IN WHICH ROUNDJACKET READS HIS GREAT POEM.
Three days after the events which we have just related, or rather
after the introduction of the reader to the three localities with
which our brief history will concern itself, Mr. Roundjacket was
sitting on his high stool in one corner of the office, preparing the
papers in a friendly suit in Chancery.
It was about ten o'clock in the morning, and Verty, who rode home
every evening, had just come in and had taken his seat at the desk
in the corner appropriated to him, beneath the small dingy window,
looking out upon the yard. Longears was stretched at his feet.
Verty's face was more dreamy and thoughtful than ever. The dim smile
still dwelt upon his lips, and though his countenance had as much of
the forest Indian character as ever, there was a languor about the
drooping eyelids, with their long lashes, and a stoop in the usually
erect neck, which betrayed the existence in the boy's mind of some
ever-present sadness. His costume was just what it had always
been--moccasins, deerskin leggings, a shaggy forest _paletot_, and
fringed leather gauntlets, which now lay by him near his white fur
hat. He had not changed by becoming a lawyer's clerk; but, on the
contrary, grown more wild, apparently from the very contrast between
his forest appearance and the dingy office.
At times Verty would stretch out his hand, and, taking his cedar bow
from a chair, bend it thoughtfully, and utter the low Indian murmur,
which has been represented by the letters, "_ough_" so unsuccessfully;
then he would allow the weapon to slide from his nerveless hand--his
head would droop--the dim dreamy smile would light up his features
for an instant, and he would lean upon the desk and ponder--his
countenance half enveloped by the long tangled chestnut hair which
still flowed upon his shoulders in wild luxuriance.
Tired of thinking at last, Verty sighed, and took up his pen. For some
moments it glided slowly over the law parchment, and the contortions
of Verty's face betrayed the terrible effort necessary for him to
make in copying. Then his eyes no longer sought the paper to be
transcribed--his face lit up for a moment, and his pen moved faster.
Finally, he rose erect, and surveyed the sheet, which he had been
writing upon, with great interest.
Just beneath the words, "messuages, tenements, water courses, and all
that doth thereunto pertain," Verty had made a charming sketch of a
wild-fowl, with expanded wings, falling from the empyrean, with an
arrow through his breast.
For some moments, the drawing afforded Verty much gratification: it
finally, however, lost its interest, and the boy leaned his head upon
his hand, and gazed through the window upon the waving trees which
overshadowed the rear of the building.
Then his eyes slowly drooped--the dusky lashes moved tremulously--the
head declined--and in five minutes Verty was asleep, resting his
forehead on his folded arms.
The office was disturbed, for the next quarter of an hour, by no sound
but the rapid scratching of Mr. Roundjacket's pen, which glided over
the paper at a tremendous rate, and did terrible execution among
plaintiffs, executors, administrators, and assigns.
At the end of that time, Mr. Roundjacket raised his head, uttered a
prolonged whistle, and, wiping his pen upon the sleeve of his old
office coat, which bore a striking resemblance to the gaberdine of a
beggar, addressed himself to speech--
"Now, that was not wanted till to-morrow evening," he observed,
confidentially, to the pigeon-holes; "but, to-morrow evening, I may be
paying my addresses to some angelic lady, or be engaged upon my epic.
I have done well; it is true philosophy to 'make assurance doubly
sure, and to take a bond of fate.' Now for a revisal of that last
stanza; and, I think, I'll read it aloud to that young cub, as Rushton
calls him. No doubt his forest character, primitive and poetical, will
cause him to appreciate its beauties. Hallo!"
Verty replied by a snore.
"What, asleep!" cried Mr. Roundjacket. "Now, you young sluggard! do
you mean to say that the atmosphere of this mansion, this temple of
Chancery, is not enlivening, sprightly, and anti-slumbrous? Ho, there!
do you presume to fall asleep over that beautiful and entertaining
conveyance, you young savage! Wake up!"
And Mr. Roundjacket hurled his ruler at Verty's desk, with the
accuracy of an experienced hand. The ruler came down with a crash, and
aroused the sleeper. Longears also started erect, looked around, and
then laid down again.
"Ah!" murmured Verty, who woke like a bird upon the boughs, "what was
that, _ma mere_?"
"There's his outlandish lingo--Delaware or Shawnee, I have no doubt!"
said Mr. Roundjacket.
Verty rose erect.
"Was I asleep? he said, smiling.
"I think you were."
"This place makes me go to sleep," said the boy. "How dull it is!"
"Dull! do you call this office dull? No, sir, as long as I am here
this place is sprightly and even poetical."
"Anan?" said Verty.
"Which means, in Iroquois or some barbarous language, that you don't
understand," replied Mr. Roundjacket. "Listen, then, young man, I mean
that the divine spirit of poesy dwells here--that nothing, therefore,
is dull or wearisome about this mansion--that all is lively and
inspiring. Trust me, my dear young friend, it was copying that
miserable deed which put you to sleep, and I can easily understand how
that happened. The said indenture was written by the within."
And Mr. Roundjacket pointed toward the sanctum of Mr. Rushton.
Verty only smiled.
Mr. Roundjacket descended from his stool, and cast his eyes upon the
paper.
"What!" he cried, "you made that picture! How, sir Upon my word, young
man, you are in a bad way. The youngster who stops to make designs
upon a copy of a deed in a law office, is on the high-road to the
gallows. It is an enormity, sir--horrible! dreadful!"
"What the devil are you shouting about there!" cried the voice of Mr.
Rushton, angrily. And opening the door between the two rooms, the
shaggy-headed gentleman appeared upon the threshold.
Roundjacket turned over the sheet of paper upon which Verty's design
had been made; and then turned to reply to the words addressed to him.
"I am using my privilege to correct this youngster," he replied, with
a flourish of his ruler, apparently designed to impress the shaggy
head with the idea that he, Mr. Roundjacket, would not permit any
infringement of his rights and privileges.
"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 shell. 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 passed 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'Brallaghan can make. I really believe
this boy is going to amuse me."
"A most remarkable youth," observed the clerk, "and draws sketches
with astonishing 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 analogy, 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 balls 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 asserts 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 noble 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 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.