A FIRST GLANCE AT THE BIRDS 



disembodied soul of a martyr sounding thanksgiving for his 

 release. 



Another day and another place! The pine woods are 

 about us and snow is upon the ground. We hear a sharp, short 

 squeak, followed by a rapping upon the bark of a tree. Cling- 

 ing to the trunk is a Harris's woodpecker, busily searching for 

 hidden insects in the bark. Suddenly, with a loud whirring 

 of wings, a flock of mountain-quail start out of the under- 

 brush and scatter in the distance. We had nearly trodden 

 upon them before they left their snug covert. A little brown 

 body suddenly flits upon a twig near by, fearless and uncon- 

 cerned. It is a winter wren, always cheerful and busy in the 

 worst of weather. 



Even upon the alkali plains, where little grows save sage- 

 brush, cacti and yuccas, the birds are not wanting. The sage- 

 thrasher sings in such wastes and the pallid little Bell's spar- 

 row is at home there. Where the desert sands would blister 

 the feet, the road-runner is content to dwell, and the cactus- 

 wren rears her brood amid the thorns, defying the withering 

 heat of the sun. 



Upon the remotest of ocean seas, as upon the barrenest of 

 rocky shores, some birds find an abiding-place, and there is a 

 joy in their companionship which cannot be translated into 

 words. You who would find a new delight in the wild and 

 waste places of the earth, a new meaning to life, and an en- 

 larged sympathy with your fellow creatures, should seek them 

 out, not in the books, but in their homes. One bird learned 

 and knov^Ti as an individual creature, with a life all its own, is 

 worth volumes of reading. Listen to their call-notes; observe 

 their plumage and their motions, seek out their homes, and 



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