OUR BRITISH SONG BIRDS. 77 
the poor Lark at the appearance of either of these dreaded 
foes that it has been known on several occasions to seek 
the protection of man. An instance of this kind came 
under my own observation. 1 was shooting with some 
friends in December, 1882, and in the afternoon, as we 
were about to enter a shed, we perceived a Lark flying 
towards us hotly pursued by a Kestrel. The Lark entered 
the barn and dropped, trembling with fright, in the straw 
at the feet of one of my friends just as the swift pursuer 
reached the door. Directly it saw us the Kestrel veered 
off at a right-angle, and a few seconds after its departure 
the Lark recovered itself and left also. 
But the Skylark’s greatest enemy is man himself, who 
annually slays many thousands of these delightful songsters 
to add one more delicacy to the already over-burdened 
table. It has been calculated that in London alone dead 
Larks, of the value of close upon £2,500, are every year 
disposed of, and this, at the wholesale rate of two shillings 
per dozen—which is certainly above rather than below the 
mark—will give a total of 300,000 tor the metropolis alone. 
This number, however, sinks into insignificance when 
compared with the consumption in certain continental 
towns. In Dieppe during the Winter of 1867-68, 1,255,000 
Skylarks were offered for sale, and the season was not con- 
sidered as other than an ordinary one. 
Another bird which is usually credited with remaining 
entirely upon the ground is the Meadow Pipit, yet, strange. 
to say, the first bird of this series that I ever shot—-it was 
in my early collecting days—was perched upon a fence, and 
since then I have seen several in trees, and once shot one 
with the idea that it was a specimen of the rarer Tree 
Pipit. Like the Lark, the Meadow Pipit soars while 
singing, but it never attains to the same altitude. Its 
voice is soft and sweet, and its song, though not very 
long, is especially pleasing when heard, as it frequently is, 
on a lonely northern moor. 
