th the manuscript of my poem, sir--but it won't do. An
author, sir--mark me--never takes any pleasure in reading his own
writings."

"Ah?" said Verty.

"No, sir; the only proper course for authors is to marry."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes: and why, sir?" asked Mr. Roundjacket, evidently with the
intention of answering his own question.

"I don't know," replied Verty.

"Because, then, sir, the author may read his work to his wife, which
is a circumstance productive of great pleasure on both sides, you
perceive."

"It might be, but I think it might'nt, sir?" Verty said.

"How, might'nt be?"

"It might be very bad writing--not interesting--such as ought to be
burned, you know," said Verty.

"Hum!" replied Roundjacket, "there's something in that."

"If I was to write--but I could'nt--I don't think I would read it to
my wife--if I had a wife," added Verty.

And he sighed.

"A wife! you!" cried Mr. Roundjacket.

"Is there anything wrong in my wishing to marry?"

"Hum!--yes, sir; there is a certain amount of irrationality in _any_
body desiring such a thing--not in you especially."

"Oh, Mr. Roundjacket, you advised me only a few weeks ago to be always
_courting_ somebody--courting was the word; I recollect it."

"Hum!" repeated Roundjacket; "did I?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, sir, I suppose a man has a right to amend."

"Anan, sir?"

"I say that a man has a right to file an amended and supplemental
bill, stating new facts; but you don't understand. Perhaps, sir, I was
right, and perhaps I was wrong in that advice."

"But, Mr. Roundjacket," said Verty, sighing, "do you think I ought not
to marry because I am an Indian?"

This question of ethics evidently puzzled the poet.

"An Indian--hum--an Indian?" he said; "but are you an Indian, my young
friend?"

"You know _ma mere_ is, and I am her son."

Roundjacket shook his head.

"You are a Saxon, not an Aboriginal," he said; "and to tell you the
truth, your origin has been the great puzzle of my life, sir."

"Has it?"

"It has, indeed."

Verty looked thoughtful, and his dreamy gaze was fixed upon vacancy.

"It has troubled me a good deal lately," he said, "and I have been
thinking about it very often--since I came to live in Winchester, you
know. As long as I was in the woods, it did not come into my thoughts
much; the deer, and turkeys, and bears never asked," added Verty, with
a smile. "The travellers who stopped for a draught of water or a slice
o