FIELD-DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 



could be no harm in now and then casting a 

 glance heavenward. 



After three weeks at San Diego (and a pleasant 

 three weeks they were, in a world as new as Eden 

 was to Adam), I made a trip to Witch Creek, 

 a hamlet among the mountains, advised to that 

 course by a famous local ornithologist. He 

 promised me no condor ; I think the matter was 

 not mentioned between us ; but he assured me 

 that I should find a totally different set of birds 

 there from what I had been seeing at San Diego. 

 The expression proved to be a shade (a rather 

 dark shade) too strong ; the weather, too, was 

 of the worst and the housing bad ; but I found 

 a few new things, and, what with the beauty 

 of the mountains and the mountain valleys, — 

 and the magnificent oaks, — I felt (after I got 

 away) amply repaid for my time and labor. 



In such a place it seemed in order to look 

 skyward more frequently than ever ; but a pro- 

 fessional bird-collector, who for several years 

 had knocked about this Western world in the 

 pursuit of his interesting, but, I should think, 

 rather disagreeable, calling (I was glad to hear 

 him say that no matter how badly he wanted a 

 bird, he could never shoot it if it struck up to 

 sing), when I mentioned my great desire to see 

 a condor, responded, *' Oh, doubtless ; I should 

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