divided into short passages, each repeated three or four times over, like a fantasia, in the same key and tune. So different is the style in each case, that persons can tell whether the bird is rising, is stationary in the air, or coming down, without looking at it. Poetical larking may be found in the pages of James Montgomery, Frederick Tennyson, brother of the Laureate, the Corn Law Rhymer, and the Ettrick Shepherd. We must find room for the lay of the latter, written by a careful observer of Nature in her wilder haunts. "Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling place Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! Far in the downy cloud ; Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. "O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Blest is thy dwelling place Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!" The Shepherd was quite correct in connecting the bird with the wilderness, or the uncultivated country. Though in England fond of the wide open meadows and arable lands, yet both in Scotland and Ireland the wild mountain moorland is its favourite abode. Yet one more strain. "Sentinel of the dawning light, Reveller of the spring! How sweetly, nobly, wild thy flight Thy boundless journeying. Far from thy brethren of the woods, alone, O wilt thou climb yon heavens for me, Thou interlude of melody, "Twixt darkness and the light! And find-Heaven's blessing on thy pinions rest My lady love-the moonlight of the West? No woodland caroller art thou, Far from the archer's eye; Thy course is o'er the mountain's brow, Thy music in the sky! Then fearless be thy flight, and strong, Thou earthly denizen of angel song." These beautiful lines are by Davyth ap Gwilym, the Welsh bard of summer. The woodlark is smaller than the skylark, and by no means so common, even where it is pretty generally distributed, as over the midland and southern counties of England. It is also far less social in its habits; for while skylarks congregate in flocks of many thousands, it is rare to see any number of woodlarks together. In winter, during hard weather, some six or seven may be found associating, members of the original family, near the localities in which they were bred. The bird prefers the cultivated districts which are bordered by copses and woods, or where tall hedgerows abound— the great ornament of the English landscape. It perches on the trees, but breeds on the ground, building its nest under some low bush or tuft of grass, or at the foot of growing timber. A nest has been known on the trunk of a fallen oak, upon the topmost bough of which, perhaps, in previous years, when it stood in all its pride, the lark had warbled, and, when levelled to the earth, could not bid the spot adieu, but tarried to sing a daily requiem over the prostrate remains. Old authors refer to it as the woodwele, as in the ballad "The woodwele sung, and would not cease, Sitting upon the spray, So loud he waken'd Robin Hood, In the greenwood where he lay." The bird rises from the tops of the trees high in the air, and there remaining stationary, the wings and tail expanded, it sings uninterruptedly for hours together, and pours forth melody also when perched. It sings far into the night, invading those hours which are generally considered sacred to the nightingale, the queen of feathered vocalists. "What time the timorous hare trips forth to feed, When the scared owl skims round the grassy mead ; Unseen the soft enamour'd woodlark sings." The song is exquisitely beautiful, though somewhat sad and plaintive. The notes are not so varied as those of the skylark, but they are more melodious and flute-like. In the house, the bird sings from a retired corner, tranquil and motionless; but some have been known never to utter a note in the presence of an auditor, or unless the cage was placed outside the window. Bechstein remarks upon these obstinate birds being the best singers. The female, as is the case with the other larks, is musical; but her strains are shorter, and less sustained. In that quaint but truly spiritual book of German meditations, 'Gotthold's Emblems,' it is thus written of 'The Soaring Lark' :The lark is distinguished from all other birds, by its habit of flying as it sings. It does not alight upon the branch of a tree, or on a thorny bush, but soars in successive flights, ever higher and higher, into the air, as if the longer it sang the more desirous it grew to reach the heavens, and meant in this way to show in whose honour it pours forth its notes. Gotthold, one day as he looked and listened with delight to the little warbler, thought within himself: Well did my Saviour say, " Behold the fowls of the air." (Matt. vi. 26.) How beautifully this lark indicates to me the true method of prayer and praise! Observation shows that it has almost stated hours in the morning and evening for mounting from the earth, and chanting its little hymn to the praise of the Creator; and ought I, who receive from my God blessings a thousandfold greater than any bird, to be less diligent in this holy duty! God forbid! I will bless the Lord at all times. His praise shall continually be in my mouth (Psalm xxxiv. 2); and although I do occasionally feel that the glow of devotion languishes in my bosom, yet I see, in this lark, and know from experience, that there is no better means of fanning it into a flame than the desire and effort to pray. The higher the soul rises above the earth, the nearer it approaches heaven; and how shall that not be filled with light which longs after the everlasting Light. Lord, when I cry unto Thee, then know I that God is for me." (Psalm lvi. 10, Lutheran version.) 66 NUTHATCHES. WHEN I was a boy, I lived in a house which had an old mulberry tree a few yards from the dining-room window. Its ragged bark, and, in several places, cracked decaying boughs, affording shelter for a number of creeping insects. These of course were eagerly sought by various birds. There were always some tomtits prying and peeping about for such imperfectly concealed animals as their short soft bills could manage to pull out. But besides these we frequently noticed a pair of nuthatches, which not only chipped away lustily to lay bare covered dainties, but used the cracks in which to fix, as in a vice, the favourite food from which they have received their name. Whatever they ate, they liked nuts best. Being generally considered shy birds, we were surprised at their venturing so near the house, and determined to return their confidence. At first we stuck nuts in crevices of the tree, and amused ourselves by watching these birds split them with their chisel-like bills. Presently, however, finding that they grew more constant in their visits, we cracked the shells for them, and pinned the kernels to a flat place where a bough, right in view of the window, had been sawn off. They soon found this out, and instead of hunting about all over the tree, would fly at once to the readyspread table, and fall upon the nuts might and main. Seeing their increasing confidence, we next nailed a piece of board a foot square, to the top of a stake, which we then drove into the ground about half a yard from the window, and furnished it with nuts. Next day the birds came, and finding their old table empty, began to look about, wondering what it meant. Presently they espied the fresh arrangement, and after a little hesitation would light on the board for a moment, chip a morsel off and then wait to see whether any harm followed. Finding none, in a few days they came as readily to the board as they did in the first instance to the tree, and pegged away at the nuts, though two or three persons stood close by watching them through the window. They soon got so tame as to superintend the process of setting out their breakfast, from the nearest boughs, hopping about within a few yards, in great anxiety, till the nuts were pinned down. They would leave any neighbouring tree directly they saw their |