A SINGING-MATCH. 
■with; but if I were permitted to mention what three tilings he 
most reminded me of, I should say a raven, a ticket-of-leave 
man, and a recruiting sergeant. The Roarer, on the contrary, 
was a decent-looking finch, had both his eyes, sufficient tail to 
save him from peijury if he swore by it, and, indeed, seemed 
altogether much the bald-head’s superior. 
“The conditions of the match were, that the bird who delivered 
the greatest number of notes in fifteen minutes was to be de- 
clared the winner ; the birds being left entirely to themselves, and 
to receive no encouragement from then* owners. A perfect note, 
according to bird-keeping phraseology, is a perfect and complete 
toll-loU-loll-chickweedo : if this phrase is a syllable short, it 
counts for nothing. 
“ The umpire now placed himself midway between the birds, 
with a stop-watch in his hand, while the £ scorers ’ took their 
positions, each before & bird, with a slate and chalk before him. 
A scorer cannot take a note till he has the umpire’s nod of 
approval. ‘ Off ! ’ says the umpire, and the match has begun 
in earnest. The Recruiting Sergeant unlimbers his artillery, 
and fires salvoes of ‘ chickweedoes ’ thick and fast at 
the enemy, in hopes to bully him into subjection ; but the 
Roarer does not belie his name, and stands it like Gibraltar. 
It is as much as the umpire can do (and very interesting he 
looks, gravely wagging his head, first to one scorer then to the 
other) to get through his business ; for the birds keep time as 
evenly as a pendulum. Presently, however, the Recruiting 
Sergeant changed his tactics ; he ceases singing, and takes to 
seed and water, whereat everyone looks annoyed save the 
porter, who has an insight into that bird’s character almost 
amounting to inspiration. The Roarer, observing the indifference 
of his opponent, delivers another note, and then he also de- 
scends for refreshment. How, with a burst echoing through 
the room, the Sergeant begins again. This coup evidently 
astonishes the Roarer, who affects not to hear the challenge, 
and quietly goes on -with his repast. One, two, three notes 
ahead. The meat man grows excited, he bites his lips, and 
looks savagely towards the victorious Sergeant. Four, five 
notes ahead.. The meat man absolutely goes wild, and, spas- 
modically jerking his nose, mocks the Roarer quietly picking up 
seed. Six, seven, eight notes ahead ! "With a desperate lunge 
the meat man takes his handkerchief from his pocket, and blows 
a violent blast. In an instant his bird begins again. 
“ e How, Meatey,’ says the porter, ‘ cut that, you know.’ 
in 
