THE SHORE LARK. 



21 



small birds running along the roadway in 

 front of me. At a glance I knew the spe- 

 cies was unfamiliar to me. When one of 

 the birds stopped and turned toward me, I 

 recognized by the black collar about its 

 neck and the tuft of feathers, or horns, on 

 the side of its head, that it was one of the 

 horned larks ; but of what variety, I did 

 not know. 



It was not until 3 years afterward that I 

 again met this species in the Catskills, 

 though the second encounter was in an en- 

 tirely different section of the mountains. 

 That was July 23, 1900, in the open 

 fields, far up on Eagle mountain, one of the 

 numerous peaks of the Belle Ayr range of 

 the Shandalsen chain of the Catskills. It 

 is in the heart of the mountainous region 

 of Ulster county, on the Western side of 

 Big Indian valley. 



While crossing those fields, a pair of 

 larks suddenly appeared in the short grass 

 in front of me. By the aid of my field 

 glass I was able to identify the species. I 

 knew by their staying around that they 

 had a nest in the vicinity, but though I 

 made a close search, I was unable to find it. 

 The next day the birds were still there, 

 and by going to the place daily during the 

 following week, I was able to study many 

 of their habits. Noticing that they gave 

 their attention to one particular spot, I 

 had the good luck to find 3 of their fledg- 

 lings, apparently just out of the nest. 

 Those I took as specimens, and I also se- 

 cured the old birds. 



This bird has been lately reported as 

 breeding in the Teconic mountains of 

 Massachusetts, and there is one record of 

 its having probably bred on Long Island. 

 (Dutcher, Anls. V., 1888, p. 180). 



The prairie larks are sociable little birds, 

 and during the winter mingle with horned 



larks, snow buntings and other birds which 

 wander about the seaside in great flocks. 

 All winter they stay close to the ocean, 

 never venturing far from the thunder of 

 its surf ; but as the spring advances they 

 wander inland in 2's and 3's. Finally they 

 reach the mountainous portions of the 

 country, where they settle clown in solitary 

 nooks to nest. 



The wildness of the shore lark is prover- 

 bial among Long Island farmers and hunt- 

 ers. Yet in its summer home this little 

 bird is tame and confiding in its habits. 

 Like other horned larks, it is eminently 

 terrestrial, rarely if ever choosing a higher 

 perch than a fence. The peculiarities of 

 its labored flight are exactly described by 

 Shelley when he says, in his Ode to the 

 Skylark, "Thou dost float and run." Fly- 

 ing seems hard work for the lark, and is 

 avoided when possible. When it starts up 

 from the meadow, it goes in a direct line 

 to the rock or fence it wishes to reach. 

 While on the ground it does not hop, but 

 walks and runs, which appears ludicrous in 

 so small a bird. If flushed, it takes wing 

 with a sharp, whistled note, but often re- 

 turns to the place from which it started. 

 The bird does not nest in colonies, as has 

 been supposed, but is found only in scat- 

 tered pairs throughout its breeding 

 grounds. Much has been said about the 

 lark's song, and how, like its European 

 relative, it sings while on the wing. Dur- 

 ing my study of the species I never ob- 

 served this performance, though I have 

 often heard its song. This is plaintive and 

 subdued, with a suggestion of melancholy, 

 which, however, may have been induced by 

 the loneliness and silence of the situation. 

 The mournful melody of the prairie lark is 

 best heard in the evening, when in solitude 

 he gathers up into short waves of song the 

 silent music of the sunset. 



WHIP-POOR-WILL. 



GEO. E. WINKLER. 



When the ev'ning shadows lengthen 



Down the hill and 'cross the vale, 

 And the trees are imaged darkly 



Where the river glimmers pale; 

 Then I love to sit and listen, 



While the air is warm and still, 

 To a voice from out the poplars, 



Crying softly, "Whip-poor-will !" 



Slowly, slowly creeps the twilight 



From the East unto the West, 

 Till it fills the peaceful valley, 



Sends the forest folk to rest; 

 All except a noisy fellow 



In the poplars near the mill, 

 Whose demands are most insistent 



For the punishment of "Will." 



Soon the vale is dark and lonely, 



Closed in sleep each drowsy eye; 

 Through the clouds the stars are peeping 



For their watch tower in the sky; 

 Only winds that whisper softly, 



In the poplars by the mill, 

 Listen to the night-bird calling 



Till the daybreak, "Whip-poor-will !" 



