ther to scare those away who came on real business--dark, to be sure,
but--NIGRI SUNT HYACINTHI--there are pretty things to be said in favour
of that complexion.

At length--as common sense will get the better in all cases when a man
will but give it fair play--I began to stand convicted in my own mind,
as an ass before the interview, for having expected too much--an ass
during the interview, for having failed to extract the lady's real
purpose--and an especial ass, now that it was over, for thinking so much
about it. But I can think of nothing else, and therefore I am determined
to think of this to some good purpose.

You remember Murtough O'Hara's defence of the Catholic doctrine of
confession; because, 'by his soul, his sins were always a great burden
to his mind, till he had told them to the priest; and once confessed, he
never thought more about them.' I have tried his receipt, therefore; and
having poured my secret mortification into thy trusty ear, I will think
no more about this maid of the mist,

Who, with no face, as 'twere, outfaced me.

--Four o'clock. Plague on her green mantle, she can be nothing
better than a fairy; she keeps possession of my head yet! All during
dinner-time I was terribly absent; but, luckily, my father gave the
whole credit of my reverie to the abstract nature of the doctrine, VINCO
VINCENTEM, ERGO VINCO TE; upon which brocard of law the professor this
morning lectured. So I got an early dismissal to my own crib, and here
am I studying, in one sense, VINCERE VINCENTEM, to get the better of
the silly passion of curiosity--I think--I think it amounts to nothing
else--which has taken such possession of my imagination, and is
perpetually worrying me with the question--will she write or no? She
will not--she will not! So says Reason, and adds, Why should she take
the trouble to enter into correspondence with one who, instead of a
bold, alert, prompt gallant, proved a chicken-hearted boy, and left her
the whole awkwardness of explanation, which he should have met half-way?
But then, says Fancy, she WILL write, for she was not a bit that sort
of person whom you, Mr. Reason, in your wisdom, take her to be. She was
disconcerted enough, without my adding to her distress by any impudent
conduct on my part. And she will write, for--By Heaven, she HAS written,
Darsie, and with a vengeance! Here is her letter, thrown into the
kitchen by a caddie, too faithful to be bribed, either by money or
w