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."