A CITY OF BIRDS 61 



Emerging on to the open uplands from these bowers 

 of song and flower, I could for a week on end be sure 

 of both seeing and hearing a family of woodlarks living 

 on the grassy borders of another wood. Seen close at 

 hand — and they showed an agreeable unconcern at my 

 presence — woodlarks can easily be distinguished from 

 skylarks. The body is smaller and not so slender, the crest 

 rather more elongated, the colouring of a richer striped 

 and mottled tawny, the tail very short, and the whiteish 

 eye-stripe more strongly marked and joining at the 

 back of the head to make a diadem or wreath about 

 the crown. There is also a patch of white at the edge 

 of the wing, which skylarks lack. When alarmed, the 

 birds take at once to the trees, and lead a double life 

 between them and the ground, feeding, nesting and (I 

 think) roosting on the latter and singing in the former 

 or in the air. The flight is swift and wavering, and, unlike 

 the skylark, the birds singing soar the sky in spirals, 

 but do not climb so high, partly, no doubt, owing to 

 the shortness of the tail, which throws a heavy strain 

 on the wings. The song, which I heard every day, is 

 more reposeful than the skylark's, as is the general 

 temper of the bird, purer and more intrinsically beautiful, 

 though less so in association. It is freer of guttural 

 notes, less overpoweringly joyous and ringing, and more 

 in the notation of a clear, fluting warble. The melodious 

 call-note — ulu — has a strange, melancholy spell of its 

 own. There were five of this uncommon species, and 

 the parents must have nested in the neighbourhood. 



This park-like down of alternating wood and pasture, 

 where the yellow umbels of the tufted horseshoe vetch 

 (the only British species) bloomed profusely among 

 the violets and yellow rock-rose, sloped down to the 

 cathedral, and within view of it I have seen both the 

 greater and the lesser spotted woodpeckers, the latter 

 only once, and indeed but for the second time within 

 memory. Kestrels used to spiral up the sky on the 

 higher ground, travelling upwards at great speed and 

 with rigidly extended wings. The spiralling of hawks 

 is really air-tacking, and a sailing boat moves through 

 the water and a bird soars through the air, the one by 



