by magic, are suddenly in possession of the hedge in a search 
lor aphids. Right or wrong-side up, it matters not to them; 
and fifteen spattering, chattering fluff-balls in the bird's bath 
are no crowd. 
To a stranger, it is a thrilling experience to see a whole 
avenue of Pepper trees alive with Cedar Waxwings among the 
red berries. One can forgive such a composite of beauty and 
gentleness for depredations in the Persimmon trees. In a 
country where there are few wild fruits, what can one expect? 
We exhibit with pride our handsome Spurred Towhee 
(Chewink) and his plain brown relative, the California Towhee, 
as they cultivate the soil for us behind the shrubs, destroying 
• many grubs and worms (how can one escape them?). And an 
old friend, the Thrasher, helping to rid us of ants, while he 
sinpfs with his customary abandon. 
That wonderful song comes not from the Robin, (who, by the 
way, lives in the mountains and only visits us in flocks during 
the winter rains, giving us little music aside from his call- 
note,) it is the Black-headed Grosbeak that we hear, so often 
confused with the Spurred Towhee who is clothed in similar 
colors of black, white and chestnut. The domestic life of the 
Grosbeaks, even in our Peach tree, is delightful to witness. 
When he sings, and she answers with quiet voice, (an echo of 
his), it makes, as a little friend of ours said, "the bird in our 
breast sing sweetly, instead of being just full of croakin' 
frogs." The voice of our Meadowlark, so different from the 
plaintive note of his eastern relative, is also sure to arrest 
attention. To hear it is to drink of the fountain of youth. 
The Mockingbird is part of our stock-in-trade in 
California. It is rumored that one of our hotel managers 
gave up trying to attract him to the hotel gardens, when he 
learned that he had a proclivity for serenading his lady-love 
"all through the night" in convincing notes that are both 
shrill and tender. The Black Phoebe by the porch 
light in the evening would make the ghost of Oliver Goldsmith 
gaze and gaze, Avhile still the wonder grows that one small 
stomach can carry all he stows of moths and beetles. There 
is a Phoebe for every garden in Pasadena. The Jay looks well 
on the place, although the head of the family sometimes 
threatens to risk disturbing the balance of nature at his expense, 
when with raucous shrieks, he searches our trees for our Gold- 
finch and Hummingbird nests. He, and the gentle, but 
omnivorous House Finch, have been driven from the Fig tree 
by one who knows how to assemble an alarm-clock, an old 
bicycle pump, a bit of pipe to conduct the water power, and a 
few other accessories. At five in the morning, and at three- 
minute intervals during the day, comes a clap under the tree, 
two branches shake, then another clap. If a bird hesitates, 
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