February in Berkeley, 



sometimes with a patch of the same on 

 the upper tail-coverts. 



Upon some mild day in February, 

 when the willows are blossoming by 

 the streams and the linnet has com- 

 menced his joyous song in anticipation 

 of the love-making which the genial day 

 suggests, let us walk over the hills and 

 see what life is abroad. The wild cur- 

 rant has already hung its aromatic pink 

 clusters of bloom where the spring 

 breezes may sway them, and the rufous 

 hummer, that tiny rover who left for 

 the tropics in the autumn, has found 

 them out. I hear his fine, high, 

 penetrating, chattering note, so differ- 

 ent from the familiar squeaking sound 

 of Anna's hummer, which has been 

 with us all winter. Looking among 

 the blossoms I see this smallest of 

 our birds busily at work, hovering 

 over one blossom after another in its 

 search for honey and insect life. It 

 may be easily distinguished from its 

 resident cousin by its smaller size and 

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