ne — when the students were gathered in the college yard, and had refused to listen to several professors, there was a hush when Longfellow appeared, and my classmate, John Revere, cried out, We will hear Professor Longfellow, for he always treats us like gentlemen.
Longfellow was the first, I think, to introduce the prefix Mr. in addressing students, a thing now almost universal.
For our other modern-language teachers, we had Pietro Bachi, a picturesque Italian refugee; in German, Bernard Roelker, since well known as a lawyer in New York; and we had that delightful old Francis Sales, whom Lowell has commemorated, as our teacher of Spanish.
In him we had a man who might have stepped bodily out of the Gil Blas and Don Quixote he taught.
We never knew whether he was French or Spanish.
He was then about sixty-five, and his robust head and shoulders, his pigtail and powdered hair, with his quaint accent, made him seem the survival of some picturesque and remote age. He was, moreov