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A CRITIC'S REWARD.
Zo-i-lus was a critic,
In very ancient days, And he dearly loved to pounce upon
Another fellow's lays; So to Apollo, one fine day,
A fearful screed he took In which he'd torn the flinders
From another fellow's book.
' And could you find no good, at all ? "
Apollo asked the critic. The latter rolled his milky eyes,
And in a breath mephitic From long confinement, musty rooms,
And places dank and sad, Declared himself: " I know no good;
'Tis mine to seek the bad."
Then the god gave to the critic A bundle—with a laugh— " 'Tis wheat unwinnowed ; you may have, For your reward, the chaff."