at once arose how this was to be done. Real flowers would of course fade, and wax flowers would melt or break. What could be used? There seemed to be no such thing as imperishable flowers."
 
Mr. Cabot paused a moment while the others waited expectantly.
 
"There were, however, in the Zoölogical Department some wonderfully accurate glass models of animals made by a Bohemian scientist named Blaschka, who was a rather combination of scholar and glass-maker. Accordingly when it became necessary to have fadeless flowers one of the professors wondered if this same Bohemian could not reproduce them. So he set out for Blaschka's home at Hosterwirtz, near Dresden, to see."
 
"Did he have to go way to Germany to find out?"
 
"Yes, because in the first place he did not know that Blaschka could make flowers at all; and if he could he was not certain that he could make them enough to render them satisfactory for such a purpose. So he traveled to Germany and found the house where lived the famous glass-maker; and it was while waiting alone in the that he saw on a shelf a vase containing what seemed to be a very beautiful fresh ."
 
"It was made of glass!" Jean declared, leaping at the truth.
 
"Yes; and it was so perfect that the Harvard professor could hardly believe his eyes. At that moment the scientist entered. He confessed that he had made the flower for his wife; indeed, he had made many glass orchids—one collection of some sixty varieties which had been ordered by Prince Camille de Rohan, but which had later been destroyed when the Natural History Museum at Liège had been burned. Since then, Blaschka explained, he had given all his attention to making models of animals. He said that his son Rudolph helped him, and that they two alone knew how the work was done. It was their knowledge of zoölogy and of botany added to their skill at glass-making which enabled them to turn out such correct copies of real objects."
 
"Of course the Harvard professor was delighted," Jean ventured.
 
"Indeed he was! Before he left he won a promise from Blaschka and his son to send to Cambridge a few flowers to serve as specimens of what they could do. Now you may fancy the rage of the Harvard authorities when on the arrival of the cases of flowers they found that almost all of them had been broken to bits in the New York Custom House. There was, however, enough left of the to give to the Cambridge professors the assurance that the two Bohemians were well equal to the task demanded of them. Those who saw the shattered blossoms were most enthusiastic, and Mrs. Ware and her daughter told the authorities to order a limited number as a gift to the University. This second lot came safely and were so beautiful that Harvard at once arranged that the two Blaschkas send over to America all the flowers they could make for the next ten years."
 
"My!"
 
"Yes, that seems a great many, doesn't it?" Mr. Cabot , nodding to Jean. "But after all, it was not so tremendous as it sounds. You see Harvard needed a copy of every American flower, plant, and fruit. The making of them would take a great deal of time. Of course unless the collection was complete it would be of little use to students. So the Blaschkas began their work, and for a few years averaged a hundred sets of flowers a year. Then the father died and Rudolph was left to finish the work alone. You remember I told you that in true mediæval fashion they had kept the secret of their art to themselves; as a consequence there now was no one to aid the son in his . Twice he came to our country to get copies of flowers from which to work, bravely on in order to finish the task his father had begun. He said he considered it a sort of monument or memorial to the elder man's genius. There you have the story," concluded Mr. Cabot. "No other such collection exists anywhere else in the world. Even with a microscope it is impossible to distinguish between the real flower and the glass copy."
 
"How were they made?" Giusippe demanded. "Was the glass blown?"
 
"No; the flowers were modeled. That is all I can tell you. The glass was in some way made plastic so it could be shaped by hand or by instruments. Some of the coloring was put on while the material was hot; some while it was cooling; and some after it was cold. It all depended upon the result desired. But one thing is evident—the Blaschkas worked very quickly and with marvelous scientific accuracy."
 
"It is simply wonderful," said Giusippe. "Even at Murano there is nothing to equal this."
 
"I thought you, who knew so much of glass-making, would appreciate what such a collection represents in knowledge, , and skill. Furthermore it is beautiful, and for that reason alone is well worth seeing," answered Mr. Cabot.
 
"It is wonderful!" repeated the Italian lad.
 
All the way home the young Venetian was peculiarly silent. His national pride had received a blow. Bohemia had surpassed Venice at its own trade, the art of glass-making!