Bird Life of Yosemite Park. 



245 



BIRD LIFE OF YOSEMITE PARK. 



By Charles Keeler. 



Amid all the splendor of deep-scored cliffs of granite, 

 sculptured in domes and peaks and cathedral spires, of 

 exuberant waterfalls and foaming rapids, hurrying with 

 unceasing silver voicing to the level valley floor, where 

 the green Merced meanders peacefully on past forests 

 of spruce and pine, and meadows patined with variegated 

 flowers, — amid all this sublime pageant of nature we 

 must not overlook our little friends, the birds. They 

 are all about us, in the swaying tips of lofty incense 

 cedars, amid the sedges and daisies of the mountain 

 meadows, upon the austere rocks of aspiring crags, and 

 sporting in mid-air on tireless wings. Let us, in all 

 friendliness, seek out a few of these happy choristers, 

 that we may know one another when next we meet. 



Early and late rings out the monotonous cadence of 

 the robin's flute, sounding Hke a snatch of one of Schu- 

 mann's arabesques. Who does not know the robin, with 

 his prim air of opulency, his brisk hop, his hearty call? 

 If you have never been introduced, by all means look 

 him up. In size he comes between a sparrow and a 

 dove, and his earth-red breast will reveal his identity. 

 His back is slate-colored, the head and tail darkening to 

 blackish; his throat is white, streaked with black, and 

 the belly is plain white. We may even have the good 

 luck to find his wife in the mud-plastered straw nest, 

 setting upon her blue eggs or busy satisfying the wants 

 of her clamoring brood. Her colors are duller than 

 those of her gentle lord, but similar. When the young 

 first put forth their feathers, they are speckled somewhat 

 after the fashion of their near cousins, the thrushes. 



Whether you will or no, you cannot escape acquaint- 

 ance with the jays — the big crested blue-fronted jays 



