The Youth of Jefferson | Page 2

visitor, kicking again; "Jacquelin's."
"Ah, ah!"
And with these ejaculations the inmate of the chamber was heard
drawing back a table, then the butt of a gun sounded upon the floor, and
the door opened.
The young man who had asserted his inalienable natural rights with so
much fervor was scarcely twenty--at least he had not reached his
majority. He was richly clad, with the exception of an old faded
dressing gown, which fell gracefully like a Roman toga around his legs;
and his face was full of intelligence and careless, somewhat cynical
humor. The features were hard and pointed, the mouth large, the hair
sandy with a tinge of red.
"Ah, my dear forlorn lover!" he cried, grasping his visitor's hand, "I
thought you were that rascally proctor, and was really preparing for a
hand-to-hand conflict, to the death."

"Indeed!"
"Yes, sir! could I expect anything else, from the way you turned my
knob? You puzzled me."
"So I see," said his visitor; "you had your gun, and were evidently
afraid."
"Afraid? Never!"
"Afraid of your shadow!"
"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?"
"Yes, portentously!"
"I think you are mistaken."
"No!"
"I never sigh."
And the melancholy Jacques uttered a sigh which was enough to shatter
all his bulk.
The consequence was that Sir Asinus burst into a second roar of
laughter louder than before, and said:
"Come, my dear Jacques, unbosom! You have been to see----"
"Belle-bouche--Belle-bouche: but I am not in love with her."
"Oh no--of course not," said his friend, laughing ironically.
Jacques sighed.
"She don't like me," he said forlornly.
"She's very fond of me though," said his friend. "Only yesterday--but I
am mad to be talking about it."

With which words Sir Asinus turned away his head to hide his
mischievous and triumphant smile.
Poor Jacques looked more forlorn than ever; which circumstance
seemed to afford his friend extreme delight.
"Why not pay your addresses to Philippa, Jacques my boy?" he said
satirically; "there's no chance for