es render it necessary that I should remain in
retirement!"

"Didn't I mention the duel?" sighed Jacques, gathering up his reins
and looking with languid interest at the martingale.

"No."

"Ah, really--did I not?"

"No. Come now, Jacques! tell me how it was," said Sir Asinus in a
coaxing tone, "and I'll forgive all; for I'm dying of curiosity."

"I would with pleasure," said Jacques, "but unfortunately I haven't
time."

"Time? You have lots!"

"No, no--she expects me, you know."

"Who--not----!"

"Yes, Belle-bouche. Take care of yourself, my dear knight," said
Jacques with friendly interest; "good-by."

And touching his horse with the spurs, he went on, pursued by the
maledictions of Sir Asinus. He had cause. Jacques had charged him with
lunacy; said he designed assassinating the King; kept from him the
very names of the combatants; and was going to see his sweetheart!

CHAPTER XVII.

CORYDON GOES A-COURTING.

Have you never, friendly reader, on some bright May morning, when the
air is soft and warm, the sky deep azure, and the whole universe
filled to the brim with that gay spirit of youth which spring infuses
into this the month of flowers, as wine is squeezed from the ripe
bunch of grapes into the goblet of Bohemian glass, all red and blue
and emerald--at such times have you never suffered the imagination to
go forth, unfettered by reality, to find in the bright scenes which it
creates, a world more sunny, figures more attractive than the actual
universe, the real forms around you? Have you never tried to fill your
heart with dreams, to close your vision to the present, and to bathe
your weary forehead in those golden waters flowing from the dreamland
of the past? The Spanish verses say the old times were the best; and
we may assert truly that they are for us at least the best--for
reverie.

This reverie may be languid, luxurious, and lapped in down--enveloped
in a perfume weighing down the very senses, and obliterating by its
drowsy influence every sentiment but languid pleasure; or it may be
fiery and heroic, eloquent of war and shocks, sounding of beauteous
battle, and red banners bathed in slaughter. But there is something
different from both of these moods--the one languid and the other
fiery.

There is the neutral ground of fancy properly so called: a land which
we enter with closed eyes and smiling lips, a country full of fruits
and flowers--fruits of that delicious flavor of the