BEHIND THE VEIL IN BIRDLAND 



tiny wooden box, with the dull, sooty bricks all around him. 

 What a contrast, the smoky, heavy atmosphere of a London slum 

 and the wild, free open air of a summer meadow ! If birds have 

 feelings akin to ours, it must seem to these prisoners like 

 a journey from a joyous, blithesome heaven to a black and 

 gruesome hell. 



There are few weeks of the year in which the Skylark does 

 not sing. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter, all four seasons 

 have a. share of his bright song. I have heard one singing on a 

 clear, sunny Christmas morning, and his notes mingled with the 

 merry pealing of the bells, and it seemed almost as if this little 

 bird was joining with man in a song of thanksgiving. 



I O6 



