MY FIRST CONDOR 



One or two evenings after this the Pasadena 

 ornithologist (there are many worthy of the 

 name, I dare say, but I mean the one) called to 

 see me, and I told him of my disappointment. 



" What ! You have been up Mount Lowe al- 

 ready ? " he exclaimed, as much as to say, " Well, 

 well, you don't let the grass grow under your 

 feet, do you ? " 



Then he expressed surprise that I had missed 

 the condor. That was a new and welcome note, 

 the very first syllable of encouragement that' I 

 had heard under this head since setting foot 

 in California; and I determined straightway, 

 though I said nothing, to have that trip over 

 again. 



Five days passed ; for, though the condor is 

 the largest bird in California, he is by no means 

 the only one. Then, on the last day of January, 

 I was again trudging up the cone of Mount 

 Lowe, when suddenly, as I faced about and 

 looked upward for the hundredth time, there was 

 my bird sailing through the air. It was he, the 

 condor himself ; for on the instant, even before I 

 had time to put my glass upon him, I saw the 

 unmistakable marks, the snow-white lower wing- 

 coverts and the yellow head and neck. Far, far up 

 he was, moving in a straight course, with wings 

 set. 



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