The Morning Bird Chorus in Pasadena 255 



In my own immediate neighborhood, in Pasadena, surrounded by consider- 

 able open space with trees, the leader of the chorus in May is certainly the 

 Black-headed Grosbeak. He gives the first, or one of the first notes, and his 

 voice may be heard almost continuously above all, and the sweetest, too, 

 unless it be the Western Meadowlark, who surpasses his brother of the East, 

 in the compass and clearness of his songs. 



But the Grosbeak sings on all day, and up to the very dark. He seems 

 loath to cease for the evening shades. He is like some happy housewife sing- 

 ing at her work, singing to her babes, singing to herself, and to all whose ears 

 are attuned to hear the voice of gladness anywhere. 



I may be mistaken, but it seems to me that our Mockingbird takes second 

 place in the chorus. He is, of course, our star performer, and knows it so well 

 that he likes to be a soloist. He is apparently a very self-conscious sort of bird, 

 an actor posing for effect and special recognition. I know that no mere man is 

 capable of judging really the 'soul of a bird;' but Mr. Burroughs has a similar 

 impression as to the Mocker, even to the extent of aversion that I do not have. 

 He thinks the Mocker is just a cold-blooded artist, with no real feeling in his 

 performance. Well, the Mockingbird would not be willing to be left out of 

 anything going on in public, so he joins now and then our morning chorus. 

 But I have the feeling that he isn't exactly pleased to be outclassed by the 

 Grosbeak, and overborne by the volume of sound proceeding from the throats 

 of all those inferior birds. 



The Arizona Hooded Oriole (who builds usually here on the under side of 

 a broad palm leaf) may be heard occasionally in the chorus by a trained ear, 

 but he does not specialize in music. His glorious beauty and charming manner 

 fully compensate. Bullock's Oriole has a voice of emphasis, easily distin- 

 guished, and he likes to exercise it in the morning air. It is not specially musi- 

 cal, and seems to have a challenge in it, "Touch me if you dare! I'll keep my 

 place if you'll keep yours." Bullock's is the western representative — close 

 brother or cousin — of the eastern Baltimore. 



Easily distinguished in the chorus will be the voice of our Song Sparrows. 

 We have a number of varieties, or sub-species. (Some who have been winter- 

 visitants are not here now, but a number of others remain.) Their mingling 

 strain is delightfully sweet, and ever remindful of the old voice we used to hear 

 back east. Equal to it? Not quite, I think; but we are happy to possess the 

 song of second quality, as we cannot have the first. It is delightful, anyway. 



Early in the season — February or March — the California Thrasher, bird 

 of the foothills, is quite sure to come singly or in pairs for a vacation in town. 



A plain, brown bird and slender, with delicate, curving bill, 

 No great pretense of feather but a voice to make you thrill. 



Only once or twice I have heard of a pair nesting near a house. A chief 

 attraction for the Thrasher is the rich ground of our gardens and orchards, 



