he least merit in
anything of mine, but makes a thousand criticisms, out of mere envy.
He will do so with that piece, I have no doubt."

"If he does, it will prove that he is prejudiced against you, or is no
judge of poetry," replied Benjamin.

"I have a plan to test him," continued Ralph. "He is not so jealous of
you; I wish, therefore, you would take this piece and produce it as
yours. I will make some excuse and have nothing. We shall then hear
what he will say to it."

"I will do it," answered Benjamin, who was well convinced that Osborne
was prejudiced against Ralph; "but I must transcribe it, so that it
will appear in my own handwriting."

"Certainly; and be careful that you don't let the secret out."

They met at the appointed time. Watson was the first to read his
performance. Osborne came next, and his piece was much better than
Watson's. Ralph noticed two or three blemishes, but pointed out many
beauties in it.

"I have nothing to read," said Ralph, whose turn came next in order.
"I will try to do my part next time."

"Poets ought to be ready at any time," remarked Osborne jestingly.
"Well, then, Ben, let us have yours."

"I rather think I must be excused," answered Benjamin, feigning an
unwillingness to read.

"No excuse for you," said Osborne. "You have it written, for I saw it
in your hand."

"That is true," replied Benjamin; "but after such fine productions as
we have heard, there is little encouragement for me to read this. I
think I must correct it and dress it up a little before I read it."

"Not a word of it," said Ralph. "There is no excuse for any one who is
prepared."

So, after much urging, Benjamin proceeded to read the verses, with
seeming diffidence, all listening with rapt attention.

"You must read that again," said Osborne, when the first reading was
finished; which Benjamin consented to do.

"You surprise me, Ben," said Osborne, after the piece was read the
second time. "You are a genuine poet. I had no idea that you could
write like that."

"Nor I," added Watson. "It is better than half the poetry that is
printed. If we had not given out the subject, I should have charged
you with stealing it."

"What do _you_ say, Ralph?" inquired Osborne. "You are a poet, and
ought to be a judge of such matters."

"I don't think it is entirely faultless," responded Ralph. "You have
commended it full as highly as it will bear, in my estimation."

"Well done!" exclaimed Osborne. "Yo