no BIRD LIFE GLIMPSES 



noticed — not with larks only — and which I believe to 

 lie at the base of any antic — such, for instance, as that 

 of the spur-winged lapwing of La Plata — in which 

 three, and no more, take a part. These trios look 

 like a pair in love, and an interloper, but it may be 

 two wanting, and one not caring ; or again, as it has 

 often seemed to me, none of the three may be very 

 much in earnest. Be it as it may, with the larks, at 

 this time, there are some delightful chasings, de- 

 lightful skimmings and flutterings, and then all 

 three mount into the air, and sing delightfully — a 

 little Lobegesang. Nature — wild nature — has two 

 voices, a song of joy and a shriek of agony. Eter- 

 nally they mingle and sound through one another, 

 but, on the whole, joy largely predominates. But 

 when we come to man we get the intermediates ; the 

 proportions change, the shadows lengthen, the sky 

 becomes clouded, one knows not what to think. 



In winter the larks, here, as one might expect, 

 keep entirely to the agricultural part of the country 

 that encircles or intersects the numerous barren 

 stretches. As the spring comes on, they spread 

 over these, too, but here they are much outnum- 

 bered by their poor relations, the titlarks, to whom 

 such wildernesses are a paradise. Indeed, by his 

 pleasing ways, and, especially, by the beauty of his 

 flight, this sober-suited, yet elegant little bird helps 

 to make them so. With his little " too-i, too-i " 

 note, he soars to a height which, compared, indeed, 

 to the skylark's " pride of place,'' is as mediocrity to 

 genius ; but having attained it, he comes down very 

 prettily — more prettily, perhaps, than does his gifted 

 relative. The delicate little wings are extended, but 



