n counteracted by
an amiable smile.

Miss Lavinia greeted the lawyer with grave dignity, and said she had
come in, in passing, to consult him about some little matters which
she wished him to arrange for her; and trusted that she found him
disengaged.

This was said with so much dignity, that Mr. Rushton could not scowl,
and so he invited Miss Lavinia to enter his sanctum, politely leading
the way.

The lady sailed after him--and the door closed.

No sooner had she disappeared, than Mr. Roundjacket seized his
ruler, for a moment abandoned, and proceeded to execute innumerable
flourishes toward the adjoining room, for what precise purpose does
not very accurately appear. In the middle of this ceremony, however,
and just as his reflections were about to shape themselves into words,
the front door opened, and Verty made his appearance, joyful and
smiling.

In his hand Verty carried his old battered violin; at his heels
stalked the grave and dignified Longears.

"Good morning, Mr. Roundjacket," said Verty, smiling; "how do you do
to-day?"

"Moderate, moderate, young man," said the gentleman addressed; "you
seem, however, to be at the summit of human felicity."

"_Anan_?"

"Don't you know what _felicity_ means, you young savage?"

"No, sir."

"It means bliss."

Verty laughed.

"What is that?" he said.

Mr. Roundjacket flourished his ruler, indignantly.

"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.

"Felicity and bliss are things which spring from poetry and women;
convertible terms, you savage, but often dissevered. Suppose, now, you
wrote a great poem, and read it to the lady of your affections, and
she said it was better than the Iliad of Homer,--how would you feel,
sir?"

"I don't know," Verty said.

"You would feel happiness, sir."

"I don't think I would understand her. 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."

"Wit