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Updated: May 26, 2025
The gray bird, as impressive as a poor poet, seemed nearly in a state of epilepsy to bring up some burden of oppressive sound, and, as they watched it, almost tipsy with the intoxicant of speech, fluttering, driving, and striking in the air, it suddenly brought out a note liquid as gurgling snow from a bird-cote spout: "L-l-lo-love! love! love! Ha! ha! L-l-love!" "Well done, old bachelor!"
Th-that's c-c-certain; I d-d-don't d-d-deny it. And th-th-this l-l-liquidation might be, in m-m-many ways, v-v-very advan-t-t-tageous t-t-to the interests of m-m-my n-n-nephew, whom I l-l-love. But I must consider. I don't k-k-know the t-t-tricks of P-P-Paris. I b-b-belong to Sau-m-mur, d-d-don't you see? M-m-my vines, my d-d-drains in short, I've my own b-b-business. I never g-g-give n-n-notes.
"She don't know she can't know how fond I am of her, and and who am I? a poor little beggar, and she takes me up and says she'll try and l-l-love me. I ain't worthy of so much happiness. Give us your hand, old boy, since she forgives you after your heartless conduct, and says she loves you. I'll make you welcome. I tell you I'll love every body who loves her.
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