A Story For The Critics

A great king once, so I havo heard, Went out to hunt a singing-bird Whose voice should be so_ aweet and stroug, Si) f raught with all the tricks of song, That they who heard it would canteas The king's une tasto and períectness Oí judgment. And it camo to pass Tliat where the wind poured through tho grass, Friuging a brooklet's sinuous way, He saw a bird domure and gray, Of awkward micn andsleepy-eyed, Bathing in the crystal tide. "O bird f" the king said, looking down, " A monarch 1 of high renown, Out soarching for a singing-bird Whose voicc, the sweetest ever heard, Shnll cheer me in my hours of gloom, And coax my dead loves back to bloom." " Take me, O king," the gray bird said. " A sad and lonely life I've led, Singing with not a soul to hear, Pining for but one word of cheer." " Thou ! " cried the kiug, half in surprise, A sudden mger in his eyes- " Thou iusignificant, naraeless bird ! Thou ninny ! Hast thou never heard Of my grand palace and my throne Of pearl and gold and precious stones 't Thou gray, sad-eyed, presumptuous thing 1 Thou entertain a court and king ! Begone ! Say not auother word ; lly cage must hold a royal bird." There carne a silken sound of wings Above the brooklet's murmurings ; The wind feil still upon the grass To watch the gray bird upward pasa ; The Buiüight milder, softiy grew ; The leaves took on a tender hue - As it all nature, gently stirred, iade farewell to the going bird. Tho monarch stood with Iips compressed, tegret and choler in his breast, While trom the sky, well-sent and strong, Game back a Parthian shaft of song.