Fowle's New Hampshire Gazette And General Advertiser

The vain hear the flatteries of their own imagination, and fancy them to be the voice of fame.

Solemn Owl puffed up with vanity, sat repeating her screams at midnight, from the hollow of a blasted oak. And whence, cried she, proceeds this awful silence, unless it be to favour my superior melody? Surely the groves are husht in expectation of my voice, and when I sing, all nature list ens. An Echo resounding from an adjacent rock, replied immediately, "all nature list ens." The Nightingale, returned she, has usurped the sovereignty by night: her music indeed is musical, but mine is sweeter far. The voice confirming her opinion, replied again, "is sweeter far." Why then am I diffident, continued she, why do I fear to join the tuneful choir? The Echo still flattering her vanity, repeated, "join the tuneful choir." Roused by this empty phantom of encouragement, she on the morrow mingled her hootings with the harmony of the groves. But the tuneful songsters, disgusted with her noise, and affronted by her impudence, unanimously drove her from their society.