THE SNOW-BIRDS.

A DIALOGUE.

BY MRS. C. HIGHBORN.


_Clarissa_. Pray, Mary, what are you going to do with those crumbs which
you hold in your hand?

_Mary_. I am going to feed my snow-birds with them; and I should be very
happy to have you go with me. I know you will enjoy seeing how merrily
they hop about and flutter their wings, and seem to chirp out their
thanks as they pick up the food I throw them.

_C_. Thank you for your invitation; but I beg you will excuse me; it may
be pretty sport for you, but, for my part, I can enjoy myself much
better to stay here and arrange my baby-things, for I expect some girls
to see me this afternoon. I cannot conceive what there is in those
ugly-looking snow-birds to interest you; they are not handsome, surely;
they have not a single bright feather; and, as for their songs, they
sound like the squeak of a sick chicken.

_M_. I am sorry to hear you speak so of my favorites; for, though they
are not so brilliant in their colors as many that flutter around us in
the summer, yet to me they tire dearer than any others, and far more
beautiful than those of a gaudier hue.

_C_. Well, you have a queer taste, I must confess; you remind me of the
philosopher I read of in the story-book, who thought a toad the most