SIR ASINUS INTENDS FOR EUROPE.
The morning of the May-day festival dawned bright and joyous;--nature
seemed to be smiling, and the "rosy-bosomed hours" began their flight
toward the west, with that brilliant splendor which they always deck
themselves in, in the merry month of May.
Jacques rose early, and was at his mirror betimes. He had selected a
suit of extraordinary richness, made with express reference to the
rainbow; and when he drew on his coat, and took a last survey of
himself in the mirror, he smiled--no longer sighed--and thought of
Belle-bouche with the triumphant feeling of a general who has driven
the enemy at last into a corner.
He issued forth and mounted his gay charger, which, with original and
brilliant taste, he had decked with ribbons for the joyous festival;
and as he got into the saddle and gathered up the reins, a little
crowd of diminutive negro boys, with sadly dilapidated garments,
cringed before him, and threw up their caps and split the air with
"hoora's" in his honor.
Jacques pranced forth from the _Raleigh_ stable yard in state, and
took his way along Gloucester street, the admiration of every
beholder. He was going to glory and conquest--probably: he was on his
way to happiness--perhaps. He felt a sentiment of benevolent regard
for all the human family, and even, in passing, cast his thoughts on
Sir Asinus.
That gentleman's window was open, and something strange seemed to be
going on within.
And as Jacques drew nearer, he observed a placard dangling from the
window. This placard bore in huge letters the mournful words:
"THE WITHIN INTENDS FOR EUROPE ON THE MORROW."
Jacques felt his conscience smite him--he could not let his friend
depart without bidding him adieu. He dismounted, tied his horse, and
laughing to himself, ascended to the chamber of the knight.
A sad sight awaited him.
Seated upon a travelling trunk, with a visage which had become
elongated to a really distressing degree, Sir Asinus was sighing, and
casting a last lingering look behind.
His apartment was in great disorder--presenting indeed that negligent
appearance which rooms are accustomed to present, when their occupants
are about to depart. The books were all stowed away in boxes--the
pictures taken down--the bed unmade--the sofa littered with papers,
and the violin, and flute--the general air of the desolate room, that
of a man who has parted with his last hope and wishes to exist no
longer.
But the appearance of Sir Asinus was worse than that of his apartment.
"Good morning, my dear Jacques," said the knight, sighing; "you visit
me at a sad moment."
Jacques smiled.
"I am just on the wing."
"As I see."
"From my placard, eh?"
"Yes."
"Well, have you any commands?"
"For Europe?"
"Precisely."
"Well--no," said Jacques, with indecorous levity; "except that you
will present my respects to Pitt and Barre."
"Scoffer!"
"Hey! who scoffed?"
"You!"
"I did not."
"You laugh, unworthy friend that you are," said Sir Asinus; "you
deride me."
"Not at all."
"You rejoice at my departure."
"No."
"At any rate, you are not sorry," said Sir Asinus, sighing; "and I
return the compliment. I myself am not sorry to part with the unworthy
men who have misunderstood me, and persecuted me. A martyr to
political ideas--to love for my country--I go to foreign lands to seek
a home."
And having uttered this melancholy sentence, the woful knight twirled
his thumbs, and sighed piteously.
As for Jacques, he smiled.
"When do you leave?" he said.
Sir Asinus pointed to the placard.
"On the morrow?"
"Yes."
"Well, there is time yet to attend the May-festival at Shadynook. Come
along."
"No, no," said Sir Asinus, sighing; "no, I thank you. I have had all
my noble aspirations chilled--my grand ideas destroyed; my heart is no
longer fit for merriment. I depart."
And rising, Sir Asinus seated himself upon the table disconsolately.
Jacques looked at him and smiled.
"Do you know, my dear Asinus," he said, "that you present at this
moment the grandest and most heroic picture? When a great man suffers,
the world should weep."
"Instead of which, you laugh."
"I? I am not laughing."
"You are smiling."
"That is because, for the first time in my life, I am nearly happy."
"Happy? Would that I were! Happy? It is a word which I seldom have use
for," said Sir Asinus, dangling his legs and sighing piteously.
"Why not endeavor to use it?"
"I cannot."
"Come and laugh with us at Shadynook."
"I no longer laugh."
"You weep?"
"No: my grief is too deep for tears--it is dried up--I mean the
tears."
"Poor fellow!"
"There you are pitying my afflictions--spare me!"
"I do pity you. To see the noble and joyous Sir Asinus grow
melancholy--to see those legs, which erst glided through the minuet
and reel, now dangling wearily--to see that handsome visage so drawn
down; is there no occasion for pity?"
And Jacques sighed.
"Well, well," said Sir Asinus, "I am glad you came, spite of your
unworthy banter, you unfeeling fellow. I wish to send some messages to
my friends."
"What are they?"
"First, to Belle-bouche--love and remembrance."
"That is beautiful; and I never knew these words yet fail to touch the
heart."
"To all the boys, the fond regards of him who goes from them--a martyr
to the attempt to uphold their rights."
"That is affecting too."
"To the little dame who passed with you some days ago--Miss Martha
Wayles by name--but no; nothing to her."
And Sir Asinus groaned.
"Nothing?" said Jacques.
"No; the memory of my love for her shall never grieve her; let us say
no more, Jacques, my friend. I have finished."
"And what do you leave to me?" said Jacques.
"My affection."
"I would prefer that violin."
"No, no, my friend; it will comfort me on my voyage. Now farewell!"
"Shall I see you no more?"
"No more."
"Why?"
"Do I not depart to-day?"
"True, true," said Jacques; "and if you really must go, farewell.
Write to me."
"Let us embrace."
"Willingly."
And Sir Asinus caught his friend in his arms and sniffled.
Jacques, with his head over his friend's shoulder, chuckled.
"Now farewell," said Sir Asinus; "perhaps some day I may
return--farewell."
And covering his eyes, he turned away.
Jacques took out his pocket-handkerchief--pressed his friend's hand
for the last time, and departed.
He mounted his horse, gathered up the reins, and set forward again
toward Shadynook, leaving the disconsolate Sir Asinus to finish his
preparations for departure in his beautiful sail-boat the _Rebecca_.
Poor Sir Asinus! He had not the courage to call it the _Martha_:
disappointed in love and politics, he no longer clung to either, and
thought the best name after all would be the MARTYR.