Two large tears orbed themselves beneath the Professor’s lids,—in obedience to the principles of gravitation celebrated in that delicious bit of bladdery bathos, “The very law that moulds a tear,” with which the _Edinburgh Review_ attempted to put down Master George Gordon when that young man was foolishly trying to make himself conspicuous. One of these tears peeped over the edge of the lid until it lost its balance,—slid an inch and waited for reinforcements,—swelled again,—rolled down a little further,—stopped,—moved on,—and at last fell on the back of the Professor’s hand. He held it up for me to look at, and lifted his eyes, brimful, till they met mine. I couldn’t stand it,—I always break down when folks cry in my face,—so I hugged him, and said he was a dear old boy, and asked him kindly what was the matter with him, and what made him smell so dreadfully strong of spirits. Upset his alcohol lamp,—he said,—and spilt the alcohol on his legs. That was it. But what had he been doing to get his head into such a state—had he really committed an excess? What was the matter? Then it came out that he had been taking chloroform to have a tooth out, which had left him in a very queer state, in which he had written the “Prelude” given above, and under the influence of which he evidently was still. _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _OUR TRAVELLED PARSON._ [Illustration: “I HANDED HIM THE TICKET, WITH A LITTLE BOW OF DEFERENCE.”] FOR twenty years and over, our good parson had been toiling, To chip the bad meat from our hearts, and keep the good from spoiling; But suddenly he wilted down, and went to looking sickly, And the doctor said that something must be put up for him quickly. So we kind o’ clubbed together, each according to his notion, And bought a circular ticket, in the lands across the ocean; Wrapped some pocket-money in it—what we thought would easy do him— And appointed me committee-man, to go and take it to him. I found him in his study, looking rather worse than ever; And told him ’twas decided that his flock and he should sever. Then his eyes grew big with wonder, and it seemed almost to blind ’em, And some tears looked out o’ window, with some others close behind ’em! But I handed him the ticket, with a little bow of deference, And he studied quite a little ere he got the proper reference, And then the tears that waited—great unmanageable creatures— Let themselves quite out o’ window, and came climbing down his features. * * * * * I wish you could ha’ seen him when he came back, fresh and glowing, His clothes all worn and seedy, and his face all fat and knowing; I wish you could ha’ heard him, when he prayed for us who sent him, Paying back with compound int’rest every dollar that we’d lent him!