I'm dying of weariness." Verty shook his head.
"I must go and see Mr.Roundjacket," he said.
"What! is he sick ?" "Yes." "Much ?" Verty smiled.
"I think not," he said; "but I don't know--I havn't much time; good-bye." And touching Cloud with the spur, Verty went on.

Ralph looked after him for a moment, twirled the note in his fingers, read the superscription,--"To Miss Fanny Temple,"-- and then, laughing carelessly, lounged into the house, intent on making a third in the councils of those great captains, Mr.Jinks and the landlord.
We shall accompany Verty, who rode on quietly, and soon issued from the town--that is to say, the more bustling portion of it; for Winchester, at that time, consisted of but two streets, and even these were mere roads, as they approached the suburbs.
Roundjacket's house was a handsome little cottage, embowered in trees, on the far western outskirts of the town.

Here the poet lived in bachelor freedom, and with a degree of comfort which might have induced any other man to be satisfied with his condition.

We know, from his own assertion, that Roundjacket was not;--he had an excellent little house, a beautiful garden, every comfort which an ample "estate" could bring him, but he had no wife.

That was the one thing needful.
Verty dismounted, and admiring the beautiful sward, the well tended flowers, and the graceful appendages of the mansion--from the bronze knocker, with Minerva's head upon it, to the slight and comfortable wicker smoking-chairs upon the porch--opened the little gate, and knocked.
An old negro woman, who superintended, with the assistance of her equally aged husband, this bachelor paradise, appeared at the door; and hearing Verty's request of audience, was going to prefer it to Mr.
Roundjacket.
This was rendered unnecessary, however, by the gentleman himself.