MINOR SONGSTERS. 159 
short of marvelous, his taste is so deplorably 
uncertain, and his passion so often becomes a 
downright frenzy, that the excited listener, 
hardly knowing what to think, laughs and shouts 
Bravo! by turns. Something must be amiss, 
certainly, when the deepest feelings of the heart 
are poured forth in a manner to suggest the per- 
formance of a buffo. The chickadee, on the 
other hand, seldom gets mention as a singer. 
Probably he never looked upon himself as such. 
You will not find him posing at the top of a 
tree, challenging the world to listen and admire. 
But, as he hops from twig to twig in quest of 
insects’ eggs and other dainties, his merry spirits 
are all the time bubbling over in little chirps 
and twitters, with now and then a Chickadee, 
dee, or a Hear, hear me, every least syllable of 
which is like “the very sound of happy 
thoughts.” For my part, I rate such trifles with 
the best of all good music, and feel that we 
cannot be grateful enough to the brave tit, who 
furnishes us with them for the twelve months 
of every year. 
So far as the chickadee is concerned, I see 
nothing whatever to wish different; but am 
glad to believe that, for my day and long after, 
he will remain the same unassuming, careless- 
hearted creature that he now is. If I may be 
allowed the paradox, it would be too bad for 
