ECHO AND THE OWL
A SOLEMN Owl, puffed up with vanity, sat repeating her screams at midnight from the hollow of a blasted oak. "For what reason," she cried, "is this awesome silence, unless for the sake of my superior music? Surely all the groves are hushed, in expectation of my song, and when I sing all Nature listens." An Echo, resounding from a neighbouring rock, at once replied: "All Nature listens."—"The Nightingale," resumed the Owl, "has usurped the sovereignty of night: her notes are indeed musical, but my own are far sweeter." Echo, confirming her opinion, again replied, "Are far sweeter."—"Then why should I be diffident," continued the Owl, "why should I hesitate to join the tuneful choir?" Echo, still flattering the Owl's vanity, repeated: "Join the tuneful choir."
Trusting to the encouragement of an empty Echo, the Owl on the following morning mingled her hootings with the sweet melodies of the grove. But the feathered songsters, disgusted with her noise, and indignant at her impudence, one and all drove her from their society, and still continue to pursue her whenever she appears.
The vain hear the flatteries of their own imagination, and believe them to be the voice of Fame.
{Robert Dodsley, Original Fables, No. 12.)
THE FLY IN SAINT PAUL'S CUPOLA
AS a Fly was crawling leisurely up one of the columns of the Cupola of Saint Paul's Cathedral he often stopped, surveyed, examined and at last broke forth into the following exclamation:
