a foot and a half long, four inches deep, and
three wide, into a resemblance to the roof of
the well-known toy called a Noah's ark, but more
than twice the usual length of the toy. In the
sloping sides of the piece of wood, several bits of
looking-glass are set. An iron spindle passes
freely through the centre, on which the piece of
wood studded with mirrors turns, or rather
spins, rapidly, when the string attached to it is
pulled. The sharp end of the iron spindle is fixed
into the ground, and the man who pulls the
string generally stands some fifteen or twenty
yards away from the decoy. The reflexion of the
sun's rays has a wonderful and surprising attraction
for the larks. When flying at a considerable
elevation in the sky, they espy the rays of
reflected light, and arrest their flight: hovering over
the spot, and suffering themselves to be shot at
repeatedly, without attempting to leave the field
or to continue their course.

The season for these fascinations of the mirrors
is during the lark migration, from the twentieth
of September until the end of October, when
most warblers migrate from west to east; but
the course of the larks is like the course of the
empire, westward. When the day is sunny and
the breeze easterly, the fascinators of the larks see
the auguries of "good sport." High up or afar
off, a cluster of black specks is seen in the blue.
Looking in the direction to which all eyes are
turned and upraised, the spectator who is a
stranger to the scene, perceives a flock of larks.
The mirrors, which are generally fixed in a
hollow or furrow, are revolving rapidly. Every
musket is loaded and ready. It is a sight which
must be seen to be believed: how the larks
descend towards the lure, how they hover over it,
how the reports of musketry and the slaughter
of their mates fail to warn them away, until the
battue amounts to a massacre.

La châsse au miroir is far more common
in France than in England, and its action is
explained in this way:—It is supposed that
the larks at first and from afar mistake the
glass for water, and that, when they approach
nearer, the reflected light dazzles and blinds them.
Of all things, the most dangerous for the eyes is
reflected light: a fact of which there are thousands
of proofs in the thousands of eyes which have
been struck suddenly blind by the light reflected
from snow. When dazzled and blinded by
the reflected rays, the noise, the reports, and
slaughter, only add to the confusion of the larks,
and the apparent fascination and infatuation are
seen to be phenomena of astonishment and
terror, producing temporary paralysis.

The trail-netting season is from October to
March. This is always night-work, and the darker
the night, the better the catch. Experience teaches
the regular lark-catchers where the birds are to
be found in different states of weather—fine,
wet, or stormy. During fine weather, the larks
are not to be found in the grassy meadows, but
in the stubble fields. When the weather is
very wet, the larks will be found lying close
together in thick rank meadows, or along the
brows of grassy fields. Strangely enough, when
storm and rain prevail, the larks are not to be
found on the low grounds, nor on the sheltered
sides of the hills, but on their exposed sides,
where the wind is beating and the rain lashing.
The lark is caught in the net because he flies
straight up. The sparrow, the linnet, and the
bunting, often escape by flying straight forward;
but the lark flies upward, until his wing touches
the net, and it is thrown down upon him.

Everybody who has taken a drive from Brighton
along the East Cliff, and beyond Rottingdean,
has seen the bird-catchers with their clap-nets
spread upon the grass. The net is surrounded
with little cages containing decoy-birds. When
the wild birds in the air hear the carolling of the
tame birds in the cages, they descend and
approach the cages in the space; then the rope
is pulled, and the two parts of the net close
over them, and clap down upon them. It was
with a clap-net that the shore-larks now alive in
an aviary in Brighton were caught.

The Brighton lark-catchers, besides giving rare
larks to the savans, supply cheap larks to the
cooks of the town which might be called London-
on-Sea. The value of the common kinds is
estimated by the dozen in pence, and the value
of the rare species—short-toed, crested, or
horned—singly, and in sovereigns. The short-
toed larks are characteristic of Sicily, Greece,
Spain, and Central and Southern France; the
crested lark ranges from Scandinavia to Egypt,
and haunts the villages of France; the horned
lark has a geographical range over the northern
shores of Asia, Europe, and America. Horned
larks have been seen as far south as Virginia
and Carolina, and they have been found on the
table-land of Mexico. It was on the coast
of Labrador that Audubon first saw the nest and
heard the song, of the shore-lark. He had there
the pleasure of seeing their plumage in perfection,
and of studying their habits. The shore-lark
breeds on the high and desolate tracts of Labrador,
in the vicinity of the sea. The face of the country
is an expanse of undulated granite, covered with
mosses and lichens disposed in large patches or
tufts, varying in size and colour: some many-
coloured, some green, and some snow white. It
is among the white lichens and mosses that this
lark makes her nest, their hues resembling her
own so closely, that, secure of escaping observation,
the female does not budge until she is almost
trodden upon. When, however, she is approached
too nearly, she flutters away, feigning lameness
so cunningly, that inexperienced bird-nesters are
sure to be tempted to run after her. The male
bird also joins the female in feigning lameness,
uttering a note so plaintive, that it is difficult
for a mere amateur ornithologist to find the
heart to rob the parents of their eggs or young.
Audubon states this fact characteristically.
"The male," he says, "immediately joins her in