in pairs and occasionally stood up to sing. With their songs sounding in my ears I went on to the pasture-field.
     On the fence I paused abruptly. Tseer-up  Tseer-eee” went came from someplace farther down the hedge.  I could scarcely be­lieve my ears. Was this my meadow-lark? Was this my cheery meadow lark who delights am every spring with his. merry whistle? No. there could be no mistake. “Tseer-up - Tseer-eee” it went again.  The call of a meadow lark always seems to me so mysterious and evading, we can hear it plainly but it seems to come from no place in particular, to come out of the very air.  The listener may look and look for a long time before he can discover it.  This one this morning was just as mysterious and as hard to find, and therefore all the more delightful. The cheery clear whistle seemed to come from somewhere to the east; I looked but could hardly see for the sun. Finally I did see him, a dark little object upon a swaying branch of a young elm. In order to see him better, I started to circle around to get the dazzling sunlight out of my eyes; suddenly he saw me and disappeared.
     Presently, I heard the call of another one far to the north east, in the direction of Bentley’s Woods. In this direction I now turned, to get a glympse of this one. I walked briskly over the