Far up in the air, the solemn dark face appears. Mr. Beecher rose ingenuously, and offered to come out. "No, never mind," says the visitor, "I just came to have a little conversation with you. Don't move." "Oh," says Beecher innocently, "pray sit down sir," indicating the only chair. The tutor looked apprehensively, but began the process of sitting down. He went down, down, down, but still no solid ground being gained, straightened himself and looked uneasy. "I don't know but that chair is too low for you," said Beecher meekly; "do let me get you another." "Oh no, no, my young friend, don't rise, don't trouble yourself, it is perfectly agreeable to me, in fact I like a low seat," and with these words, the tall man doubled up like a jack-knife, and was seen sitting with his grave face between his knees, like a grass-hopper drawn up for a spring. He heaved a deep sigh, and his eyes met the eyes of Mr. Beecher; the hidden spark of native depravity within him was exploded by one glance at those merry eyes, and he burst into a loud roar of merriment, which the two continued for some time, greatly to the amusement of the boys, who were watching to hear how Beecher would come out with his lecture. The chair was known in college afterwards, by the surname of the "Tutor's Delight." This overflow of the faculty of mirthfulness, has all his life deceived those who had only a shallow acquaintance with him, and men ignorant of the depth of yearning earnestness and profound strength of purpose on which they rippled and sparkled. But at the time that he passed for the first humorist of college, the marks along his well worn volumes of the old English poets show only appreciation of what is earnest, deep and pathetic. He particularly loved an obscure old poet of whom we scarcely hear in modern days, Daniel, who succeeded Edmund Spenser as poet laureate, and was a friend of Shakspeare. Some lines addressed by him to the Earl of Southampton, are marked by reiterated lines in Mr. Beecher's copy of the old English poets, which showed enthusiastic reading. He says, "This was about the only piece of poetry I ever committed to memory, but I read it so much I could not help at last knowing it by heart:" "TO THE EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON. "He who hath never warred with misery, Nor ever tugged with fortune in distress, Hath no occasion and no field to try The strength and forces of his worthiness. Those parts of judgment which felicity Keeps as concealed, affliction must express, And only men show their abilities And what they are, in their extremities. "Mutius the fire, the tortures Regulus, Did make the miracles of faith and zeal; Exile renowned and graced Rutilius. Imprisonment and poison did reveal The worth of Socrates, Fabricius' Poverty did grace that common weal More than all Sylla's riches got with strife, And Cato's death did vie with Cæsar's life.