Benjamin listened with a good deal of interest to the foregoing discussion, and he saw that, from jealousy or some other cause, Osborne was not according to Ralph the credit to which he was ent.i.tled; and so he interrupted, by saying:
"You set yourself up for a critic, Osborne; but I think more of Ralph as a poet than I do of you as a critic. You are unwilling to grant that his productions have any merit at all; but I think have.
Moreover, it is a good practice for him, and for all of us, to write poetry, even if it does not come quite up to Milton. It will improve us in the use of language."
"Fiddlesticks! It is simply wasting time that might be spent in profitable reading; and good reading will improve the mind more than rhyming." Osborne spoke with much earnestness.
"Not half so much as your empty criticisms are wasting your breath,"
replied Benjamin, with a smile. "But, look here, I have just thought of a good exercise that we better adopt. At our next meeting each one of us shall bring in a piece of poetry of our own composition, and we"ll compare notes and criticise each other."
"I should like that," responded Ralph; "it is a capital proposition.
Perhaps...o...b..rne may think it will be a waste of time and breath."
"Not at all," answered Osborne; "I agree to the plan, provided the subject shall be selected now, so that all shall have fair play."
"We will do that, of course," said Benjamin. "Have you a subject to suggest?"
"None whatever, unless it is a paraphrase of the Eighteenth Psalm, which describes the descent of the Deity."
"That is a grand subject," responded Benjamin. "What do you say to taking that, Ralph?"
"I think it is an excellent subject, and I am in favor of adopting it."
Thus it was understood that each one should write a poetical paraphrase of the Eighteenth Psalm for their next meeting, and, with this understanding, they separated.
Just before the time of their next meeting Ralph called upon Benjamin with his paraphrase, and asked him to examine it.
"I have been so busy," remarked Benjamin, "that I have not been able to write any thing, and I shall be obliged to say "unprepared" when my turn comes to read. But I should like to read yours."
Benjamin read Ralph"s article over, and then reread it.
"It is excellent; better than any poetry you have ever written,"
remarked Benjamin, when he had finished reading. "Osborne will have to praise that."
"But he won"t; you see if he does. Osborne never allows the least merit in any thing I write. His envy, or jealousy, or something else, hatches severe criticism, whether there is reason for it or not. He will do that with this article; see if he don"t."
"If he does, it will be proof that he is prejudiced against you, or is no judge of poetry," replied Benjamin.
"Suppose we try a little game," continued Ralph. "I think we can put his judgment to a test. He is not so jealous of you as he is of me.
Now you take this article, and produce it as your own, and I will make some excuse for not being prepared. We shall then get at his real opinion of the composition."
"A very ingenious test, Ralph," exclaimed Benjamin. "I will enter into the plan with all my heart. But I must transcribe the article, so that he will see that it is in my own handwriting."
"Certainly; and be careful that you do not let the secret out."
So they waited, almost impatiently, for the time of meeting, both feeling almost sure that Osborne would fall into their net. The appointed time came. Matson was the first to read his production.
Osborne came next; and his piece was much better than Matson"s. Ralph noticed two or three blemishes, but pointed out many beauties in it.
Next it was Ralph"s turn to read. "I am sorry to confess that I have nothing to read; but I promise to atone for this failure by doing my part faithfully in future."
"Poets ought to be ready at any time," remarked Osborne humorously, looking at Ralph.
"It is in order for them to fail sometimes, I think," replied Ralph; "especially if they are not _born_ poets."
"Well, Ben, we must have yours, then. You will not disappoint us."
"I think you must excuse me this time," Benjamin answered, feigning an unwillingness to read.
"No, Ben, no excuse for you," said Osborne. "You have it written; I saw it in your hand."
"That is true; but after listening to such fine productions as we have heard, I am not ambitious to read mine. I think I must correct it, and dress it up a little before I submit it for criticism."
"That was not in the arrangement, Ben, when you suggested the exercise," remarked Ralph.
"You are prepared, and, of course, we shall not excuse you."
After much bantering and urging, Benjamin proceeded to read his, apparently with much diffidence; and all listened with profound attention.
"You must read that again," said Osborne, when he finished reading it.
"Two readings of such a poem as that are none too much. Come, read it again."
Benjamin read the article again, apparently with more confidence than at first.
"You surprise me, Ben," exclaimed Osborne, when the second reading was finished. "You are a genuine poet. I had no idea that you could write like that."
"Nor I," added Matson. "It is better than half the poetry that is printed. If the subject had not been given out, I don"t know but I should have charged you with stealing it."
"What do you say, Ralph?" inquired Osborne. "You are a poet, and poets ought to be good judges of such matters." Another fling at Ralph"s claim to poetical ability.
"I don"t think it is entirely faultless," remarked Ralph, after some hesitation. "I think you have commended it full as highly as it deserves. Not being a _born_ poet, however, I may not be a good judge," glancing his eye at Osborne.
"Well done, Ralph!" exclaimed Osborne. "Your opinion of that production is proof positive that you are dest.i.tute of real poetical taste, as I have told you before."
Osborne was fairly caught. Ralph and Benjamin exchanged glances, as if to inquire if their time of avowed triumph had not come; but both appeared to conclude to keep the secret a little longer. They controlled their risibles successfully, and allowed Osborne to go on and express himself still more strongly in favor of the composition.
Ralph walked home with Osborne, in order to play the game a little more, and their conversation was very naturally about Benjamin"s poetry.
"I had no idea," remarked Osborne, "that Ben could write poetry like that. I was ashamed of my own when I heard his. I knew him to be a talented fellow; but I had no idea that he was a poet. His production was certainly very fine. In common conversation he seems to have no choice of words; he hesitates and blunders; and yet, how he writes!"
"Possibly he might not have written it," suggested Ralph; a very natural suggestion in the circ.u.mstances, though Osborne thought it was an outrageous reflection.
"That is the unkindest cut of all," retorted Osborne; "to charge him with plagiarism. Ben would never descend to so mean a thing as that."
They separated for that night; but Ralph embraced the first opportunity to call on Benjamin, to exult over the success of their little scheme. They laughed to their hearts" content, and discussed the point of revealing the secret. They concluded finally, that the real author of the article should be known at their next meeting.
Accordingly, the affair was managed so as to bring the facts of the case before their companions at their next gathering. Osborne was utterly confounded when the revelation was made, and knew not what to say for himself. Matson shook his whole frame with convulsive laughter at poor Osborne"s expense, and Benjamin joined him with a keen relish.
Never was a fellow in a more mortifying predicament than this would-be critic, since it was now perfectly manifest that he was influenced by blind prejudice in his criticisms of Ralph"s poetry. For now, disarmed of prejudice, he had given it his most emphatic endors.e.m.e.nt.
A few years later, Matson died in Benjamin"s arms, much lamented by all of his companions, who regarded him as "the best of their set."