MEADOWLAJRE 107 



songsters of our eastern meadows, but how they 

 differ I One can scarcely listen to them in the 

 same mood. Robert o' Lincoln's song is of June 

 gladness, of strong sunshine making the daisies 

 whiter and deepening the buttercup's gold ; while 

 the Meadowlark's, as he springs from the dew- 

 laden grass and sails up into the blue sky, is so 

 fresh and pure it seems to come on the wings of 

 the morning, and gives the deeper beauty of that 

 day in June when Heaven would try the earth 

 if it be in tune. The Bobolink's mood is one of 

 care-free happiness; the Meadowlark's suggests 

 the fervent joy that is akin to pain. 



In passing a Bobolink meadow one can hardly 

 miss seeing the merry minstrels, but one may 

 often look a field over in vain for the Lark, whose 

 sad, clear voice is ascending to heaven. The 

 musician is so nearly the color of the meadow 

 that it takes a keen eye indeed to discover him. 

 Like the Bobolink, he shows his beauty only to 

 his mate. His back is dull, streaked brown and 

 white, but his breast is a golden yellow hung with 

 a necklace of richest jet. Ordinarily the bird 

 knows very well how to make use of his dull coat, 

 but sometimes life presents problems for bird as 

 well as beast. A most jDerplexing moment once 

 came to a Lark. He found himself on a fence be- 

 tween a Hawk and a collector ! To which should 

 he expose his brilliant breast ? His brothers in 

 the locality, at sight of this same collector, had 



