Mr. Roundjacket's illusions were all dissipated--the attentive
listener was a sleeping listener--his poem, dreadful to think of, had
absolutely lulled Verty to slumber.

We may understand the mortification of the great writer; the
_irritable genus_ had in him no unfit representative, thus far at
least. He caught Verty by the shoulder and shook him.

"Wake up, you young savage!" he cried, "sleeping when I am reading to
you; rouse! rouse! or by the immortal gods I'll commit an assault and
battery upon your barbarous person! Savage! barbarian! monster!"

Suddenly Mr. Roundjacket heard a hoarse growl, and something like
a row of glittering steel knives attracted his attention in the
direction of his legs. This phenomenon was caused by the opening of
Longears' huge mouth--that intelligent animal having espoused the
cause of his master, so rudely assaulted, and prepared for instant
battle.

Fortunately, Verty woke up before the combat commenced; and seeing the
hound standing in a threatening attitude, he ordered him to lie down.
Longears obeyed with great alacrity, and was soon dozing again.

Then commenced, on the part of Mr. Roundjacket, an eloquent and
animated remonstrance with Verty on the impropriety of that proceeding
which he had just been guilty of. It was unfeeling, and barbarous, and
unheard of, the poet observed, and but one thing induced him to pardon
it--the wild bringing up of the young man, which naturally rendered