NOTES BY THE WAY 



THE SKYLARK ON THE HUDSON 



My note-book of the past season is enriched with 

 the unusual incident of an English skylark in full 

 song above an Esopus meadow. I was poking about 

 a marshy place in a low field one morning in early 

 May, when, through the maze of bird-voices, 

 laughter of robins, call of meadowlarks, song of 

 bobolinks, ditty of sparrows, whistle of orioles, twit- 

 ter of swallows, with which the air was filled, 

 my ear suddenly caught an unfamiliar strain. I 

 paused to listen: can it be possible, I thought, that 

 I hear a lark, or am I dreaming ? The song came 

 from the air, above a wide, low meadow many 

 hundred yards away. Withdrawing a few paces to 

 a more elevated position, I bent my eye and ear 

 eagerly in that direction. Yes, that unstinted, jubi- 

 lant, skyward, multitudinous song can be none 

 other than the lark's! Any of our native songsters 

 would have ceased while I was listening. Presently 

 I was fortunate enough to catch sight of the bird. 

 He had reached his climax in the sky, and was 

 hanging with quivering wings beneath a small 

 white cloud, against which his form was clearly 

 revealed. I had seen and heard the lark in Eng- 

 land, else I should still have been in doubt about 

 the identity of this singer. While I was climbing 

 a fence I was obliged to take my eye from the 

 bird, and when I looked again the song had ceased 

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