AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 109 



was a good one, well lined with soft grasses and beautifully cupped. It was 

 about two and three-fourths inches in diameter, and one and three-fourths 

 inches deep. I was very much disappointed. I had looked forward to the 

 time when I might take a peep at the little ones. But, though I was dis- 

 appointed here, I was more fortunate at another time. 



On the 8th of June, while cultivating corn, I noticed that whenever I 

 passed a certain place far out in the field, that a pair of Larks flew nervous- 

 ly about.or hovered in the air near me, frequently uttering a note that was 

 as near a wail as I should think a bird capable of producing. I suspicioned 

 that a nest of young birds were somewhere in the vicinity ,an d kept a close 

 lookout for them. And after a time I was rewarded, for in the row next 

 me, I spied a young Lark just learning to fly. Just at an age where he 

 had all the sprightliness of an adult bird, but with none of the fear for man 

 that characterizes all adult birds. I could not resist catching him up. He 

 sat confidingly on my hand and inspected me fearlessly. And in him I found 

 a good example of protective coloration. His general appearance was gray, 

 but closer inspection showed him to be black, above, mottled with buffy white 

 and brown. Eyes and bill black. Throat grayish brown. His coloring just 

 matched his surroundings, the brown, black and gray clods of the ploughed 

 field. 



The most interesting thing about the Lark is his flight song, or song of 

 flight, rather, for the song, itself, is not impressive, in fact it could hardly 

 be termed a song, but it is in the manner of its delivery that the interest lies. 

 It seems that the inspiration that carries the little bird so forcibly toward 

 heaven, would burst his little body. 



I quote from my notes : 



"Up, up, up, he mounts, by stages, at each stage poising his outspread 

 wings to give utterance to a little jumble of notes, until reaching a dizzy 

 height, where he is a mere speck in the blue, he describes circle after circle, 

 all the while giving vent to a weak twittered warble that is scarcely audible 

 to us so far below. 



Suddenly, as we watch and listen, with strained eyes and ears, the notes 

 cease, and with reckless abandon, he comes, like a meteor, straight down, 

 down, down, until it seems that he will be dashed to death under the force 

 of his drop. 



But catching himself easily, with a graceful flitting of wings, and alight- 

 ing in almost the exact spot from which he ascended, the. little Lark runs 

 modestly away, a brown and gray atom, lost in the brown and gray of the 

 boundless prairie. 



Kansas City, Mo. 



