If we are asked how it happened that the merry, joyous Verty, whose face was before all sunshine, now resembled nobody so much as some young and handsome Don Quixote, reflecting on the obduracy of his Toboso Dulcinea, we can only reply, that Verty was in love, and had not prospered lately--that is to say, on that particular day, in his suit; and, in consequence, felt as if the world no longer held any more joy or light for him, forever.
With that bad taste which characterizes the victims of this delusion, he could not consent to supply the place of the chosen object of his love with any other image; and even regarded the classic and romantic Miss Sallianna as wholly unworthy to supplant Redbud in his affections.

Youth is proverbially unreasonable and fastidious on these subjects, and Verty, with the true folly of a young man, could not discern in Miss Sallianna those thousand graces and attractions, linguistic, philosophical, historical and scientific, which made her so far superior to the child with whom he had played, and committed the folly of falling in love with.

So he went along sighing, with his arms hanging down, as we have said, and his shoulders drooping; and in this melancholy guise, reached the office of Judge Rushton.
He found Mr.Roundjacket still driving away with his pen, only stopping at intervals to flourish his ruler, or to cast an affectionate glance upon the MS.

of his great poem, which, gracefully tied with red tape arranged in a magnificent bow, lay by him on the desk.
On Verty's entrance the poet raised his head, and looked at him curiously.
"Well, my fine fellow," he said, "what luck in your wooing?
You look as wo-begone as the individual who drew Priam's curtain at the dead of night.

Come! my young savage, why are you so sad ?" Verty sat down, murmuring something.
"Speak out!" said Mr.Roundjacket, wiping his pen.
"I'm not very sad," Verty replied, looking perfectly disconsolate--"what made you think so, Mr.Roundjacket ?" "Your physiognomy, my young friend.