Summer Birds of the Redwoods. 



ering wings. Remain quiet for a mo- 

 ment and his loud chatter subsides to a 

 low crooning, as he flits about the dead 

 underbrush, picking up a stray insect 

 here and there on the bark, and occa- 

 sionally breaking out into his liquid, 

 melodious, happy-go-lucky song. Near 

 at hand the blue-fronted jay is sounding 

 his succession of loud, short, slightly 

 harsh notes, occasionally varied by a 

 harsh, peevish, emphatic squaak. Im- 

 pudent fellow that he is, with his elegant 

 plumage and beautiful crest, he may 

 well feel his independence in these far- 

 reaching forests of primeval grandeur, 

 where the dainty hoof-print of the deer 

 is more familiar than the step of man. 

 Here also, for the first time, I dis- 

 covered the pine-finch in its native 

 home. I was first attracted by a curious 

 little attempt at a song which I imagined 

 was the work of a young goldfinch that 

 had not yet learned the lesson. It was 

 so poor an apology for bird music, and 

 yet so earnest, as to be almost grotesque. 

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