am not the narrator but only the editor of this extraordinary history,
and then go on to tell how it found its way into my hands.

Some years ago I, the editor, was stopping with a friend, "_vir
doctissimus et amicus neus_," at a certain University, which for the
purposes of this history we will call Cambridge, and was one day much
struck with the appearance of two persons whom I saw going arm-in-arm
down the street. One of these gentlemen was I think, without exception,
the handsomest young fellow I have ever seen. He was very tall, very
broad, and had a look of power and a grace of bearing that seemed as
native to him as it is to a wild stag. In addition his face was almost
without flaw--a good face as well as a beautiful one, and when he lifted
his hat, which he did just then to a passing lady, I saw that his head
was covered with little golden curls growing close to the scalp.

"Good gracious!" I said to my friend, with whom I was walking, "why,
that fellow looks like a statue of Apollo come to life. What a splendid
man he is!"

"Yes," he answered, "he is the handsomest man in the University, and one
of the nicest too. They call him 'the Greek god'; but look at the other
one, he's Vincey's (that's the god's name) guardian, and supposed to be
full of every kind of information. They call him 'Charon.'" I looked,
and found the older man quite as interesting in his way as the glorified
specimen of humanity at his side. He appeared to be about forty years
of age, and was I think as ugly as his companion was handsome. To begin
with, he was shortish, rather bow-legged, very deep chested, and with
unusually long arms. He had dark hair and small eyes, and the hair grew
right down on his forehead, and his whiskers grew right up to his hair,
so that there was uncommonly little of his countenance to be seen.