The Horned Larks 
bird sometimes sings from a fence-post, a sage-bush, or even from a 
hummock on the ground, but usually the impulse of song takes him up 
into the free air. Here at almost any hour of the day he may be seen 
poising at various heights, like a miniature hawk, and sending down 
tender words of greeting and cheer to the little wife who broods below. 
It is, however, at the sacred hour of sunset that the soul of the 
heavenly singer takes wing for its ethereal abode. The sun is just 
sinking; the faithful spouse has settled herself to her gentle task for the 
night; and the bird-man has lain down in the shadow of the fence to gaze 
at the sky. The bird gives himself to the buoyant influences of the trem¬ 
bling air and mounts aloft by easy gradations. As he rises, he swings 
round in a wide, loose circle, singing softly the while. At the end of 
every little height he pauses and hovers, and sends down the full-voiced 
song. Up and up he goes, the song becoming tenderer, sweeter, more 
refined, and subtly suggestive of all a bird may seek in the lofty blue. 
As he fades from the unaided sight I train my glasses on him and still 
witness the heavenward spirals. I lower the glasses. Ah! I have lost 
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