The critical reader may experience a desire to propound to me a question:—­’Professor of what?’

Now I profess honesty, as an abstract principle—­being, perhaps the conscientious reader will think, more of a professor than a practicer herein.  But the truth is, in the present mendicant state of the word ‘Professor,’ I conceived I had a perfect right and title to it, by virtue of my poverty, and so appropriated it for the behoof and advantage of Number One.  Which explanation, it is hoped, will do.

Friday passed in cultivating still farther the acquaintance of the previous evening, and receiving the most cordial assurances of interest on their part in my visit and its object.  I was candidly (and I thought kindly) informed by my good friends, not to get my expectations too high, as a very large house could scarcely, they feared, be expected; but I deemed an audience of even no more than fifty or seventy-five a fair beginning,—­a very fair beginning,—­and had no fears.

I retired to my room at five o’clock, and remained locked in, with my lecture before me, oblivious of all external affairs, until a few minutes past seven, when I concluded my audience had gathered.  I then smoothed my hair, adjusted my spectacles, took my MS. in my hand, and proceeded to the lecture-room.  The doorkeeper was fast asleep, and the long wicks of the tallow candles were flaring wildly and dimly on a scene of emptiness.  Not an auditor was present!

I descended to the bar-room.  It was full of loungers, smoking, dozing, and drinking.  Without entering, I hastened across the way to the post-office.  There was the courteous postmaster, engaged in a sleepy talk with Squire Johnson and Dr. Tomson and Mr. Dickson and Mr. Dobson and Mr. Potkins, who sat precisely as they sat the evening previous.

I returned to the hotel and called out the landlord.

‘There’s no audience, I perceive,’ said I.

’Wal, I didn’t cal’late much of anybody’d go in.  They gen’ally go over to Tyre when they want shows.  Tyre’s quite a town.  You’d do better over thar; ‘s on’y seven mile over to Tyre.’

I explained my position to the landlord at once, and threw myself on his mercy.  I told him I had no money, but would walk over to Tyre that very evening, rather than task his hospitality longer.  After making a little money in Tyre, I would return to Sidon and settle his little bill.  To which the generous-hearted fellow responded,—­

‘Yas, I think likely; but ye see I’m some on gettin’ my pay outen these show chaps that go round.  I reckon that thar satchel o’ yourn’s got the wuth o’ my bill in it.  I’ll hold on to it till ye git back, ye know.’

Remonstrance was in vain.  I found that my sharp landlord had entered my room while I was looking in at the post-office door, and had taken my carpet-bag, with everything I had, even my overcoat, and stowed all in a cupboard under the bar, under lock and key.  He would not so much as allow me a clean shirt; and I started for Tyre, wishing from the bottom of my heart that the inhuman landlord might engage in a washing-machine speculation, and involve with himself Mr. Potkins and Mr. Dobson and Mr. Dickson and Dr. Tomson and Squire Johnson.