THE SKYLARK is distinguished from most other birds by the long spur on the back toe, the earthy colour of his feathers, and by singing as he mounts in the air. These birds generally make their nest in meadows among the high grass, and the tint of their plumage resembles so much that of the ground, that the body of the bird is hardly distinguishable as it runs along. “The daisied lea he loves, where tufts of grass Luxuriant crown the ridge: there, with his mate, He founds their lonely house, of withered herbs, And coarsest spear-grass; next the inner work, With finer, and still finer fibres lays, Rounding it curious with his speckled breast.” GRAHAME. Larks breed twice a year, in May and July, rearing their young in a short space of time. They are caught in great quantities in winter, and are considered choice and delicate food. It is a melancholy observation, that man should feed upon, and indulge his sense of taste with those very birds which have so often delighted his sense of hearing with their songs, when they usher to the gladdened creation the return of their best friend, the sun. The instinctive warmth of attachment which the female Skylark bears towards her own species, even when not her nestling, is remarkable. “In the month of May,” says Buffon, “a young hen bird was brought to me, which was not able to feed without assistance. I caused her to be reared; and she was hardly fledged, when I received from another place a nest of three or four unfledged larks. She took a strong liking to these newcomers, which were but little younger than herself; she tended them night and day, cherished them beneath her wings, and fed them with her bill. Nothing could interrupt her tender offices. If the young ones were torn from her she flew to them as soon as they were liberated, and would not think of effecting her own escape, which she might have done a hundred times. Her affection grew upon her; she neglected food and drink; she at length required the same support as her adopted offspring, and expired at last, consumed with maternal solicitude. None of the young ones long survived her. They died one after another; so essential were her cares, which were equally tender and judicious.” The Lark mounts almost perpendicularly, and by successive springs, into the air, where it hovers at a vast height. Its descent is in an oblique direction, unless threatened by some ravenous bird of prey, or attracted by its mate, when it drops to the ground like a stone. On its first leaving the earth, its notes are feeble and interrupted; but, as it rises, they gradually swell to their full tone. As the Lark’s flight is always at sun-rise, there is something in the scenery that renders its song peculiarly delightful: the opening morning, the landscape just gilded by the rays of the returning sun, and the beauty of the surrounding objects, all contribute to heighten our relish for its pleasing melody.