Berkeley in May, 



Here the live-oaks spread their branch- 

 ing limbs over the land, and close by 

 the water's edge the willows and alders 

 sway to the gentle influence of the salt 

 breezes that have come through the 

 Golden Gate. 



An emphatic little pee wit greets us 

 as we enter the quiet of the canon, 

 where the breeze sings in an undertone 

 and the silver-tongued brook sounds in 

 a subdued murmur. Looking about 

 for the humble musician who does his 

 best to enliven the scene with his 

 apology for a song, we see, perched 

 upon a bush, a quiet little bird with 

 large eyes and a broad beak edged with 

 bristles. His plumage is a dull olive on 

 the back, brownish or greenish in tone, 

 with a dull white breast tinged with pale 

 sulphur-yellow. There he sits upon the 

 bush, flirting his tail emphatically at 

 every utterance of the pee wit, and snap- 

 ping viciously at any stray insect that 

 approaches too near. Our new acquaint- 

 ance is the western flycatcher, and a 

 169 



