"The thing is impossible," said
the pessimist to Cobden. "Indeed," said that great man. "Then the sooner we
set about doing it the better." Oh, oh, say I to my owl, all is lost, is
it? You wait till the dawn comes, and hear what that little chap in the red
waistcoat has to say about it. He's got quite another tale to tell, and
it's a much more likely tale than yours. I shall go to bed and leave you to
Gummidge in the trees until the sun comes up and tells you what a dismal
fraud you are.
"Tu-whit, tu-whoo," hoots the owl back at me.
Yes, my dear sir, but you said that last night, and you have been saying it
every night I have known you, and always the sun comes up and the spring
comes round again and the flowers bloom, and the fields are golden with
harvest.
"Tu-whit, tu-whoo."
Oh, bother you. You ought to be a _Daily Mail_ placard.
No doubt the owl is quite happy in his way. Louis XV. expressed the owlish
philosophy when he said, "Let us amuse ourselves by making ourselves
miserable." I have no doubt the wretched creature did amuse himself after
his fashion.
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