dbud--!"

"Oh, no!" said Verty, "don't do that."

"I have a right to be angry," continued Roundjacket, flourishing his
ruler; "it would be out of the question for me to be anything else."

"How, sir?"

"Do you see that?"

And Roundjacket held up the paper, flourishing his ruler at it in a
threatening way.

"The paper, sir?" said Verty.

"Yes!"

"What of it?"

"Abomination!"

"Oh, sir."

"Yes! utter abomination!"

"I don't understand, sir."

"Mark me!" said Roundjacket.

"Yes, sir."

"That is the 'Virginia Gazette.'"

"Is it, sir?"

"Published at Williamsburg."

"I think I've heard of it, sir."

"Williamsburg, the centre of civilization, cultivation, and the other
ations!" cried Roundjacket, flourishing his ruler savagely, and
smiling with bitter scorn.

"Ah!" said Verty, finding that he was expected to say something.

"Yes! the Capital of Virginia, forsooth!"

"Has Williamsburg made you angry, sir?"

"Yes!"

"But the 'Gazette'--?"

"Is the immediate cause."

Verty sat down.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, smiling; "but I don't understand. I never
read the newspapers. Nothing but the Bible--because Redbud wants me
to: I hope to like it after awhile though."

"I trust you will never throw away your time on this thing!" cried
Roundjacket, running the end of his ruler through the paper; "can you
believe, sir, that the first canto of my great poem has been murdered
in its columns--yes, murdered!"

"Killed, do you mean, sir?"

"I do--I mean that the illiterate editor of this disgraceful sheet has
assassinated the offspring of my imagination!"

"That was very wrong, sir."

"Wrong? It was infamous? What should be done with such a man!" cried
Roundjacket.

"Arrest him?" suggested Verty.

"It is not a statutable offence."

"What, sir?"

"Neglecting to send sheets to correct."

"Anan?" said Verty, who did not understand.

"I mean that I have not had an opportunity to correct the printed
verses, sir; and that I complain of."

Verty nodded.

"Mark me," said Roundjacket; "the publisher, editor, or reviewer who
does not send sheets to the author for correction, will inevitably
perish, in the end, from the tortures of remorse!"

"Ah?" said Verty.

"Yes, sir! the pangs of a guilty conscience will not suffer him to
sleep; and death only will end his miserable existence."

Which certainly had the air of an undoubted truth.

"See!" said Mr. Roundjacket, relapsing into the pathet