ISO 



A Trip to the Yosemite Valley. 



Tias also a longer tail. The brown wren of 

 the East is, I think, brown all over. This 

 one has a lead-colored breast and belly. 

 The other brown wren is a chubby little 

 fellow, and about as round as a bullet, and 



not much bigger. The body of this one is 

 no bigger, but is longer. Their notes are 

 entirely different. I think this wren is 

 probably peculiar to western Texas and 

 Mexico. — N. A. T. in Forest and Stream. 



A TRIP TO THE YOSEMITE VALLEY 



I HAVE just returned from a long drive 

 up the mountains to Redwood dis- 

 trict, a country of great trees, some of 

 them six to eight feet in diameter, which 

 compare favorably with the Mariposa and 

 Calaveras trees. We picnicked in an open 

 field fairly deluged in wild flowers. Fancy 

 lying on a soft bed of wild flowers of every 

 color and family with trees of eight feet in 

 diameter for shade ! Such was our agree- 

 able experience on a fine, warm, sunny day 

 with the blue Pacific in sight, and the de- 

 licious mountain air filling our lungs. Oh ! 

 the birds and the flowers ! It seems as if 

 I could not cease writing of them. I did 

 not believe it possible that anywhere in the 

 world there could be such a paradise. As 

 in the rich valley of San Joaquin and that 

 of San Gabriel, the little field larks sang 

 loudly to us. They must have been glad 

 also to see us enjoy ourselves like so many 

 children, for they sang most enchantingly. 

 Music suggests music, and far away, we 

 thought of "Thomas," but in the end 

 unanimously decided to give the palm to 

 the little miniature bird orchestra of larks 

 gathered around us, their little throats 

 swelling with melody, piping their sweet 

 hymns of praise to the Ood of day. We 

 leave here to-morrow for the Yosemite Val- 

 ley. I will write to you from there. 



Yosemite Valley, C'al. — We went to 

 the foot of the Lower Yosemite Fall (500 

 feet), and gazed at its wonderful beauty 

 and bathed in its mist; the path to the 

 Fall leading through beds of wild straw- 

 berries, just ripening, and so round, cross- 



ing the river again close by Barnard's 

 hotel (late Hutchings' — our fellow traveller 

 on the stage). I must here stop to tell 

 you something about the woodpeckers 

 which old Hutchings told us on our route. 

 He says the woodpeckers — birds which we 

 met constantly on our journey to and 

 through the Valley — are "characters" in 

 their way. Among other curious things 

 that they do may be mentioned the fol- 

 lowing as being interesting, I think: Mind- 

 ful of the winter months when food will 

 be scarce, they pick up acorns during the 

 season when the oaks are shedding, and 

 put them into holes which they bore in the 

 pines with their long beaks, and when 

 the icy months come and there is nothing 

 else for them to eat, they go in flocks and 

 gather these acorns, which, as each one 

 contains a worm, afford them a delicious 

 and ample supply of food for the hard sea- 

 son. And they have to fight often for this 

 very food which they have so carefully and 

 prudently garnered up, for they have an 

 enemy in the squirrel — little rascal ! — who, 

 too lazy and too improvident himself to 

 provide ahead for his wants, will forage on 

 his neighbors, and there is eternally war — 

 war to the knife — between the woodpeck- 

 ers and the squirrels in consequence. Their 

 bloody battles are often watched, and are, 

 as a matter of course, very interesting in- 

 deed. Five or six woodpeckers are often 

 seen attacking one of their thieving foes, 

 who nevertheless will often, in spite of their 

 odds, succeed in capturing the choice mor- 

 sels so cleverly stored away by the indus- 

 trious little fellows. 



H. S. M. 



