AN owl that had long separated himself from his companions that he might devote his nights to study and become learned, employed himself afterward in trying to impart his learning to the other owls. Having called them together, he discoursed about different animals and reptiles and fishes which they had never heard of before; but he found that, while a few seemed anxious for instruction and listened patiently, the most of his hearers made some excuse for flying away while he was still talking, so that by the end of his discourse scarcely a half dozen of them remained.

As he was ambitious to be considered an interesting as well as instructive speaker, he was greatly discouraged at this result, and at once retired to the woods, into a thick clump of hemlocks whose dark shadows never admitted a ray of the sun, and there, all alone, he thought over the matter, trying to decide what was best to be done.

He remained for several days thus engaged, when suddenly, as if the whole difficulty were solved, he gave a cheerful hoot, and flying forth, summoned all the owls to a meeting in the apple-orchard near by at twelve o’clock the following night. When the time arrived, but a small audience appeared in the trees immediately around him, though many were on those farther off—as we might say, on the back seats—from which, in case they grew weary, they could retire unseen.

“I’ve come this time,” he began, “not to talk about animals or reptiles or fishes, but about owls.”

At once he could see an awakening of interest in the birds that were near him. Then he went on to tell all he knew about owls—their ancestors who had lived long ago, the different kinds that are living now, the big owls and the little owls, their habits, their dispositions, their pleasures, and their pains, not, of course, omitting courtship and marriage. Very soon he saw the birds that had lodged on the distant trees flying nearer, and as he went on they came one by one into the very tree where he stood, until all the owls that lived in the neighboring woods were gathered close around him; nor were they willing to leave while he continued his discourse. And after that, all he had to do was to vary somewhat his treatment of the same theme to secure a punctual and full attendance.

This fable proves that owls, like men, prefer to hear about things in which they feel the interest of kindred. The speaker or the book that can awaken our human sympathies is the one, as we know, that commands the largest audience and the closest attention.