The Speck on the Lens

"Talking about inventions," said the oculist, as he very dexterously
pocketed two of the pool balls, the handsome ringer, more familiarly known
as the fifteen ball, and the white ball itself, thereby adding somewhat to
the minus side of his string--"talking about inventions, I had a curious
experience last August. It was an experience which was not only
interesting from an inventive point of view, but it had likewise a moral,
which, will become more or less obvious as I unfold the story.

"You know I rented and occupied a place in Yonkers last summer. It was
situated on the high lands to the north of the city, a little this side of
Greystone, overlooking that magnificent stream, the Hudson, the
ever-varying beauties of which so few of the residents along its banks
really appreciate. It was a comfortable spot, with a few trees about it, a
decent-sized garden--large enough to raise a tomato or two for a
Sunday-night salad--and a lawn which was a cure for sore eyes, its soft,
sheeny surface affording a most restful object upon which to feast the
tired optic. I believe it was that lawn that first attracted me as I drove
by the place with a patient I had in tow. It was just after a heavy
shower, and the sun breaking through the clouds and lighting up the
rain-soaked grass gave to it a glistening golden greenness that to my eyes
was one of the most beautiful and soul-satisfying bits of color I had seen
in a long time. 'Oh, for a summer of that!' I said to myself, little
thinking that the beginning of a summer thereof _was_ to fall to my lot
before many days--for on May 1st I signed papers which made me to all
intents and purposes proprietor of the place for the ensuing six months.

"At one corner of the grounds stood, I should say, a dozen apple-trees,
the spreading branches of which seemed to form a roof for a sort of
enchanted bower, in which, you may be sure, I passed many of my leisure
hours, swinging idly in a hammock, the cool breezes from the Hudson,
concerning which so many people are sceptical, but which nevertheless
exist, bringing delight to the ear and nostril as well as to the 'fevered
brow,' which is so fashionable in the neighborhood of New York in the
summer, making the leaves rustle in a tuneful sort of fashion, and laden
heavily with the sweet odors of many a garden close over which they passed
before they got to me."

"Put that in rhyme, doctor, and there's your poem," said the lieutenant,
as he made a combination scratch involving every ball on the table.

"I'll do it," said the doctor; "and then I'll have it printed as Appendix
J to the third edition of my work on _Sixty Astigmatisms, and How to
Acquire Them_. But to get back to my