VI On the Songs of Birds i6i 



wonderful powers of this bird, you must watch him 

 from his first leaving the ground, on a sunny morning, 

 and follow him up into his "privacy of glorious 

 light," abstracting your mind from every other sound, 

 and gathering in the fuU force and sweetness of 

 that incessant strain. There are many strident notes 

 in it, but the higher he rises the softer will it fall 

 upon the ear, while every note still remains as clear 

 and resonant as it was at first. 



Hardly less delightful, though far less familiar, is 

 the song of the Woodlark. Earely indeed does it 

 happen to me now to catch the voice of a bird un- 

 known to me ; and I am not likely to forget how I 

 was saluted, while strolling in the garden of a Welsh 

 farmhouse in the early morning of the 30th of March 

 this year, by a clear and liquid song repeated at short 

 intervals from a tree hard by. For a moment it 

 reminded me of the Great Tit ; but other strains 

 followed, which I might compare to those of the 

 Skylark, the Nightingale, and the Lesser Whitethroat. 

 As I grew accustomed to the song, which was re- 

 peated daily while I stayed there, I fully recognised 

 its individuality, and should hesitate to describe it as 

 imitative. It was a song to refresh and invigorate 

 you; and the performance suited well with the 

 freshness of early morning among the hiUs, and with 

 the murmur of the trout-stream beyond the meadow. 



There are yet three singers, each of whom might 



M 



