All the Birds of the Air Fell a-sighin’ and a-sobbin’ When they heard of the death Of poor Cock Robin. · · · · “Who’ll dig his Grave?” “I,” said the Owl, “With my little Trowel; I’ll dig his Grave.” · · · · “Who _killed_ Cock Robin?” “I,” said the Sparrow, “With my Bow and Arrow, _I_ killed Cock Robin!” _The Owl_ shows its blue and gilt cover on the bookstalls every Saturday morning. Thursday nights are therefore nights of turmoil in the offices in Fleet Street. They are always wearing nights; more so, of course, in hot weather than in cold. They are nights of discomfort for the office-boy and of s…
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