FOR CAGES AND A VI ARIES. 127 



are four or five in number, of a whitish-grey colour, spotted 

 and streaked with darker grey ; incubation lasts about a 

 fortnight, and the young are easily reared by hand on 

 bread and milk and ants' eggs. When able to feed them- 

 selves the same diet may be continued and a little 

 oatmeal be added, together with six or eight mealworms 

 or cockroaches daily, and once or twice a week a little 

 raw beef scraped. Some fanciers recommend Q^g, but unless 

 perfectly fresh, new-laid in fact, this is apt to induce diarrhoea. 



A Lark's cage should be about 2 feet 6 inches or 3 

 feet long by 2 feet wide and about 15 inches high; if 

 higher, the bird would be apt to rise and bump its head, 

 for which reason the top is often made of canvas tightly 

 stretched ; but this requires seeing to now and then, 

 as such a construction affords harbour for insect pests. 



The Lark does not bathe, but rolls itself in dust, which 

 it should always have an opportunity of doing in the house, 

 and if lice or other insects are suspected to infest the bird, 

 a handful of flowers of sulphur should be mixed in the 

 dust-bath, and that will keep the Lark healthy and clean. 



The best green food for one of these birds is a sod of 

 grass, and if this is kept moist by sprinkling it with water 

 every day, the Lark will drink the drops and not require 

 any other moisture, for in its wild state it does not 

 resort to stream or pond for drinking purposes, but 

 slakes its thirst with pearly drops of dew. 



A pair of Larks will sometimes breed in a garden 

 aviary, but in such a situation they are apt to hurt 

 themselves by dashing their heads against the roof if 

 suddenly alarmed, say by a cat or passing Crow or Pigeon, 

 and it is well to keep the primaries of one wing 

 clipped ; this does not spoil their appearance and keeps 

 them from injuring themselves. The use of the ordinary 

 Lark-cage ought to be made penal. 



It is curious that a bird, the rank flesh of which a cat 

 will not usually eat, but which, when pressed by hunger, 

 she forces herself to swallow — to be violently sick a 

 few minutes afterwards — should be esteemed a delicacy for 

 the tables of epicures; but so it is, and the extermination 

 of the species is, in consequence of the depraved taste for 



