BIRD-SONGS 



or heard there in my youth, namely, the prairie 

 horned lark. Flocks of these birds used to be seen 

 in some of the Northern States in the late fall dur- 

 ing their southern migrations; but within the last 

 twenty years they have become regular summer 

 residents in the hilly parts of many sections of New 

 York and New England. They are genuine skylarks, 

 and lack only the powers of song to make them as 

 attractive as their famous cousins of Europe. 



The larks are ground-birds when they perch, and 

 sky-birds when they sing; from the turf to the clouds 

 — nothing between. Our horned lark mounts up- 

 ward on quivering wing in the true lark fashion, and, 

 spread out against the sky at an altitude of two or 

 three hundred feet, hovers and sings. The watcher 

 and listener below holds him in his eye, but the ear 

 catches only a faint, broken, half-inarticulate note 

 now and then — mere splinters, as it were, of the 

 song of the skylark. The song of the latter is con- 

 tinuous, and is loud and humming; it is a fountain 

 of jubilant song up there in the sky: but our lark 

 sings in snatches; at each repetition of its notes it 

 dips forward and downward a few feet, and then 

 rises again. One day I kept my eye upon one until 

 it had repeated its song one hundred and three 

 times; then it closed its wings, and dropped toward 

 the earth like a plummet, as does its European con- 

 gener. While I was watching the bird, a bobolink 

 flew over my head, between me and the lark, and 

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