Part 30

'ridge of all things vile,'

left on the shore by the receding tide. Montagu says, that it has never been observed to be gregarious; his editor, however, Rennie, states that he has noticed it to be, if not quite gregarious, at least very nearly so, on the wild rocky shores of Normandy; and, from my own acquaintance with its habits in Devon and Cornwall, I am inclined to agree with the latter. If not gregarious, it is at least sociable, and that too at seasons when the flocks could hardly have been family gatherings only. The same remark holds good of the Meadow Pipit. A migration southwards takes place in October along our east coast.

FAMILY ALAUDIDÆ

THE SKYLARK ALAUDA ARVENSIS

Upper parts reddish brown, the centre of each feather dark brown; a faint whitish streak above the eyes; throat white; neck and breast whitish, tinged with yellow and red, and streaked with dark brown; tail moderate. Length seven inches and a quarter. Eggs greyish, thickly speckled with dark grey and brown.

The Skylark, a bird whose flight and song are better known perhaps than those of any other bird, needs but a simple biography. The favourite bird of the poets, its story might be told in extracts compiled from various authors whose muse has led them to sing of Nature. Much, however, that has been written is but an amplification of the golden line, 'Hark, the Lark at Heaven's gate sings!' and not a little is an exaggerated statement of the height to which it ascends, and the time which it remains suspended in mid-air. But the Skylark needs no panegyrists, so, with all due deference to those who have struck the lyre in its honour, I will endeavour to describe its habits and haunts in humble prose.

The Skylark is a generally-diffused bird, adapted by the conformation of its claws for perching on the ground, and by its length and power of wing for soaring high in the air. Accordingly, its food consists of small insects and seeds, which it collects among the herbage of stubble-fields, meadows and downs, or in newly-ploughed fields. To this fare, it adds in winter and spring the tender stalk of sprouting corn. Hence it is regarded with deadly hostility by farmers, and hence, too, the quiet of the country is much disturbed at these seasons, by boys employed to frighten it away by screaming and plying a peculiar kind of rattle. During autumn and winter, Larks congregate in large flocks, and occupy their time principally in searching for food on the ground. If disturbed, they rise in a scattered manner, wheel about in the air until the flock is formed again, chirping from time to time, and then withdraw, not in a compact body, but at unequal distances from the earth and from each other, to a new feeding-ground, over which they hover with circling flight for some time before alighting. On trees they never perch; though one or two may occasionally be seen settled on a quickset hedge or a railing. In North Britain, at the approach of severe weather, they flock together and migrate southwards. Great numbers also visit England from the Continent, arriving in November, when they used to be caught in nets and traps for the table. Early in spring the flocks break up, when the birds pair, and for three or four months, every day and all day long, when the weather is fine (for the Lark dislikes rain and high winds), its song may be heard throughout the breadth of the land. Rising as it were by a sudden impulse from its nest or lowly retreat, it bursts forth, while as yet but a few feet from the ground, into exuberant song, and with its head turned towards the breeze, now ascending perpendicularly, and now veering to the right or left, but not describing circles, it pours forth an unbroken chain of melody, until it has reached an elevation computed to be, at the most, about a thousand feet. To an observer on earth, it has dwindled to the size of a mere speck; but, as far as my experience goes, it never rises so high as to defy the search of a keen eye. Having reached its highest elevation, its ambition is satisfied without making any permanent stay, and it begins to descend, not with a uniform downward motion, but by a series of droppings with intervals of simple hovering, during which it seems to be resting on its wings. Finally, as it draws near the earth, it ceases its song and descends more rapidly, but before it touches the ground it recovers itself, sweeps away with almost horizontal flight for a short distance and disappears in the herbage. The time consumed in this evolution is at the most from fifteen to twenty minutes, more frequently less; nor have I ever observed it partially descend and soar upwards again. A writer in the Magazine of Natural History maintains that 'those acquainted with the song of the Skylark, can tell, without looking at them, whether the birds be ascending or stationary in the air, or on their descent; so different is the style of the song in each case'. Mr. Yarrell is of the same opinion, and I have little doubt that they are correct, though I am not certain that I have myself attained the skill of discriminating. In July, the Lark ceases its soarings and song together, but in fine weather, in October, it receives a new inspiration and is musical again. From time to time, during winter, if the season be mild, it resumes its aërial habits, but it neither ascends so high nor sings so long, two or three minutes becoming now the limits of its performance. Like most other birds, it sings least about noon and the first two hours of the afternoon; but it begins before sunrise, having been heard at midsummer as early as two o'clock in the morning, and it sometimes continues its song till late on into the night, having been heard at ten o'clock when it was quite dark. Occasionally, too, it sings on the ground; and, in a cage, as all the world knows, it pours out its melody with as much spirit, as if its six inches of turf could be measured by acres, and the roof of its little cage were the vault of heaven. The following stanza in French is equally successful in imitating the song of the Skylark and describing its evolutions:

La gentille Alouette avec son tirelire, Tirelire, relire et tirelirant, tire Vers la voûte du ciel; puis son vol en ce lieu Vire, et semble nous dire: Adieu, adieu, adieu.

