while his loudest, and sweetest notes, and whom he has kept all along
in his sight, slanting at the end for a greater or less distance, probably
as danger may or may not appear to be nigh, he drops with half-closed
and unmoved wings—and is at HOME:
'A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, search where you will, you'll ne'er meet with elsewhere.'
This flight frequently occupies nearly ten minutes; sometimes, it is said,
as much as an hour, during which time both throat and wings seem
taxed to the utmost, but yet apparently without fatigue of either, even
though the loftiest regions of the 'thin air' have been ascended to and
traversed. While the bird winds his way up, his note seems louder
as he widens the circle of his ascent, and lower as it is narrowed, and
he sings more strongly as he rises, and in a more subdued manner as
he descends. When the highest point is gained, and for the time that
it is kept, the key is sustained in a uniform tone. Mr. Archibald
Hepburn has heard the Lark singing on the 12th. and 15th. of February,
in the latter instance just at sunrise, while the ground was covered
with snow, and it was intensely cold; also on the 26th. one alighted
on a hedge, and sang there for about a minute. In those early months
the ordinary length of the song is only one or two minutes, but in
the later months of the year, as on the 29th. of September and 12th.
of October, in the former case after a silence of six weeks, and in the
latter when there was a high wind blowing, ice on the pools till noon,
and several showers of hail during the day, it lasted for as much as
six minutes, the average being three minutes. On the 19th. of October
the notes were reduced 'diminuendo' to a very few, uttered as they flew
from one place to another. They appear to sing more on the ground
when the wind is high than when it is calm. High wind seems to
hinder their song more than cold. Occasionally they may be seen in
the summer-time hovering at a short distance from the ground at a
'fixed altitude,' with quivering wings, and head bent downwards, for
a minute or more at a time.
In rising up, the Lark turns towards the wind, if any be blowing;
but this is only what might naturally be expected; and in settling
down, the tail is seen to be expanded. At first rising, the flight is
fluttering and irregular; then a few reaches forward arc made, upwards,
or in a slanting direction, and then in curves, or parts of circles, the
bird ascends, and when at a high elevation wheels in circles, singing
all the while. If it be calm he rises in spiral circles, and then during
the greater part of his song in horizontal ones, and moves in a zigzag
feel from the ground, and killed by the fall. The affectionate parent
was endeavouring to convey its young one to a place of safety, but
her strength failed in the attempt. The long hind claws appear well
adapted for such feats.
The Lark seems to have, occasionally at least, kindly feelings even
towards the young of another species. One of these birds, which had
been taken from the nest when very young, and brought up in a
cage, was turned out when it was able to flv, and some young
Goldfinches put into its place. The Lark returned to her former
abode, and was again put into the cage with the Goldfinches. They
were weak and feeble, and she not only brooded over them, but
fed them. Others have been known to continue to feed their young
when captured with them, apparently unobservant of the change, and
Mr. Weir has written of one, a male bird, which, while in confinement,
acted the part of a faithful step-father, having brought up a
number of his own species, and likewise several broods of Linnets,
and, what was still more curious, one which was only a few weeks
old assisted him most assiduously in giving food to a family of young
birds. A Lark pursued by a Hawk kept close to a carriage for
protection, and suffered itself to be taken by the hand.
In the wild state, if on the nest, the hen bird will either crouch
close, in the hope, very often realized, of escaping detection, or, if
disturbed, will fly off to a short distance, in anxious distress, in a low
cowering manner, or. will hover about a little way overhead, uttering
a note of alarm, which soon brings up the male. They will also attempt
to deceive an intruder by remaining in one spot, as if to lead him to
think that the nest is there, while it is in fact at some little distance.
On the approach of danger they will often, as I have just said, lie
close, even till a dog is within a yard of them. Larks are very good
eating, and countless thousands are taken for the table, but still their
numbers never seem to decrease.
As to the flight of the Lark, it is indeed, like the poet's, a 'lofty'
one, continued upwards, higher and higher as the spring advances,
and the sun, towards whom he soars, gets higher in the heavens; up,
and up, into the very highest regions of the air, so that the eye is
literally oftentimes unable to follow it; but if you watch long enough,
as perhaps this equally long sentence will enable you to do with your
mind's eye, you will again perceive the songster, and downwards in
measured cadence, both of song and descent, but rather more rapidly
than he went up, lie will stoop, nearer and nearer he will come, until
at last, suspended for a moment over the spot which contains his
male, for whose delight no doubt he has been warbling all the