164 WINTER SUNSHINE 



all points of the compass as if to embrace the whole 

 landscape in his song, the notes still raining upon 

 you, as distinct as ever, after you have left him far 

 behind. You feel that you need be in no hurry to 

 observe the song lest the bird finish ; you walk along, 

 your mind reverts to other things, you examine the 

 grass and weeds, or search for a curious stone, still 

 there goes the bird; you sit down and study the 

 landscape, or send your thoughts out toward France 

 or Spain, or across the sea to your own land, and 

 yet, when you get them back, there is that song 

 above you, almost as unceasing as the light of a star. 

 This strain indeed suggests some rare pyrotechnic 

 display, musical sounds being substituted for the 

 many-colored sparks and lights. And yet I will 

 add, what perhaps the best readers do not need to 

 be told, that neither the lark-song, nor any other 

 bird-song in the open air and under the sky, is as 

 noticeable a feature as my description of it might 

 imply, or as the poets would have us believe; and 

 that most persons, not especially interested in birds 

 or their notes, and intent upon the general beauty 

 of the landscape, would probably pass it by unre- 

 marked. 



I suspect that it is a little higher flight than the 

 facts will bear out when the writers make the birds 

 go out of sight into the sky. I could easily follow 

 them on this occasion, though, if I took my eye 

 away for a moment, it was very difficult to get it 

 back again. I had to search for them as the astron- 

 omer searches for a star. It may be that in the 



