She dared say no more. “Oh, misery!” I exclaimed, “how shall I decide? How give my heart to either of you while it is torn with doubts? O Socrates, what an admirable precept was yours, yet how difficult to follow, ‘Know your own mind’! It now occurred to me to sing, in order to discover the truth. I had a notion that my father was too impulsive, as he condemned me after hearing the first part of my song. The second part, I was fain to believe, might work miracles with these dear creatures. Politely bowing by way of claiming their indulgence, I began to whistle, then twitter and make little warblings, after which, inflating my breast to its fullest, I sang as loud as a Spanish muleteer in his mountains. The melody caused the Magpie to move away little by little with an air of surprise, then in a stupefaction of fright she described circles round me like a cat round a piece of bacon which had burned her, and which proved too tempting to relinquish. The more impatient she became, the more I sang. She resisted five-and-twenty bars, and then flew back to her green palace. The Ringdove had fallen asleep—admirable illustration of the power of song. I was just about to fly away when she awoke and bade me adieu, saying— “Handsome, dull, unfortunate stranger, my name is Gourouli. Think of me, adieu!” “Fair Gourouli!” I replied, already on my way, “I would fain live and die with thee. Such happiness is not for me.” {248} IV. The sad effect of my song weighed heavily upon me. Alas! music and poesy, how few hearts there are who understand thee! Wrapped in these reflections, I knocked my head against a bird flying in an opposite direction. The shock was so great that we both fell into a tree. After shaking ourselves, I looked at the stranger, expecting a scene, and with surprise noted he was white, wearing on his head a most comical tuft and cocking his tail in the air. He seemed in no way disposed to quarrel, so I took the liberty of asking his name and nationality. “I am more than astonished you do not recognise me,” he said. “Are you not one of us?” “In truth, sir,” I replied, “I do not know who I am myself, far less who you are. Every one asks me the same question, ‘Who are you?’ Who should I be if I am not one of nature’s practical jokes?” “Come now, that will do; I am no green hand to be caught by chaff. Your coat suits you too well; you cannot disguise yourself, my brother. You certainly belong to the illustrious and ancient family called in Latin _Cacuata_, and in the vulgar tongue Cockatoo.” “Indeed, sir? Since you have been good enough to find me a family and a name, may I inquire how a well-bred Cockatoo conducts his affairs?”