In the first place, in order to prevent him from injuring himself in attempting, as he does every day, to soar upwards, the top of the cage is covered with linen, or some soft material. Secondly, he receives every day a fresh supply of turf, water, and sand. If brought up from the nest, he is fed with the crumbs of white bread, and poppy seed, steeped in milk, together with ant-eggs, or a small portion of lean meat minced. As he advances towards full growth, he is fed with a paste made of grated carrot, white bread soaked in water, and barley, or wheat-meal, all well kneaded together. He is also supplied with poppy-seed, bruised hemp, crumbs of bread, and greens in abundance. Larks are fond of lettuce, endive, cabbage, and watercress; and this green food greatly contributes to their health. Ant-eggs, or a little minced lean meat, are also given occasionally. When old larks are first captured, they are fed only on oats and poppy-seed. The dimensions of the cage are also studied. It is not less than eighteen inches in length, nine in width, and fifteen in height. The bottom is supplied with a deep layer of clean sand, so that the bird may dust himself and keep off vermin.* vessel of water large enough for him to bathe in is A * Larks are very fond of basking in the sun and dusting themselves. They seem to take great pleasure in the operation, "shuffling and rubbing themselves along the ground, setting up their feathers, and, by a peculiar action of the legs and wings, throwing the smaller and looser portions of the soil over every part of their bodies." Their dusting places may frequently be seen strewed with feathers, and the object of the bird seems to be to get rid of certain minute but very troublesome insect visitors which infest most ground birds. provided at the side, and a piece of fresh turf is placed on the little raised platform, and often renewed. The greatest attention to cleanliness is used with this bird, in order to keep off vermin. Its feet are very tender, and subject to disease in a state of captivity. When a thread or a hair gets entangled in them, it cuts the skin so that the toes shrink and fall off. The great length of the hind claw prevents the bird from perching, so that no rods are placed across the cage. With these precautions the bird lives nine or ten years in captivity. He will eat food out of your hand, and, if allowed to quit his cage, will hop about the table and pick up the crumbs. But, after all, the pleasure of hearing his song will be far more healthful and delightful if sought for in the fields at sunrise; both you and he will be the happier for it; the lark will be in his proper place as an accessory to the rural scene, and you will be spared the pain of reflecting that you have deprived one of the happiest and most joyous of God's creatures of the liberty which his ardent nature requires. In books on Natural History, the word Alauda (the Latin name for the lark) is applied to various species of larks, of which the skylark is the principal. He is named Alauda arvensis, from the circumstance of his frequenting the corn-field; but there are other species which inhabit woods, meadows, and places near the sea-shore, and which are severally called the woodlark, the meadow-lark, and the shore-lark. The latter has been already noticed, but there is something to be said of the woodlark, which bears a considerable resemblance to the skylark; but it is rather smaller in size. There are qualities in this bird which are not less pleasing than those of the skylark, and which might equally serve for examples to mankind; but the woodlark is much less commonly known than its relative, and could not be so familiarly observed. It remains in Britain throughout the year, and is more frequently seen in the midland and southern counties of England than in the northern; but its habits are very shy, and were it not for its sweet CHEERFULNESS OF THE LARK'S SONG. 289 song, it would probably escape notice. The skylark cheers us when all things are cheering, but the woodlark cheers us when all else is desolate. He utters his song in a December morning, when "the sun shines cold," all the while wheeling round and round in the air, without attempting to soar. In this way he will sing for hours together; and whilst three or four are thus vying with each other on the wing, others are making the woods resound with their warblings. At this dreary and cheerless season the songs of these birds form delightful and exhilarating music, which seems to be sent on purpose to cheer the spirits, so prone to be depressed by the state of the atmosphere at that season. This bird sings also in the spring; but at that time the notes of other songsters almost drown the placid voice of the woodlark. It delights in groves and copses, or quiet pastures, and is of retired habits, not uniting in companies, but keeping to its own family. When alarmed it crouches upon the ground, then darts away as if for a distant flight, but settles again almost immediately. An excellent observer ranks the woodlark's song next to that of the nightingale for WOODLARK'S EGG. melody and plaintiveness: giving the preference to the linnet for compass of voice.* The sweet song of this bird renders it an object of capture and confinement, which few of them, *Journal of a Naturalist. comparatively, survive. "I have known," says the writer just referred to, 66 our country birdcatchers take them by a very simple but effectual method. Watching them to the ground, the wings of a hawk, or of the brown owl, stretched out, are drawn against the current of air by a string, as a paper kite, and made to flutter and vibrate like a kestrel* over the place where the woodlark has lodged; which so intimidates the bird that it remains crouching and motionless as a stone on the ground, when a hand net is brought over it, and it is caught." The song of this bird, sweet as it is, has not the power and energy of that of the skylark. Accordingly we find the latter to be the poet's favourite, many pleasing stanzas having been written to its praise. The following lines by the Ettrick Shepherd seem to breathe a portion of the lark's own joyousness: Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Light be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Bless'd is thy dwelling-place! O, to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, Love gave it energy; love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day; |