was the only place above the plains and mesas where I found
these gifted fluters, with the exception of the park about Buena Vista.
It would appear that the narrow mountain valleys, green and grassy
though they are, do not appeal to the larks for summer homes; no, they
seem to crave "ampler realms and spaces" in which to spread their wings
and chant their dithyrambs.

Where the natural streams and irrigating ditches do not reach the soil
of the park it is as dry and parched as the plains and mesas. In fact,
the park is only a smaller and higher edition of the plains, the
character of the soil and the topography of the land in both regions
being identical. Never in the wet, fresh meadows, whether of plain or
park, only on the arid slopes and hillocks, will you find the desert
horned larks, which are certainly true to their literary cognomen, if
ever birds were. How they revel in the desert! How scrupulously they
draw the line on the moist and emerald areas! Surely there are "many
birds of many kinds," and one might appropriately add, "of many minds,"
as well; for, while the blackbirds and savanna sparrows eschew the
desert, the horned larks show the same dislike for the meadow. In
shallow pits dug by themselves amid the sparse buffalo grass, the larks
set their nests. The young had already left their nurseries at the time
of my visit to the park, but were still receiving their rations from the
beaks of their elders. On a level spot an adult male with an uncommonly
strong voice for this species was hopping about on the ground and
reciting his canticles. Seeing I was a stranger and evidently interested
in all sorts of avian exploits, he decided to give an exhibition of what
might be called sky-soloing, as well as dirigible ballooning. Starting
up obliquely from the ground, he continued to ascend in a series of
upward leaps, making a kind of aerial stairway, up, up, on and up, until
he was about the size of a humming-bird framed against the blue dome of
the sky. So far did he plunge into the cerulean depths that I could just
discern the movement of his wings. While scaling the air he did not
sing, but having reached the proper altitude, he opened his mandibles
and let his ditty filtrate through the ether like a shower of spray. It
could be heard quite plainly, although at best the lark's song is a
weak, indefinite twitter, its peculiar characteristic being its carrying
quality, which is indeed remarkable.

The soloist circ