78 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST 



the Lark has for long endeared itself to all those having music 

 within their souls. The very manner of utterance, as the bird 

 is suspended in mid-air, sing, sing, singing, appeals strongly to 

 one's senses of vivid imagination and stern reality, a refined 

 melody full of lyrical brilliancy, sparkling with radiance and 

 romance. It would ill-become me to attempt an analysed de- 

 scription of the song of the Lark. Its praises have been sung 

 in unforgettable verse by Hogg, Mackay, Meredith, Montgomery, 

 Shelley, Wordsworth, and others, and will always remain a part 

 of the fabric of our national existence. The fields and meadows 

 would be denuded of one of their greatest charms if our outdoor 

 pilgrimages were unaccompanied by Lark music from above. 

 Even the Daisies open wide their ray florets as if to catch not only 

 the life-giving rays of the sun, but also, if France is right as to 

 plants having souls, a faint earth-echo of the lyrics from the 

 clouds. 



A resident British bird, the Lark is with us throughout the 

 year, or, at least, I should say its species is thus represented, 

 so also is the Thrush, my next favourite musician. I am a lover 

 of what is best described as the broken melody of the Mistle 

 Thrush, as this bird of gipsy habits sings loud and long from the 

 naked branches of the tallest tree of the parish in the early days 

 of the year, but it bears no comparison with the extraordinary 

 variety and richness of the notes of its more familiar cousin, 

 the Song Thrush, whose vocabulary is little short of amazing. 

 Descriptions of birds' songs, calls, and. cries are, at best, mis- 

 leading and disappointing, and no written account can satisfy 

 either reader or scribe. The pity of it is that, even the Thrush's 

 supreme effort to welcome the world of Spring with its exultant 

 notes, is so little appreciated by the multitude. I listen instinc- 

 tively to the great outburst of Thrush music early in the year, 

 and my heart is gladdened at Spring's awakening, or I hearken 

 to these birds singing in harmonious chorus towards sundown. 

 The soloist, or the choir, captivate my finer feelings, and I stand 

 spellbound. But I find myself alone, one of the select few among 

 my fellows who show any desire to gain inspiration and know- 

 ledge by quiet communion with these feathered companions of 

 hedgerow, field, and copse. Why is this ? It may be that, 

 after all, the new renaissance of Nature Study is near at hand, 

 and that those of us who have for years devoted close study to 

 the operations of outdoor life, will realise the fruit of our loving 

 labour sooner than we anticipate. Among the younger generation, 



