The Last of the Foresters Part 7

"You are, are you?" said Mr. Rushton.

"Yes, sir," replied the clerk.

"And what do you find to correct in Mr. Verty?"

"Many things."

"Specify."

"With pleasure."

And Mr. Roundjacket, inserting one thumb into the pocket of his long waistcoat, pointed with the ruler to Verty's costume.

"Do you call that a proper dress for a lawyer's clerk?" he said. "Is the profession to be disgraced by the entrance of a bear, a savage, a wild boy of the woods, who resembles a catamountain? Answer that, sir.

Look at those leggins!"

And Mr. Roundjacket indicated the garments which reached to Verty's knees, with the end of his ruler.

"Well," said Mr. Rush ton, smiling, "I should think you might have them changed without troubling me, Verty."

The boy raised his head with a smile.

"How would you like a new suit of clothes?"

"I don't want any, sir."

"But these won't do."

"Why not, sir?"

"They're too primitive, you cub. Clothes, sir, are the essence of human society, and a man is known by his sh.e.l.l. If you wish to reap those numerous advantages for your mother, you must be re-habited."

"Anan?" said Verty.

"I mean you must dress like a Christian--get new clothes."

Verty smiled.

"You are willing, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well--that does honor to your filial affection, you handsome savage. Roundjacket, take this young man up to O'Brallaghan's to-morrow, and have his measure taken."

"With pleasure," said Mr. Roundjacket, who had evidently taken a great liking to Verty; "what sort of clothes?"

Mr. Rushton looked at the subject of the conversation. Verty was gazing through the window and dreaming. A smile pa.s.sed over the grim features, and a sort of sigh issued from the compressed lips of the lawyer.

"Three suits, Roundjacket," said Mr. Rushton; "one common, another rich, another as elegant as...o...b..allaghan can make. I really believe this boy is going to amuse me."

"A most remarkable youth," observed the clerk, "and draws sketches with astonis.h.i.+ng ease."

"Ah?"

"Don't you, young man?"

Verty turned round, and interrogated Mr. Roundjacket with a look. He had evidently not heard the question.

"There, you are dreaming again, sir," said Mr. Rushton; "this will never do--come, write away. The idleness of this world is revolting!"

he growled, returning to his sanctum, and closing the door with a bang.

Roundjacket pointed after him with his ruler.

"An odd fish, young man," he said, shaking his head; "take care not to make him your model. If you want a proper model to imitate, you need not go far. Modesty, which is my weakness, prevents my saying more."

And Mr. Roundjacket cleared his throat, and looked dignified.

"It was my purpose, before this interruption," he said, after a pause of some moments, "to read to you some portions of a work which will, probably, be spoken of extensively by the world."

And Mr. Roundjacket paused. Verty also was silent.

"All countries," said the poetical gentleman, with a preparatory flourish of his ruler, "have possessed localities famous in the history of literature:--as Athens, in Greece; the Island of Scio, where Homer first saw the light; and Stratford, where Shakspeare appeared. Now, sir, reasoning from a.n.a.logy, which is the finest possible way of reasoning, we must conclude that Virginia has such a locality, and I leave you to decide the probable situation of it. It cannot be Williamsburg, the seat of government, for that place is given up to the vanity of life--to b.a.l.l.s and horseraces, meetings of the House of Burgesses, and other varieties. Williamsburg, sir, cannot become famous--it is too near the sea. Then there is the thriving village of Richmond, to which they speak of moving the seat of government. I suppose, sir, that no one a.s.serts that Richmond is ever likely to produce any remarkable men. Mark me, sir, that place will never be famous--it is too far from the sea. Now, what is the irresistible conclusion we arrive at from a view of these incontestable facts," observed Mr. Roundjacket, endeavoring to catch Verty's wandering eye; "why, my young friend, that Winchester here is to be the celebrated locality--that the great poet of Virginia will here arise! Is it not plain, sir?"

"Anan?" said Verty, smiling, and roused from his abstraction by the silence.

"Ah, you are not very well accustomed to these trains of reasoning, I perceive, sir," said Mr. Roundjacket; "but you will be able to comprehend my meaning. I designed only to say, that this town will probably be mentioned in many books, hereafter, as the residence of some distinguished man. Of course, I do not express any opinion upon that point--_I_ don't know who it will be; but I presume he will follow the poetical calling from the vicinity of the mountains. Those beautiful mountains will make his cheeks flush, sir, at all times. The Shenandoah, more n.o.ble than even the Mississippi, will inspire him, and possibly he will turn his attention to humor--possibly, sir, the proceedings in courts of law may attract his attention--justification, and cognovit, and certiorari. Let me read you a small portion of a poem written upon those subjects by a very humble poet--are you listening, Mr. Verty?"

Verty aroused himself, and smiled upon Mr. Roundjacket--a proceeding which seemed to be eminently satisfactory to that gentleman.

With many preparatory, "hems," therefore, the poet commenced reading.

At the risk of bringing down upon our heads the anathema of 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 n.o.ble poem to a n.o.ble termination, the poet, modestly smiling, and ready for applause, rolled up his ma.n.u.script, 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.

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.