"Are you such an innocent, simple old Johnny, Prince," he said, with reassuring _bonhomie_, "as not to catch the idea? Do you not know that European feminines in all ranks of society--alack, even in our own!--are immoderately attracted by anyone possessed of riches and a title--or of either of the two? As an _au faït_ in the female temperament, I shall wager that it is nine out of ten that if you spoof this mercenary young minx into believing that you are merely a native impecunious nonentity, and not to be shot at with powder, she will instantaneously drop pursuing such a hot potato." To this speech (reported _verbatim_ to best of my ability) I did shake my head sorrowfully, and reply that I greatly feared that JESSIMINA'S devotion to this unlucky self was too severe to be diverted, or even checked, like a cow that is infuriated or _non compos mentis_, by the mere relinquishment of such tinsel and gewgaw wraps as a title or worldly belongings, having frequently (and that, too, _prior_ to our engagement) protested her preference for very dark-complexioned individuals, and her vehement curiosity to behold India. [Illustration: "ASCENDED HIS BICYCLE WITH A WAGGISH WINKLE IN HIS EYE."] But he, as he ascended his bicycle with a waggish winkle in his eye, repeated that I might try it on at all events. Still, I could not induce myself to adopt his spoofish strategy, for I reflected that, though it might convince her that I was unmarriageable, it would only increase her fury and the vengeance of her champion boarders. So at length I composed a moving epistle, as follows:-- INCOMPARABLE--THOUGH LACK-A-DAISY! INACCESSIBLE--JESSIMINA! Poet SHAKSPEARE has shrewdly observed that "a true lover never did run a straight course," and the sincerity of present writer's affection is incontestably proved by his apparent crookedness of running, and keeping dark outside the illuminating rays of thy moon-like countenance. The cause is the unforeseen cataclysm of a decree from my family astrologer or _dowyboghee_, whom I have anxiously consulted upon our joint matrimonial prospects. [MEM. TO THE READERS.--_This was what young ~HOWARD~ would term "~the bit of spoof~." I am no ninny-hammer to consult an exploded astrologer!_] _Miserabile dictu!_ the venerable and senile pundit reports that such an alliance would infallibly plunge us into the peck of troubles, since the sign of your natal month is the meek and innocent Lamb--while mine is the more ferocious Lion! A very slight familiarity with Natural History, &c., will show you the utter incompatibility of temper between such an uncongenial couple of animals, and the correctness of said astrologer's prediction that it must infallibly be the Lamb who would be whiphanded in the unequal conflict.