1 68 Our Bird Friexds. 



most southern of the English counties, ;uid I fear to 

 think what the country wouhl be hke without their 

 cheering strains. The gloom of a birdless land has 

 been strikingly forced upon me by visiting a York- 

 shire moor in June, when Larks, Meadow Pipits, 

 Golden Plover, Peewits, Curlews, Ring Ouzels, and 

 other species have filled the air with their cries, 

 and by revisiting it six months afterwards when 

 everything has been thickly wreathed in snow and 

 wrapped in the very silence of the grave. 



I have only lately cnme to know what a source 

 of comfort and solace wild bird snugs uuist be to 

 the unfortunate bliud, and why we a})preciate the 

 sweet notes of imcturual singers so nuich more than 

 those poured f-n-ili by dayliLiht performers. This 

 discovery has been brought about by having to hide 

 up in artificial tree trunks, rubbish heaps, and 

 inside stuffed bullocks, in order to wateh soiue of 

 my shy feathered tVieiids at close ipiarters. When 

 we walk about in the tields by day our attention is 

 divided between the senses of sight and sound. 

 Our ear messages only receive half the attention 

 they counuand during the hours of darkness, and 

 I have been simply astonished at the increased 

 effect produced by the song of a Skylark motmt- 

 inir the still air above the contrivance in which 1 

 lay hidden and unable to use my eyes. 



The poet has it that luiman " song lightens toil"; 

 and so does that of our feathered friends, for even 

 the despised House Sparrow's of t- repeated (7/a'*>^k7t/ 