The Lark builds its nest in a hollow in the ground, the rut of a cart-wheel, the depression formed by a horse's hoof, or in a hole which it scrapes out for itself. The nest is composed of dry grass, and lined with finer fibres. It lays four or five eggs, and rears two broods in the year. It displays great attachment to its young, and has been known, when disturbed by mowers, to build a dome over its nest, as a substitute for the natural shelter afforded by the grass while standing, and to remove its young in its claws to another place of concealment. In a cage, even the male is an excellent nurse. Mr. Weir mentions one which brought up several broods entrusted to its care, and a similar instance has fallen under my own notice. Larks frequently become the prey of the Hobby and Merlin, which pounce on them as they are on the point of leaving the ground, and bear them off with as much ease as they would a feather. But if an intended victim discovers its oppressor in time, it instantly begins to ascend with a rapidity which the other cannot follow, carried on as it is by the impetus of its horizontal flight. The Hawk, foiled for this time, renews the chase and endeavours to soar above its quarry; if it succeeds, it makes a second swoop, sometimes with deadly effect; but if it fails a second time, the Lark folds Its wings, drops like lead to the ground, and, crouching among the herbage, often escapes detection.

Farmers would effect a great saving if they sowed their wheat deeper than is the usual practise. The only part of the young plant which the Lark touches is the white stalk between the grain and the blade. In its effort to obtain this it frequently destroys the whole plant, if the grain has been lodged near the surface; but if the young shoot has sprouted from a depth of an inch or more, the bird contents itself with as much as it can reach without digging, and leaves the grain uninjured and capable of sprouting again.

THE WOODLARK ALAUDA ARBÓREA

Upper parts reddish brown, the centre of each feather dark brown; a distinct yellowish white streak above the eye passing to the back part of the head; lower parts yellowish white, streaked with dark brown; tail short. Length six inches and a half. Eggs greyish white, speckled and sometimes faintly streaked with brown.

The Woodlark is much less frequent than the Skylark, and is confined to certain districts, also it is only resident northwards up to Stirling. It is distinguished by its smaller size, short tail, a light mark over the eye, and by its habit of perching on trees, where the Skylark is never known to alight. It builds its nest very early in the season, sometimes so soon as the end of March, and probably rears several broods in the year, as it has been found sitting as late as September. It is consequently among the earliest songsters of the year, and among the last to bid adieu to summer. It sings on until the occurrence of severe frosts, and its note is among the sweetest and most touching sounds of nature. The song, though of less compass and less varied than that of the Skylark, is superior in liquidness of tone, and is thought to resemble the syllables 'lulu', by which name the bird is known in France. When soaring it may be distinguished from the Skylark not only by its song, but by its ascending in circles, which it describes, poets tell us, and perhaps correctly, with its nest for a centre. Sometimes, especially during sunshine after a summer shower, it alights on the summit of a lofty tree, to 'unthread its chaplet of musical pearls', and its simpler lulu notes may be heard as it flies from place to place while but a few feet above the surface of the ground. In autumn, Woodlarks assemble in small sociable parties (but not in large flocks), and keep together during the winter. Early in spring these societies are broken up into pairs, and the business of the season commences. The nest is composed of bents and a little moss, and is lined with finer grass, and, though built on the ground, is generally concealed with more art than that of the Skylark, the birds availing themselves of the shelter afforded by a bush or tuft of grass.

THE SHORE LARK OTÓCORYS ALPESTRIS

Throat, forehead, and ear-coverts yellow; over the forehead a black band; lore, moustache, and gorget black; upper parts reddish brown; breast and flanks yellowish white; abdomen white. Length nearly seven inches. Eggs greyish white, spotted with pale blue and brown.

The Shore Lark, like the last, is a very rare visitor of Britain, and appears to be equally uncommon In France. A few have been shot in Norfolk, and in the high latitudes both of the Old and New Worlds it is a common resident on the rocky coasts. It builds its nest on the ground, and shares in the great characteristic of the family, that, namely, of soaring and singing simultaneously. In colouring, it is strongly marked by its black gorget and crest.

