176 MINOR SONGSTERS. 
Our familiar Kat Paveitseelobin’ snow-bird, 
known in some quarters as the black chipping- 
bird, and often called the black snow-bird, has 
a long trill, not altogether unlike the common 
chipper’s, but in a much higher key. It is a 
modest lay, yet doubtless full of meaning ; for 
the singer takes to the very tip of a tree, and 
throws his head back in the most approved 
style. He does his best, at any rate, and so far 
ranks with the angels; while, if my testimony 
can be of any service to him, I am glad to say 
(’t is too bad the praise is so equivocal) that I 
have heard many human singers who gave me 
less pleasure ; and further, that he took dn in- 
dispensable though subordinate part in what 
was one of the most memorable concerts at 
which I was ever happy enough to be a listener. 
This was given some years ago in an old apple- 
orchard by a flock of fox-colored sparrows, who, 
perhaps for that occasion only, had the “ valua- 
ble assistance ” of a large choir of snow-birds. 
The latter were twittering in every tree, while 
to this goodly accompaniment the sparrows 
were singing their loud, clear, thrush-like song. 
The combination was felicitous in the extreme. 
I would go a long way to hear the like again. 
If distinction cannot be attained by one means, 
who knows but that it may be by another? It 
is denied us to be great? Very well, we can at 
