You have told me three times in succession, in exactly the same words, that I was the only true friend you had in the world that you would unbutton your heart to.

You smell distinctly and decidedly of spirits .-- I spoke, and paused; tender, but firm.
Two large tears orbed themselves beneath the Professor's lids,--in obedience to the principle 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.
I took the manuscript from his hands and read the following continuation of the lines he had begun to read me, while he made up for two or three nights' lost sleep as he best might.
PARSON TURELL'S LEGACY: OR THE PRESIDENT'S OLD ARM-CHAIR.
A MATHEMATICAL STORY.
Facts respecting an old arm-chair.
At Cambridge.

Is kept in the College there.
Seems but little the worse for wear.
That's remarkable when I say It was old in President Holyoke's day.
(One of his boys, perhaps you know, Died, AT ONE HUNDRED, years ago.) HE took lodging for rain or shine Under green bed-clothes in '69.
Know old Cambridge?
Hope you do .-- Born there?
Don't say so! I was, too.
(Born in a house with a gambrel-roof,-- Standing still, if you must have proof .-- "Gambrel ?--Gambrel ?"--Let me beg You'll look at a horse's hinder leg,-- First great angle above the hoof,-- That's the gambrel; hence gambrel-roof.) -- Nicest place that ever was seen,-- Colleges red and Common green, Sidewalks brownish with trees between.
Sweetest spot beneath the skies When the canker-worms don't rise,-- When the dust, that sometimes flies Into your mouth and ears and eyes.
In a quiet slumber lies, NOT in the shape of unbaked pies Such as barefoot children prize.
A kind of harber it seems to be, Facing the flow of a boundless sea.
Rows of gray old Tutors stand Ranged like rocks above the sand; Rolling beneath them, soft and green, Breaks the tide of bright sixteen,-- One wave, two waves, three waves, four, Sliding up the sparkling floor; Then it ebbs to flow no more, Wandering off from shore to shore With its freight of golden ore! -- Pleasant place for boys to play;-- Better keep your girls away; Hearts get rolled as pebbles do Which countless fingering waves pursue, And every classic beach is strown With heart-shaped pebbles of blood-red stone.
But this is neither here nor there;-- I'm talking about an old arm-chair.
You've heard, no doubt, of PARSON TURELL?
Over at Medford he used to dwell; Married one of the Mathers' folk; Got with his wife a chair of oak,-- Funny old chair, with seat like wedge, Sharp behind and broad front edge,-- One of the oddest of human things, Turned all over with knobs and rings,-- But heavy, and wide, and deep, and grand,-- Fit for the worthies of the land,-- Chief-Justice Sewall a cause to try in, Or Cotton Mather to sit--and lie--in.
-- Parson Turell bequeathed the same To a certain student,--SMITH by name; These were the terms, as we are told: "Saide Smith saide Chaire to have and holde; When he doth graduate, then to passe To ye oldest Youth in ye Senior Classe.
On Payment of"-- (naming a certain sum)-- "By him to whom ye Chaire shall come; He to ye oldest Senior next, And soe forever,"-- (thus runs the text,)-- "But one Crown lesse then he gave to claime, That being his Debte for use of same." SMITH transferred it to one of the BROWNS, And took his money,--five silver crowns.
BROWN delivered it up to MOORE, Who paid, it is plain, not five, but four.
MOORE made over the chair to LEE, Who gave him crowns of silver three.
LEE conveyed it unto DREW, And now the payment, of course, was two.
DREW gave up the chair to DUNN,-- All he got, as you see, was one.
DUNN released the chair to HALL, And got by the bargain no crown at all.
-- And now it passed to a second BROWN, Who took it, and likewise CLAIMED A CROWN.
When BROWN conveyed it unto WARE, Having had one crown, to make it fair, He paid him two crowns to take the chair; And WARE, being honest, (as all Wares be,) He paid one POTTER, who took it, three.
Four got ROBINSON; five got DIX; JOHNSON primus demanded six; And so the sum kept gathering still Till after the battle of Bunker's Hill -- When paper money became so cheap, Folks wouldn't count it, but said "a heap," A certain RICHARDS, the books declare, (A.M.in '90?
I've looked with care Through the Triennial,--NAME NOT THERE.) This person, Richards, was offered then Eight score pounds, but would have ten; Nine, I think, was the sum he took,-- Not quite certain,--but see the book.
-- By and by the wars were still, But nothing had altered the Parson's will.
The old arm-chair was solid yet, But saddled with such a monstrous debt! Things grew quite too bad to bear, Paying such sums to get rid of the chair! But dead men's fingers hold awful tight, And there was the will in black and white, Plain enough for a child to spell.
What should be done no man could tell, For the chair was a kind of nightmare curse, And every season but made it worse.
As a last resort, to clear the doubt, They got old GOVERNOR HANCOCK out.
The Governor came, with his Light-horse Troop And his mounted truckmen, all cock-a-hoop; Halberds glittered and colors flew, French horns whinnied and trumpets blew, The yellow fifes whistled between their teeth And the bumble-bee bass-drums boomed beneath; So he rode with all his band, Till the President met him, cap in hand.
-- The Governor "hefted" the crowns, and said,-- "A will is a will, and the Parson's dead." The Governor hefted the crowns.