"At least I never would have betrayed fear had I seen you!" retorted the occupant of the chamber. "You are so much in love that a fly need not be afraid of you. Poor Jacquelin! poor melancholy Jacques! a feather would knock you down." The melancholy Jacques sat down sighing. "The fact is, my dear fellow," he said, "I am the victim of misfortune: but who complains? I don't, especially to you, you great lubber, shut up here in your den, and with no hope or fear on earth, beyond pardon of your sins of commission at the college, and dread of the proctor's grasp! You are living a dead life, while I--ah! don't speak of it. What were you reading?" "That deplorable Latin song. Salve your ill-humor with it!" And he handed his visitor, by this time stretched carelessly upon a lounge, the open volume. He read: "Orientis partibus Adventavit asinus, Pulcher et fortissimus, Sarcinis aptissimus. "Hez, sire asne, car chantez Belle bouche rechignez, Vous aurez du foin assez, Et de l'avoine a plantez." "Good," said the visitor satirically; "that suits you--except it should be '_occidentis_ partibus:' our Sir Asinus comes from the west. And by my faith, I think I will in future dub you _Sir Asinus_, in revenge for calling me--me, the most cheerful of light-hearted mortals--the 'melancholy Jacques.'" "Come, come!" said the gentleman threatened with this sobriquet, "that's too bad, Jacques." "_Jacques!_ You persist in calling me _Jacques_, just as you persist in calling Belinda, _Campana in die_--_Bell in day_. What a deplorable witticism! I could find a better in a moment. Stay," he added, "I have discovered it already." "What is it, pray, most sapient Jacques?" "Listen, most long-eared Sir Asinus." And the young man read once again; "Hez, sire asne, car chantez, BELLE BOUCHE rechignez; Vous aurez du foin assez, Et de l'avoine a plantez." "Well," said his friend, "now that you have mangled that French with your wretched pronunciation, please explain how my lovely Belinda--come, don't sigh and scowl because I say 'my,' for you know it's all settled--tell me where in these lines you find her name." "In the second," sighed Jacques. "Oh yes!--bah!" "There you are sneering. You make a miserable Latin pun, by which you translate Belinda into _Campana in die_--Bell in day--and when I improve your idea, making it really good, you sneer." "Really, now!--well, I don't say!" "Belle-bouche! Could any thing be finer? 'Pretty-mouth!' And then the play upon _Bel_, in Belinda, by the word _Belle_. Positively, I will in future call her nothing else. Belle-bouche--pretty-mouth! Ah!" And the unfortunate lover stretched languidly upon the lounge, studied the ceiling, and sighed piteously. His friend burst into a roar of laughter. Jacques--for let us adopt the sobriquets all round--turned negligently and said: "Pray what are you braying at, Sir Asinus?" "At your sighs." "Did I sigh?"