fall in lark-singing time, and the poet is long since under the sod with the sky- 

 larks nesting above him. 



To be like a singing bird has been the longing of human hearts in all ages ; 

 as if we realize that there is medicine in song as in nothing else — medicine to the 

 singer. And so there is. No higher compliment could be paid by a poet to the 

 memory of his friend than the following, dated in the seventeenth century. There 

 is a happy lesson of work, and good nature, and lightness of heart in a trying 

 occupation too good to lose. 



"There was a jolly miller once. 



Lived on the River Dee ; 

 He work'd and sung from morn to night, 

 No lark more blithe than he." 



Several attempts to introduce the English Skylark into America have been 

 made, with no satisfactory results. It is hoped to some day have them feel at 

 home on the Pacific coast, where the varying moist and dry climates of north and 

 south would give them the pleasures of their natural migrations. But although 

 we may never have the skylark with us, we have its relative in our horned or 

 shore larks. In its habits it resembles its lark kindred in the Old World, sing- 

 ing on the wing, nesting on the ground, feeding on the same food, walking 

 rapidly, reserving flight at the last resort when pursued. 



The horned lark is so named on account of a little tuft of feathers on each 

 side of the forehead, which it raises or lowers at pleasure. It nests in the north 

 very early, even before the snow is all melted, and brings oft' two or more broods 

 in a season. In the autumn it exchanges its beautiful song for a good appetite, 

 and fattens itself on grains and berries in anticipation of possible winter hunger. 

 It may be seen all over North America at some season of the year, in fall and. 

 winter in flocks. 



In California we have the Mexican horned larks, which cover the mesas 

 and rise reluctantly in large numbers when surprised. They love to follow the 

 open country roads, running out of the track while we pass, but returning as soon 

 as we have gone our way. On rainy days — which, by the way, are the best of 

 bird days — we have taken our umbrellas and strolled out to the flat lands on 

 purpose to see these larks in their greatest numbers. They will fly, with a whirr 

 of sound, and alight almost at our feet, to repeat the act for a mile if we choose. 



In mid-summer they are seen in the vicinity of their nesting-places, standing- 

 in rows under fences or plants with mouths wide open, seeming to choose hot 

 sand to flying straight across the short desert to mountain retreats. The horned 

 larks, wherever seen, suggest contentment and pleasure in life as they find it. 



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