256 THE BOOK OF BIRDS 



though I had made sure I could walk straight to the exact 

 spot. 



A beautiful little nest it is, that of the Skylark, cup- 

 shaped and woven of fine grass, with perhaps a rough 

 outside suited to its surroundings. 



There are hundreds of places in England where a Lark 

 may constantly be heard singing, there are others where 

 not one will be seen or heard. I read, last year, a complaint 

 from a landowner in Scotland, who said that though he 

 spent several days tramping about his estate — he owned 

 a thousand acres in Forfarshire — he could neither hear nor 

 see a single Lark, nor did he chance upon the nest of one. 

 Yet the country was of a very varied kind — pasture, rough 

 heather, mowing-grass, turnip-field, and moorland. 



Ireland, too, has at least one place where no one expects 



to hear the song of the Lark. This is Glendalough, in 



County Wicklow. There is a legend which suggests the 



cause. St. Kevin, when the Seven Churches were being 



built in this valley, found that the wearied masons could 



not get rest enough owing to these early rising songsters. 



He therefore imposed silence upon the birds. And the 



valley, even to-day, is supposed to be shunned by the 



offended birds as the result of this interdict. Ireland's 



poet, Thomas Moore, refers to it :— 



"By that lake whose gloomy shore 

 Skylark never warbles o'er." 



But there are folks enough to-day in that country who 

 appreciate the song of the Lark, though it is chiefly as 

 a cage-bird. A poor chandler of Belfast once declined the 

 offer of a cow for his favourite Skylark. From one to three 

 sovereigns has at times been paid in Dublin for one of these 

 birds. Lancashire operatives, too, are said to have quite 

 a mania for these singing pets, which they take out into 



