256 Bird - Lore 



where worms are plentiful near the surface; and he is a wonderful scratcher. 

 I have seen him cultivating the flower-beds, even, and he is very fond of my 

 bread bits. His song is delightful and unique. It reminds me at times of the 

 Catbird's, though much louder, and of certain notes of the Mocker. 



Along the arroyo often, elsewhere occasionally, one might distinguish in 

 the chorus, and hear at intervals all day, the delicate, clear strain of the 

 Phainopepla, that beautiful creature, iridescent bluish black with pointed 

 crest, wing-bars of gauzy white ; worth going far to see. 



But the singers never absent from our chorus, enthusiastic, continuous, 

 are the Linnets, or crimson-throated House Finches, happy and unpopular. 

 We could ill afford to spare them from our chorus, or their cherry singing all 

 day long, injurious though they sometimes are to bud and fruit. 



If our friends, their enemies, would take the trouble to cut in two some of 

 the millions of 'cull' oranges that are otherwise worthless, and scatter their 

 halves daily on the ground, the Linnets would find in them much of the fruit 

 acid they crave. They are not vicious, just dear and joyous. 



Then, we have in our chorus, too, the "Warbler's minor music," faintly 

 heard, and the small notes of minor Sparrows. Little Chippie, near my win- 

 dow this morning, was 'chipping in' with the regularity almost of a clock-tick, 

 and something like it. He was doing his best, but, contrasted with the bell- 

 like tones of the Grosbeak, the effect was amusing. 



And then we have the sweet little notes, that touch your heart whenever 

 you hear them, of our dear little Willow Goldfinches. Occasionally will sound 

 the strident note of our Flicker, nearby or a block away, just to let you know 

 he's here, and has a nest in some old tree or telephone pole half a mile off. He's 

 a glorious bird, with rich old-gold, instead of the lighter yellow of his east- 

 ern cousin. 



In a lull of the chorus growing less, you may hear, if you listen closely, 

 a little squeak in the bushes, of the Brown Towhee, our very exclusive, usually 

 silent citizen. But he can sing, if he will, a solo or duet. I have heard 

 it just once. 



Along the arroyo, where some people are protecting coveys of Valley Quail^ 

 their entrancing notes are heard, not only in the chorus but at other times^ 

 notably at the sunset hour. 



And nearly all these birds of the chorus I may see each morning later in 

 my back yard, beneath the spreading branches of a great pepper tree. There 

 I have scattered the night before, a plentiful supply of bread and other cereal 

 scraps, to be in early readiness. There, too, is the dripping hydrant and basin 

 for their use. No meat scraps are thrown out till later; those might attract 

 the cats. They, however, seldom appear on my premises, having been dis- 

 couraged in divers ways.* 



*£very center of population, and important premise should have plots of ground known 



as "catacombs." 



