Returning about 5 p. m. across the Depot Field, I scare up from the ground a flock of about twenty birds which fly low making a short circuit to another part of the field. At first they remind me of bay-wings, except that they are in a flock, show no white in tail, are, I see, a little larger, and utter a faint sveet sveet merely, a sort of sibilant chip. Starting them again, I see that they have black tails, very conspicuous when they pass here. They fly in the flock somewhat like snow-buntings, occasionally one surging upward a few feet in pursuit of another, and they alight about where they first were. It is almost impossible to distinguish them upon the ground, they squat so flat, and so much resemble it, running amid the stubble. But at length I stand within two rods of one and get a good view of its markings with my glass. They are the Alunda alpestris or shore lark, a quite sizeable and handsome bird. A delicate, pale, lemon-yellow line above, with a dark line through the eye. The yellow again on the sides of the neck and on the throat, with a buff-ash breast and reddish-brown tinges. Beneath, white. Above, rusty brown behind, and darker, ash or slate with purplish-brown reflections, forward. Legs black. Bill blue and black. Common to the old and new world.
March 24, 1859. Now when the leaves get to
