A FIRST GLANCE AT THE BIRDS 



E WHO know California think it the most 

 glorious of lands. The winds of freedom 

 blow across its lofty mountains and expansive 

 plains. There is something untcimed and 

 elemental about its wildernesses, and a tender 

 charm about its pastoral valleys. The ever- 

 lasting seas thunder upon its bold, granite headlands, the pines 

 lift their heads almost into the snow of its mountain tops, the se- 

 quoias rear their peerless shafts along the north coast and in iso- 

 lated Sierra groves, while in the great interior valleys grow the 

 dark, venerable live-oaks; the sycamores sprawl their hoary 

 trunks aloft, and willows and alders wave their delicate foliage 

 beside the streams. Then there are the far wastes of chaparral 

 — great expanses of mountain and mesa covered only with a 

 scanty growth of stiff, harsh shrubs, but always beautiful with 

 views of far-away mountains, blue and purple in the haze. 

 It is the land of the orange and the olive, yet its mountain 

 peaks rest in eternal snow. 



In this land I invite you to wander with me, seeking out the 

 birds. If we but look for them we shall find them everywhere. 

 If we but listen for them, the desert as well as the garden 

 shall resound with their songs. It is a great sweep of country 

 from Humboldt to San Diego County, and a large number 



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