July, 1901 1 THE CONDOR 103 
A Study of the Birds of Santiago Canyon. 
1IOLL1I-: ISRYAN, ORAN('.p;, CALIFORNIA. 
Concliidrd . 
I RIiTURN to the shade of the oaks 
and the hammock, and the scene is 
changed. The woodpecker and 
bluejay are busy stealing from the 
kettle of mush as it cools on the 
.stove for the pack of fox hounds. 
The Lark Sparrow comes quietly 
into the basin under the vines 
for water. The Spurred Towhee is 
.scratching among the leaves with its ac- 
customed vigor. The California Thrasher 
comes at the call of“huita, huita” for its 
share of mush or bread crumbs, and 
lingers to dig with its long sickle-shaped 
bill, among the flower beds. A blue- 
jay cocks up one ey^e and come to see 
what is in the hole, driving the thrasher 
away and digging in exact imitation of 
it. The day goes out with the sweet 
vesper .song of the Dark Sparrow and 
the .soft call of the Poor-will. 
When October days have come the 
roadsides are bordered with the .scarlet 
zanschneria, the yellow threads of the 
dodder are in a wild tangle over sumach 
and sages, the clift’s are gorgeous with 
brightening lichens and sycamore trees 
are turning to brown and gold. The 
Meadowlark whistles from the 
mesa, the Vesper Sparrow is in the 
dry washes by the roadside, and flocks of 
Horned Larks are feeding in the fields. 
The Mountain Bluebird flashes across 
the way like a bit of fallen sky, and the 
Roadrunner pa.sses swiftly from our 
sight, as we drive on our way. 
Let us, now, take another glimpse at 
our bird paradise. The White and 
Golden-crowned Sparrows and Audu- 
bon’s Warbler have taken posession. 
The Wren-tit still rings out its clarion 
notes, the blue] a}' is as mischievous as 
before and the woodpecker is studying 
a piece of water-pipe left on the fence 
to see if it is a suitable place in which 
to store acorns. Life under the arbor 
is now something to be dreamed of. 
Tom, the Plain Titmouse, comes for the 
melon seed he has learned to love, and 
that are scattered regularly for him. 
When gathered around the hospitable 
board, and with mountain appetites we 
pa.ss our plates for a second helping, 
and are told “Wait till Tom gets his 
seed.’’ Plates are held, forks suspend- 
ed in the air while ‘Tom’ hops in be- 
tween the chairs for his seed, then all 
breathe and eat again. We are up at 
five to catch the Lark Sparrow at his 
morning .song. And we see that one 
by one, the ravens come from some- 
where out from the face of the cliff 
acro.ss the can5"on. What mu.sic in 
their harsh “caw, caw” to bird-crank 
ears, for it is a promise of da3's to come, 
when from a point of vantage gained b}' 
hard climbing, we will sit and spj^ on 
the family affairs of at least two house- 
holds of ravens, one on a ledge of a cliff, 
the other in a tree hard b}^ 
The hills about us echo with the call 
of the Valley Quail, for they^ have 
learned that only about here are they 
safe from the huntsman’s gun. The 
robins and Western Bluebirds have 
come and are feeding on the California 
holly^ and mistletoe berries. A visit to 
the tank brings us face to face with 
other of our winter visitors. The 
Hermit Thrush is twitching wings and 
tail from every bush, and a flock of 
Townsend’s Sparrows are chattering .so- 
cially over not a cup of tea, — but a lim- 
pid pool of water. A number of Wren- 
Tits come to examine their visitor. One 
conies within two feet of my face, and 
finding me harmless, descends, twig by 
twig, to the pool below for a bath. It 
hops from a small overhanging bush 
above the water, daintily dips one toe 
in, and darts up in alarm. The second 
time it wet both feet before nervously 
flying up again. The third time it 
stepped in and gave a flutter with its 
wings, when back to shelter it went. 
It continued these vain attempts at a 
bath until the seventh, when it took a 
