sophy when he said, "Let us amuse ourselves by making ourselves
miserable." I have no doubt the wretched creature did amuse himself after
his fashion. I have always thought that, secretly, Mrs. Gummidge had a
roaring time. She really enjoyed being miserable and making everybody about
her miserable. I have known such people, and I daresay you have known them,
too--people who nurse unhappiness with the passion of a miser. They are
having the time of their lives now. They go about saying, "Tu-whit,
tu-whoo! The Russians are beaten again, or if they are not beaten they will
be. Tu-whit, tu-whoo! We're slackers and slouchers and the Germans are too
many for us. Tu-whit, tu-whoo. They're on the way to India and Egypt, and
nothing will stop them. All, all is lost." But I notice that they enjoy a
beef-steak as much as anybody, and do not refuse their soup though they
salt it with their tears.

I like that story of Stonewall Jackson and the owl. The owl was a general,
and he rushed up to Jackson in the crisis of the first battle of Bull's
Run, crying "All is lost! We're beaten!" "Oh," said Jackson, "if that's so
I'd advise you to keep it to yourself." Half-an-hour later the charge of
Jackson's brigade had won the battle. 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 u