THE NATIONAL EPIC.
“I can't see through it,” said Mrs. Partington, with
a reflective nod of her head, and her eyes earnestly bent
upon the keyhole of the closet door, as if that were the
object she could not see through. She had just learned
the report of the committee upon the prize poem proposition
of Mr. Latham, and the loss of $500 to the musical
genius of the country. “I can't see why somebody
could n't have written an epic poem, when there is so
many beautiful epicac poets in the country. Dear me, the
older I grow, — and I never shall see fifty-seven again,
— I 'm convinced that genius is n't thought half enough
of, and that versatanity of talent and great power of
versuffocation is n't rewarded as it ought to be.” This
was said in compliment to Wideswarth, who, it was half
suspected, had put in for the prize, and he bowed modestly,
as he placed his hand in the vicinity of his heart,
and felt in his vest pocket for a tooth-pick.
