JACQUES BESTOWS HIS PATERNAL ADVICE UPON A SCHOOLGIRL.
Just a week after the practical lesson given by his Excellency
Governer Fauquier to Sir Asinus, and on a bright fine morning, the
melancholy Jacques issued from the walls of his Alma Mater, and took
his way along Gloucester street toward the residence of his friend and
rival.
Jacques was dressed with unusual splendor. His coat was heavy with
embroidery--his waistcoat a blooming flower-plat, upon whose emerald
background roses, marigolds, and lilies flaunted in their satin
bravery--and his scarlet silk stockings were held up by gold-colored
garters. His narrow-edged cocked hat drooped with its feather over his
handsome features, and in his delicately gloved hand he held a slight
cane, which, from time to time he rested on the point of his
high-heeled shoes, bending the lithe twig with irreproachable
elegance.
Not far from the residence of the rebel he encountered and saluted
with melancholy courtesy a very lovely young girl of about fifteen,
who was tripping along to school, a satchel full of books upon her
arm, and, covering her bright locks, a sun-bonnet such as school-girls
wore at that time, and indeed in our own day.
"Good morning, my dear Miss Merryheart," said Jacques, removing his
glove and holding out his jewelled hand.
The girl laughed artlessly, and gave him her hand, saying:
"Good morning, sir; but you have mistaken my name."
"Mistaken your name?"
"Yes, sir; it is Martha."
"And not Merryheart; but you are not responsible. Merryheart is your
real name--not Martha, who was 'cumbered,' you know."
"But I _am_ 'cumbered,'" replied the girl with a laugh.
"How, my dear madam?" asked the courteous Jacques.
"By my satchel."
"Ah! let me carry it for you."
"No, no."
"Why not?"
"I won't trouble you."
"No trouble in the world--I shall leave you in a street or two. Come!"
And he took the satchel, and passing his cane through the handles,
gracefully deposited it behind his shoulders, as a beggar does his
bundle.
The girl laughed heartily; and this seemed to afford the melancholy
lover much satisfaction.
"Do they teach laughing at the Reverend Mrs. White's?" he asked.
"Laughing, sir?"
"Yes; I thought you had been taking lessons."
"Oh, sir!"
"Come! no fine-lady airs. I never compliment--we are too intimate."
And Jacques shifted his packet to the other shoulder.
"Just go to the ball and laugh in that way," he said, "and you'll slay
all the hearts in a circle of ten feet."
The girl repeated the fatal ceremony with more energy than ever. The
street echoed with it.
"I'm going to the ball, sir," she said; "Bathurst--you know
Bathurst--he says he will go with me."
"Little innocent!"
"Sir?"
"I was reflecting, my dear little friend," said the melancholy
Jacques, "upon the superiority of your sex before they reach the age
of womanhood."
"How, sir?"
"Why, thus. Suppose I had addressed that question to a fine lady--'Are
you going to the ball, madam?'--what would her reply have been?"
"I don't know," laughed the girl, pushing back a stray lock from her
forehead.
"I'll tell you," continued Jacques. "With a negligent and careless air
she would have said, 'Really, sir--I do not know--I have scarcely made
up my mind--if I decide to go--I shall not go, however, I think--if I
go, it will be with Mr. Blank--I have half promised him;' and so
forth. How wearisome! You, on the contrary, my little friend, clap
your hands and cry, 'Oh! I am going! Bathurst says he'll go with me!'
Bathurst is a good boy; isn't he your sweetheart?"
The girl blushed and laughed.
"No, indeed, sir!" she said.
"That is well; choose some elderly admirer, my dear child--like
myself."
The laughter was louder than ever.
"It wouldn't do for you to have two," she said with a merry glance.
Jacques recoiled.
"Every body knows it!" he murmured ruefully.
"They do so," replied the merry girl, who caught these half-uttered
words; "but she's a very sweet lady."
Jacques sighed.
"Are you not tired, sir?" asked the girl.
"No, no! my dear child; but I believe I must return your little
bulrush receptacle, for yonder is my journey's end. Look, Sir Asinus
beholds us--see! there at the window!"
In fact, Sir Asinus was at his open window, inhaling the bright May
morning joyously.
"Sir Asinus? Who is he?" asked the girl, with a puzzled look.
"The great rebel, who tried to assassinate Doctor Small and the
Governer. Have you not heard of it?"
"Oh no, indeed, sir! Did he?"
"Well, principles are men, they say; and that makes what I said quite
true. Look at him: don't he resemble a murderer?"
"I don't know, sir; I hardly know what one looks like."
"Look at his red hair."
"It _is_ red."
"And his sharp features."
"Yes, sir."
"He has a real assassin's look, my dear little friend; but he is a
great thinker. That is the sort of beau I recommend you to get instead
of Bathurst."
The girl laughed.
"But Bathurst is a great deal handsomer," she said; "then he promised
to take me to the ball----"
"While Sir Asinus has not promised."
"Oh, _he_ wouldn't think of _me_. I am very much obliged to you for
carrying my satchel, sir," added the young girl, swinging it again on
her arm.
"Not at all. See how Sir Asinus is staring at you--a very ill-bred
fellow!"
The young girl raised her head, for they were now under the window at
which sat Sir Asinus; and she found the eyes of that gentleman fixed
upon her in truth with great pleasure and admiration.
She laughed and blushed, looking down again.
"Good-by, my dear young lady," said the melancholy Jacques with a
paternal air; "continue on your way, and present my most respectful
regards to Mrs. White and every body. Learn your lessons, jump the
rope, and never conjugate the verb _amo_, _amas_; get a poodle dog,
and hideous china, and prepare yourself for the noble state of elderly
maidenhood: so shall you pass serenely through this vale of tears, and
be for ever great, glorious, and happy."
With which friendly counsel the melancholy Jacques sighed
again--possibly from the thought that had he followed the last piece
of advice, his mind had not been troubled--and so bade his young
friend farewell, and mounted the staircase leading to the chamber of
his friend.
As for the young girl, she followed him for a moment with her eyes,
and then laughing merrily continued her way, swinging her satchel and
humming an old ditty. We shall meet with her again.