VERY CANDID CRITICISM!
A would-be poet and flatterer wrote two sonnets in honour of one of his patrons, and submitted their merits to his judgment, desiring him to retain the best. After having read one of them the patron said, 'The other is the best.'
'How!' exclaimed the poet in surprise; 'you have not read it; how can you tell?'
'Because, indeed,' answered the other, 'it cannot be worse than the one I have read.'
THE PEDLAR.
OWN the quiet village street,
The pedlar takes his way,
His old top hat, and long black coat,
Have weathered many a day.
Before an open door he stays,
With cheery word and smile,
Where mother, with her babe in arms,
Is standing for a while.
A little lass is by her side,
Her eyes with longing bright,
For see, the pedlar has displayed
A lamb, all soft and white!
Ah, well he knows, the wise old man,
The way his wares to ply,
For Mother, moved by childish plea,
Is tempted soon to buy.
He next admires the bonny babe,
His pretty curls of gold,
And after bargaining awhile,
Another toy is sold!
His sunny smile and pleasant words
Beguile both old and young,
Whatever else the pedlar lacks,
He has a winning tongue.