FIELD-DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 



are the ignorant, say I) ; for, while I was staring 

 at it, and a few like it that presently appeared 

 in its company, fixing their lineaments in memory 

 and on paper, another and much rarer bird hopped 

 into sight : a hermit warbler ; the only one I 

 have ever seen, and, as the indications now 

 point, the only one I am ever likely to see. He 

 was a beauty, a male in full spring dress, cheeks 

 of the brightest yellow, and throat as black as 

 jet.i 



Well, there were no such warblers in the trees 

 about Congress Spring this March morning, 

 though I scrutinized the branches in the hope of 

 finding some. For an ornithologist is like a dog ; 

 if he has once seen a rare bird in a certain tree, he 

 can never go by it without barking up the trunk. 

 But a better bird than any warbler awaited me 

 a little way ahead. There I came to a bridge over 

 the brook, now a turbid, raging torrent, after the 

 last night's rain ; for rain, even though it comes 

 from heaven, will make a California stream 

 muddy. While I had stood here the day before, 

 letting the endless flow of the water moralize my 



1 Since then I have seen many hermit warblers, in the Yose- 

 mite, where they breed, and in my own Santa Barbara door- 

 yard where they were present in goodly numbers, as they 

 were throughout the city, in May, 19 12, — a great surprise, and 

 as far as my knowledge extends, a state of things before un- 

 heard of. 



152 



