"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. CHAPTER VIII. HOW SIR ASINUS INVENTED A NEW ORDER OF PHILOSOPHERS, THE APICIANS. Sir Asinus was clad as usual in a rich suit of silk, over which fell in graceful folds his old faded dressing gown. His red hair was unpowdered--his garters were unbuckled, and one of them had fallen to the floor--his feet were lazily thrust into ample slippers run down deplorably at the heel. He had been meditating strictly the unwilling muse; for on the table lay a number of sheets of paper covered with unfortunate verses, which obstinately refused to rhyme. He seemed to have finally abandoned this occupation in despair--flying for refuge to his window, from which he had seen his friend coming down Gloucester street. When Jacques entered, he retained his seat with an appearance of great carelessness, and extending two fingers negligently, drawled out: "Good day, my boy. You perceive I have banished those ignoble fears of proctors. I no longer shiver when I hear a footstep on the staircase."