antiquaries in general, we are compelled to forbear from making any
quotations from the Roundjacket Iliad. It was not quite equal to
Homer, and inferior, in many points, to both the Aeniad and the
Dunciad;--but not on that account did the poet undervalue it. He read
with that deep appreciation which authors in all ages have brought to
bear upon their own productions.

Verty preserved a profound and respectful silence, which flattered the
poet hugely. He recited with new energy and pleasure--becoming, at
times, so enthusiastic, indeed, that a smothered growl from the
adjoining apartment bore soothing testimony to his eloquence.

Mr. Roundjacket wound up with a gigantic figure, in which the muse of
Chancery was represented as mounted upon a golden car, and dispensing
from her outstretched hands all sorts of fruits, and flowers, and
blessings on humanity;--and having thus brought his noble poem to a
noble termination, the poet, modestly smiling, and ready for applause,
rolled up his manuscript, and raised his eyes to the countenance of
his silent and admiring listener--that listener who had been so rapt
in the glowing images and sonorous couplets, that he had not uttered
so much as a word.

Verty was asleep.




CHAPTER VIII.

HOW VERTY SHOT A WHITE PIGEON.