Finally he skimmed a poem about a lady who turned into a bird.
The evolution was described with intimate anatomical details which scared the honest reader.
He kept his eyes on the book, for he did not know what to say.

The trick seemed to be to describe nature in metaphors mostly drawn from music-halls and haberdashers' shops, and, when at a loss, to fall to cursing.

He thought it frankly very bad, and he laboured to find words which would combine politeness and honesty.
"Well ?" said the poet.
"There's a lot of fine things here, but--but the lines don't just seem to scan very well." Mr.Heritage laughed.

"Now I can place you exactly.

You like the meek rhyme and the conventional epithet.