Thus shall I ease my overburdened soul, make all the Tomtits cry, the Ringdoves coo, and the old Owls screech. Above all, one must prove one’s self inexorable to the sweet sentiment of love. In vain shall I be waylaid and entreated to have compassion on maidenly hearts melted by my song. My manuscripts shall be sold for their weight in gold, my books shall cross the seas, fame and fortune shall everywhere follow me. In short, I shall be a perfectly exceptional bird, an eccentric, and at the same time brilliant writer, received with open arms, courted, admired, and thoroughly detested by a thousand rivals. VII. An interval of six weeks introduced my first work to the world, which turned out, as I promised myself it should, a poem in forty-eight cantos. It was slightly marred by a few negligences, the result of prodigious fertility of brain and the inability of my pen to keep pace with my inspiration. Nevertheless, I wisely concluded that the public, {255} accustomed as they are in modern times to all that is swift in thought and action, would shield me from reproach. The success of this, my pristine effort, was simply as unparalleled as it was thoroughly deserved. The subject of the poem was my noble self; in this respect adhering to the prevailing custom, I related my sufferings and adventures, and put the reader in possession of a thousand domestic details of the most piquant interest. The description of my mother’s nest filled no less than fourteen cantos. With the most graphic minuteness were noted the number of straws, grasses, and leaves of which it was composed, the whole being idealised by the tints and reflections of poetic genius. I displayed the inside and the outside, the bottom and the brim, the graceful curves and inclined planes and angles, gradually leading the reader up to the grand theme of the contents—the remains of flies, may-bugs, and grubs which supplied the dainty fare of our home. Thus ascending, I reserved, with true poetic art, the dramatic incidents of my life for the grand _dénoûement_. Europe was moved by the apparition of my book, and eagerly devoured its thrilling revelations. How could it be otherwise? I had not only laid bare the facts of my existence, but pictured the dreams which disturbed my repose for many years, even introducing an ode composed in the yet unbroken egg. Of course I did not neglect the subject which interests every one—that is, the future of humanity. This problem, which for a moment had arrested my attention, was dealt with, and dashed off in outline, giving universal satisfaction. Every day brought its tribute of congratulatory letters and anonymous love declarations, while my door was besieged by newspaper correspondents and Western tourists seeking an interview. All personal intercourse I positively declined, until forced to make an exception to a Blackbird from Senegal and another from China, who announced themselves as relatives of my own.