I do not know what happened to the
owl, but I daresay he went on "Tu-whit-ing" and "Tu-whoo-ing" to the end.
The owl can't help being an owl.
Ah, there is little red waistcoat singing on the fence. Let us find a worm
for the philosopher....
ON POINTS OF VIEW
As I sat in the garden just now, with a writing-pad on my knee and my mind
ranging the heavens above and the earth beneath in search of a subject, my
eye fell on a tragedy in progress at my elbow. A small greenfly had got
entangled in a spider's web, and was fluttering its tiny wings violently to
effect an escape. The filaments of the web were so delicate as to be hardly
visible, but they were not too delicate to bear the spider whom I saw
advancing upon his prey with dreadful menace. I forgot my dislike of
greenflies, and was overcome with a fierce antagonism for the fat fellow
who had the game so entirely in his hands. Here, said I, is the Hun
encompassing the ruin of poor little Belgium. What chance has the weak and
the innocent little creature against the cunning of this rascal, who hangs
out his gossamer traps in the breeze and then lies in hiding until his
victim is enmeshed and helpless? What justice is there in nature that
allows this unequal combat?
By this time the spider had reached the fly and thrown a new filament round
him.
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