nt intercourse
of company which gives one the spleen so overpoweringly that despair
inspires one with boldness--to get rid of them; thirdly, the personal
example of Sir William Devereux; and, fourthly, the inspiration of
hope."

"Hope, sir?" said the Lady Hasselton, covering her face with her fan,
so as only to leave me a glimpse of the farthest patch upon her left
cheek,--"hope, sir?"

"Yes, the hope of being pleasing to you. Suffer me to add that the hope
has now become certainty."

"Upon my word, Count--"

"Nay, you cannot deny it; if one can once succeed in impudence, one is
irresistible."

"Sir William," cried Lady Hasselton, "you may give the Count your
chariot of green and gold, and your four Flanders mares, and send his
mother's maid with him. He shall not go with me."

"Cruel! and why?" said I.

"You are too"--the lady paused, and looked at me over her fan. She was
really very handsome--"you are too _old_, Count. You must be more than
nine."

"Pardon me," said I, "I _am_ nine,--a very mystical number nine is too,
and represents the Muses, who, you know, were always attendant upon
Venus--or you, which is the same thing; so you can no more dispense with
my company than you can with that of the Graces."

"Good morning, Sir William," cried the Lady Hasselton, rising.

I offered to hand her to the door; with great difficulty, for her
hoop was of the very newest enormity of circumference; I effected this
object. "Well, Count," said she, "I am glad to see you have brought so
much learning from school; make the best use of it while it lasts,
for your memory will not furnish you with a single simile out of the
mythology by the end of next winter."

"That would be a pity," said I, "for I intend having as many goddesses
as the heathens had, and I should like to worship them in a classical
fashion."

"Oh, the young reprobate!" said the beauty, tapping me with her fan.
"And pray, what other deities besides Venus do I resemble?"

"All!" said I,--"at least, all the celestial ones!"

Though half way through the door, the beauty extricated her hoop, and
drew back. "Bless me, the gods as well as the goddesses?"

"Certainly."

"You jest: tell me how."

"Nothing can be easier; you resemble Mercury because of your thefts."

"Thefts!"

"Ay; stolen hearts, and," added I, in a whisper, "glances; Jupiter,
partly because of your lightning, which you lock up in the said
glances,--principally because all things