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Updated: May 13, 2025
Who was Iliad, and what was Homer?" Mr. Roundjacket flourished his ruler, despairingly. "You'll never write a poem, and you'll never be in love!" he said, with solemn emphasis. "Oh, you are wrong!" said Verty, laying his violin on the desk, and caressing Longears. "I think I'm in love now, Mr. Roundjacket!" "What?" "I'm in love." "With whom?" "Redbud," said Verty.
Alas! the name, at the foot of the manuscript, was not "Redbud" it was "Sallianna!" And so, when the young man's hopes were overturned, the bright flash of his clear eye was veiled in mist again, and his hand fell, with a gesture of discouragement, which Roundjacket found no difficulty in understanding.
"Astonishing how dull you are occasionally for such a bright fellow," he said; "but, after the fashion of all ignoramuses, and as you don't know what that is, I declare you to be one after the old fashion. You need illustration. Now, listen." Verty sat down tuning his violin, and looking at Mr. Roundjacket, with a smile.
"Observe the married man," replied Roundjacket, philosophically "see his brow laden with cares, his important look, his solemn deportment. None of the lightness and carelessness of the bachelor." Verty nodded, as much as to say that there was a great deal of truth in this much.
"The fact is," said Roundjacket, as they issued forth into the street of the town, followed by Longears, "the old fellow, yonder, is getting dreadfully bearish." "Is he, sir?" "Yes; and every year it increases." "I like him, though." "You are right, young man a noble-hearted man is Rushton; but unfortunate, sir, unfortunate." And Mr. Roundjacket shook his head. "How?"
Roundjacket no sooner heard this, than he restored the poem to his desk, with a sigh, and said: "But you, no doubt, came on business, madam I delay you Mr. Rushton " At the same moment the door of Mr. Rushton's room opened, and that gentleman made his appearance, shaggy and irate a frown upon his brow, and a man-eating expression on his compressed lips.
"Not do so in the present instance, do you mean?" "Yes, sir." "Young man," said Roundjacket, solemnly, "it is easy to see that you are shockingly ignorant of the proprieties of life or you never would have suggested such a thing." "What thing, sir?" "Plain writing in an author." "Oh!" said Verty.
This message was carried to the chariot, which soon afterwards drove away. Verty gazed after it. "I say, Mr. Roundjacket," he observed, at length, "how funny it is for Miss Lavinia to come to see you!" "Hum! hum! we are hum ah ! The fact is, my dear Verty!" cried Mr.
Verty rose quickly. "A letter for me, sir!" he said, blushing. "Yes; not from a great distance though," Roundjacket replied, with a sly chuckle; "see here; the post-mark is the 'Bower of Nature." Verty extended his hand abruptly, his lips open, his countenance glowing. "Oh, give it to me, sir!"
Roundjacket chuckled more than ever, and handing it to the young man, said: "An African of small dimensions brought it this morning, and said no answer was required doubtless, therefore, it is not a love-letter, the writers of which are well-known to appreciate replies. Hey! what's the matter, my friend?"
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