long looked upon
the fresh fields, when he was on his way to Williamsburg. With a
hopeful spirit, which banished peremptorily all those gloomy thoughts
which were accustomed to harass him, he pressed on to commence his day
of toil at the college.

As he entered Williamsburg, he came very near being overturned by a
gentleman who was leaving that metropolitan city, at full gallop.

"Hey!" cried this gentleman, reining up; "why, good day, Mowbray!"

And Sir Asinus made a bow of grotesque respect.

"Whither away, my dear fellow--to that den of iniquity, the grammar
school, eh?"

"Yes," said Mowbray, smiling; "and you?"

"I go to other fields and pastures new--to those Hesperian gardens
famed of old, and so forth. Come with me!"

"No, thank you. I suppose you are going to see a lady?"

"Precisely; and now do you still refuse?"

"Yes."

"You are an ungallant book-worm, a misogynist--and that is the next
thing to a conspirator. Leave your books, and come and taste of sylvan
joys."

"Where are you going?"

"To see Dulcinea."

"Who is she?"

"Her other name is Amaryllis."

"Well, sing to her," said Mowbray; "for my part, I am going to visit
Plato, Justinian, Blackstone, whose lectures are better than Virgil's
heroics, and Coke, who is more learned, if not more agreeable, than
any Hesperians. Farewell."

And Mowbray saluted Sir Asinus with a smile, and rode on. The knight
returned his salute, and continued his way in the opposite direction.

Now, as our history concerns itself rather with Amaryllis than Plato
or Coke, we shall permit Mowbray to go on, and retracing our steps,
follow Sir Asinus to his destination.

Sir Asinus on this morning is magnificent, and finds the air very
pleasant after his long imprisonment. He inhales it joyously, and in
thought, nay, often in words, invokes confusion on the heads of
proctors. He is in full enjoyment of those three great rights for
which he has sacrificed so much--namely, life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness.

He is joyous, for he has stolen a march upon the watchful guardians of
the college; he revels in the sentiment of freedom; and believes
himself in pursuit of that will o' the wisp called happiness.

He sings, as he goes onward on his hard-trotting courser, the words of
that song which we have heard him sing before:

"Hez! sire asne! car chantez
Belle bouche rechignez;"

and is not mortified when a donkey in the neighboring meadow bra