MEADOWLARK; LARK 253 



liquid and deep in a lower tone or undertone, as if it 

 bubbled up from the very water beneath the button- 

 bushes; as if those singers sat lower. Some old and 

 skillful performer touches these deep and liquid notes, 

 and the rest seem to get up a concert just to encourage 

 him. Yet it is ever a prelude or essay with him, as 

 are all good things, and the melody he is capable of 

 and which we did not hear this time is what we remem- 

 ber. The future will draw him out. The different in- 

 dividuals sit singing and pluming themselves and not 

 appearing to have any conversation with one another. 

 They are only tuning all at once ; they never seriously 

 perform ; the hour has not arrived. Then all go off with 

 a hurried and perhaps alarmed tchuck tchuck. 



[/See also under Blackbirds, pp. 260, 261, 263; 

 Robin, pp. 388, 390; Bluebird, p. 401; General and 

 Miscellaneous, p. 426.] 



MEADOWLARK; LARK 



July 16, 1851. The lark sings in the meadow ; the 

 very essence of the afternoon is in his strain. This is a 

 New England sound, but the cricket is heard under all 

 sounds. 



Oct. 6, 1851. * (I hear a lark singing this morn (Oc- 

 tober 7th), and yesterday saw them in the meadows. 

 Both larks and blackbirds are heard again now occa- 

 sionally, seemingly after a short absence, as if come to 

 bid farewell.) 



April 14, 1852. Going down the railroad at nine 

 A. M., I hear the lark singing from over the snow. This 



1 [Entered under this date, though written the next day.] 