ORDER PICARIÆ

FAMILY CYPSELIDÆ

THE SWIFT CÝPSELUS ÁPUS

General plumage sooty brown; chin greyish white; tarsi feathered; bill feet, and claws, shining black. Length eight inches; width seventeen inches. Eggs pure white.

The Swift is, perhaps, the strongest and swiftest, not merely of the Swallow tribe, but of all birds; hence a voyage from Southern Africa to England is performed without overtaxing its strength. It stands in need of no rest after this prodigious flight, but immediately on its arrival starts with a right good will on its pursuit of food, as if its journey had been but a pleasant course of training for its daily vocation. With respect to temperature, however, its powers of endurance are limited; it never proceeds far northwards, and occasionally even suffers from unseasonably severe weather in the temperate climates where it fixes its summer residence. Mr. F. Smith, of the British Museum, related in the Zoologist, that, at Deal, on the eighth of July, 1856, after a mild but wet day, the temperature suddenly fell till it became disagreeably cold. The Swifts were sensibly affected by the atmospheric change; they flew unsteadily, fluttered against the walls of the houses, and some even flew into open windows. 'Whilst observing these occurrences', he says, 'a girl came to the door to ask me if I wanted to buy a bat; she had heard, she told me, that I bought all kinds of bugs, and her mother thought I might want a bat. On her producing it, I was astonished to find it was a poor benumbed Swift. The girl told me they were dropping down in the streets, and the boys were killing all the bats; the church, she said, was covered with them. Off I started to witness this strange sight and slaughter. True enough; the children were charging them everywhere, and on arriving at the church in Lower Street I was astonished to see the poor birds hanging in clusters from the eaves and cornices; some clusters were at least two feet in length, and, at intervals, benumbed individuals dropped from the outside of the clusters. Many hundreds of the poor birds fell victims to the ruthless ignorance of the children.' Being so susceptible of cold, the Swift does not visit us until summer may be considered to have completely set in. In the south it is generally seen towards the end of April, but it generally brings up the rear of the migratory birds by making its first appearance in the first or second week in May, in the north.

Early in August it makes itself, for a few days, more than ever conspicuous by its wheeling flights around the buildings which contain its nest, and then suddenly disappears. At this period, too, its note is more frequently heard than during any other part of its visit, and in this respect it is peculiar. As a general rule, birds cease their song partially, if not entirely, when their eggs are hatched. The new care of providing for the wants of a brood occupies their time too much to allow leisure for musical performance, so that with the exception of their call-notes, and their cries of alarm or defiance, they are for a season mute. An early riser, and late in retiring to roost, the Swift is always on the wing. Thus, whether hunting on his own account or on behalf of his mate and nestlings, his employment is unvaried, and the same amount of time is always at his disposal for exercising his vocal powers. These are not great; he has no roundelay; he neither warbles nor carols; he does not even twitter. His whole melody is a scream, unmusical but most joyous; a squeak would be a better name, but that, instead of conveying a notion that it results from pain, it is full of rollicking delight. Some compare it to the noise made by the sharpening of a saw; to me it seems such an expression of pent-up joy as little children would make if unexpectedly released from school, furnished with wings, and flung up into the air for a game of hide-and-seek among the clouds. Such soarings aloft, such chasings round the pinnacles of the church-tower and the gables of the farmhouses, no wonder that they cannot contain themselves for joy. Every day brings its picnic or village feast, with no weariness or depression on the morrow.

The nest of the Swift is constructed of any scraps that the bird may chance to find floating in the air, or brought to it by the wind, for it literally never perches on the ground, whence it rises with difficulty. These are rudely pressed together in any convenient aperture or moulding in a building, and cemented together by some glutinous secretion from the bird's mouth. Two eggs are laid, and the young, as a matter of necessity, remain in the nest until quite fledged.

Another name for the Swift is Black Martin, and in heraldry it is familiarly known as the Martlet, the figure of which is a device of frequent occurrence in heraldic coats of arms, and denotes that the original wearer of the distinction served as a crusader pilgrim. In Arabia it is still known by the name of Hadji, or Pilgrim, to denote its migratory habits.

Livingstone mentions his having seen in the plains north of Kuruman a flock of Swifts, computed to contain upwards of 4,000 individuals.

September, 1856, p. 5249.

FAMILY CAPRIMULGIDÆ

THE NIGHTJAR CAPRIMÚLGUS EUROPÆUS