A Boyhood in Scotland 



he, too, would have to admit that the singer 

 had soared beyond his sight, and still the music 

 came pouring down to us in glorious profusion, 

 from a height far above our vision, requiring 

 marvelous power of wing and marvelous power 

 of voice, for that rich, delicious, soft, and yet 

 clear music was distinctly heard long after the 

 bird was out of sight. Then, suddenly ceasing, 

 the glorious singer would appear, falling like a 

 bolt straight down to his nest, where his mate 

 was sitting on the eggs. 



It was far too common a practice among us 

 to carry off a young lark just before it could 

 fly, place it in a cage, and fondly, laboriously 

 feed it. Sometimes we succeeded in keeping 

 one alive for a year or two, and when awakened 

 by the spring weather it was pitiful to see the 

 quivering imprisoned soarer of the heavens 

 rapidly beating its wings and singing as though 

 it were flying and hovering in the air like its 

 parents. To keep it in health we were taught 

 that we must supply it with a sod of grass the 

 size of the bottom of the cage, to make the 

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