3t: The Gold -f io)itcd Green (B/dhvl) Fiuitsucicer. 
And I murmui'ed as I gazed upon hini: "The Green— 
the Gold-headed — the Beautiful." Back into his cage I put him, 
and he carried my hopes with him. 
Such a l)ird, I jiondered, should be fed on the food that 
the gods love, and pearls dissolved in wine should be his 
drink 
Ah! well, I evolved a more prosaic diet for his daily 
needs, in which fruits not so rare as those of my imagination 
figured, and honey and milk to give him strength and sweetness. 
On the second day he sang — and every day after — and 
by and by he mingled with his song all the notes of the 
Shama; of the Blue Bird of happy memory. The dulcet tones 
of the nightingale; and the wailing of the Never-never bird — 
and the dear delightful strain was for my ear alone. 
He sang of love, of happiness, of the glories (hat had 
been, of the grey present sliot with silver — of the future 
bright and glowing as the golden crown he bore — of ho])e that 
trailed its pinions in the dust, of majesty never iminlvled, of 
pride never cast down, and of ambitions that fietted their wings 
ere they soared to fulfilment. 
And being l)ut a liii'd he fell from the sublime to the 
ridiculous and sang again of pippins and cheese to come! 
The Bulbul slept soundly — I envied him! Slept as only 
the lovely and innocent of heart can sleep. Every morning I 
roused him, and he never failed to greet me as lightly as only 
lovers can! Oh, he was a vision of delight, this bonny gem! 
Day by day he grew more beautiful and the golden crown 
upon his head waxed more and moje brilliant, and yet I never 
heeded! 
Day by day he sang, louder, sweeter, and mo.c tenderly! 
And yet I did not know! 
The shadow of death's hand was hoveling over him; one fatal 
morning it clo.ed upon him. He was singing lustily. Just as 
I turned away he stopped on one high note— the rest was 
silence. He had i)assed from me without a flutter, without a 
pang. As 1 lield the little body, still warm, in my hand, I 
noticed that he had drawn his wings foi-waixl as if to guard 
the heart that love had broken! 
Surely this little silent lovely act was his last offering 
on the Altar of Friendship, 
