I had been in the library about ten minutes, amusing myself as I best could, when my friend entered; he seemed to have resumed his taciturnity--scarce a word escaped his lips till dinner was served, when he said, smiling, "I suppose it would be merely a compliment to ask you to partake?" "I don't know," said I, seating myself; "your first course consists of troutlets, I am fond of troutlets, and I always like to be companionable." The dinner was excellent, though I did but little justice to it from the circumstance of having already dined; the stranger also, though without my excuse, partook but slightly of the good cheer; he still continued taciturn, and appeared lost in thought, and every attempt which I made to induce him to converse was signally unsuccessful. And now dinner was removed, and we sat over our wine, and I remember that the wine was good, and fully justified the encomiums of my host of the town. Over the wine I made sure that my entertainer would have loosened the chain which seemed to tie his tongue--but no! I endeavoured to tempt him by various topics, and talked of geometry and the use of the globes, of the heavenly sphere, and the star Jupiter, which I said I had heard was a very large star, also of the evergreen tree, which, according to Olaus, stood of old before the heathen temple of Upsal, and which I affirmed was a yew--but no, nothing that I said could induce my entertainer to relax his taciturnity. It grew dark, and I became uncomfortable; "I must presently be going," I at last exclaimed. At these words he gave a sudden start; "Going," said he, "are you not my guest, and an honoured one?" "You know best," said I; "but I was apprehensive I was an intruder; to several of my questions you have returned no answer." "Ten thousand pardons!" he exclaimed, seizing me by the hand; "but you cannot go now, I have much to talk to you about--there is one thing in particular--" "If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal," said I, interrupting him, "I hold it to have been a yew--what else? The evergreens of the south, as the old bishop observes, will not grow in the north, and a pine was unfitted for such a locality, being a vulgar tree. What else could it have been but the yew--the sacred yew which our ancestors were in the habit of planting in their churchyards? Moreover, I affirm it to have been the yew for the honour of the tree; for I love the yew, and had I home and land, I would have one growing before my front windows." "You would do right, the yew is indeed a venerable tree, but it is not about the yew." "The star Jupiter, perhaps?" "Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation which escaped you at the inn has made a considerable impression upon me." "But I really must take my departure," said I; "the dark hour is at hand."