London to John O Groat's. 



35 



a rather large, brownish bird, in a drab waistcoat, 

 slightly mottled, and with a loud, cracked voice, which 

 nobody ever liked. So it never became a favorite, even 

 to those who first gave it the name of lark. It was not 

 its only defect that it lacked an ear and voice for music. 

 There is always a scolding accent that marks its con- 

 versation with other birds in the brightest mornings of 

 June. He is very noisy, but never merry nor musical. 

 Indeed, compared with the notes of the English lark, 

 his are like the vehement ejaculations of a maternal 

 duck in distress. 



Take it in all, no bird in either hemisphere equals the 

 English lark in heart or voice, for both unite to make 

 it the sweetest, happiest, the welcomest singer that was 

 ever winged, like the high angels of (rod's love. It is 

 the living ecstacy of joy when it mounts up into its 

 " glorious privacy of light." On the earth it is timid, 

 silent, and bashful, as if not at home, and not sure of 

 its right to be there at all. It is rather homely withal, 

 having nothing in feather, feature, or form, to attract 

 notice. It is seemingly made to be heard, not seen, 

 reversing the old axiom addressed to children when 

 getting voicy. Its mission is music, and it floods a 

 thousand acres of the blue sky with it several times a 

 day. Out of that palpitating speck of living joy there 

 wells forth a sea of twittering ecstacy upon the morn- 

 i) 2 



