It is rather homely withal, having nothing in feather, feature, or form, to attract notice.

It is seemingly made to be heard, not seen, reversing the old axiom addressed to children when getting voicy.

Its mission is music, and it floods a thousand acres of the blue sky with it several times a day.

Out of that palpitating speck of living joy there wells forth a sea of twittering ecstacy upon the morning and evening air.

It does not ascend by gyrations, like the eagle or birds of prey.