THE CRITIC.
The critic stood with scornful eye
Before a picture on the wall:
"You call this art? Now see that fly,
It is not natural at all.
It has too many legs, its head
Is far too large—who ever saw
A fly like that, so limp and dead,
And wings that look as if they—pshaw!"
And with a gesture of disgust
He waved his hand, when lo! the fly
Flew from the picture. "Ah! some dust,"
The critic said, "was in my eye."
—Henry Coyle.
Some one has said that finding fault is done on a smaller capital than any other business, and it is a very fascinating business, too, for people of—small calibre.
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A man must serve his time to every trade,
Save censure; critics all are ready-made.
—Byron.
