VENDETTA.
"Criticism," said Mr. Fett, with his mouth full of sausage, "is the flower of all the arts."
"For my part, I hate it," put in the melancholy Rinaldo.
"To be sure," Mr. Fett conceded, "if all men grasped this great truth, there would be an end of artists; and in time, by consequence, of critics, who live by them and for whom they exist. Therefore I keep my discovery as a Platonic secret, and utter it but occasionally, in my cups, and when"--with a severe glance at Mr. Badcock--"the vulgar are not attending."
Mr. Badcock woke up at once. "On the contrary," he explained, "I listen best with my eyes closed; a habit I acquired in Axminster Parish Church. Indeed, I am all ears."
"Indeed you are. . . . Well then, as I was about to say, the secret of success in the Arts is to make o
