Dr. Snell came down from his desk, he said he was glad to see me,
and that I must come to his rooms to look over the new books he had
received. Dr. Snell was no exception to the rule that a minister must
not be a native among his own people. His long residence in Surrey had
failed to make him appear like one. A bachelor, with a small
private fortune, his style of living differed from the average
of Congregational parsons. His library was the only lion in our
neighborhood. His taste as a collector made him known abroad, and he
had a reputation which was not dreamed of by his parishioners,
who thought him queer and simple. He loved old fashions; wore
knee-breeches, and silver buckles in his shoes; brewed metheglin in
his closet, and drank it from silver-pegged flagons; and kept diet
bread on a salver to offer his visitors. He lived near us on the north
road, and was very much afraid of his landlady, Mrs. Grossman, who
sat in terrible state in her parlor, the year through, wearing a black
satin cloak and an awful structure of a cap, which had a potent nod.

I was pleased with Dr. Snell's notice; his smile was courtly and his
bow Grandisonian.

Joe Bacon was waiting at the foot of the stairs. He obtruded his arm,
and hoarsely muttered, "See you home." I took it, and we marched along
silently, till we were beyond the sound of voices. He began, rather
inarticulately, to say how glad he was to see me, and that he hoped
he was going to have better times now; but I could make no response
to his wishes; the suspicion that he had a serious liking for me was
disgusting. As he talked on I grew irritable, and replied shortly.
When we reached our house, I slipped my hand from his arm, and ran
up the steps, turning back with my hand on the door-knob to say,
"Good-night." The lamp in the hall shone through the fanlight upon