In a Mission Patio. 



upon his cheeks, his black tail and the 

 heavy black trimmings, edged with 

 white, on the wings. He remains im- 

 movable for some time, apparently un- 

 concerned with anything in the world. 

 Now and then he looks quietly to the 

 right and left, when a sudden gust of 

 wind, springing up from the sea, puffs 

 out his feathers and unsettles his equi- 

 librium for a moment. Suddenly he is 

 all animation. His sharp eye has 

 espied a cricket in the grass and he 

 flutters down to the ground for his 

 prey, soon to resume his perch and 

 quiet, dignified ways. I am sorry to 

 say that the butcher-bird is not averse 

 to making a meal of some luckless little 

 bird when insect fare is scarce. 



One frosty morning I found a female 

 Audubon's warbler lying dead on the 

 threshold of my door, where it had 

 probably gone for shelter. This little 

 creature is peculiarly sensitive to the 

 cold and often succumbs to a sharp 

 frost, yet it persists in passing the 

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