548 THE HUMMING-BIRD OF THE CALIFORNIA WATER-FALLS. 
ler’s jays were of course making more noisy i 
stir than all the other birds combined; 
ever coming and going with loud bluster, 
screaming as if each had a lump of melting 
sludge in his throat, and taking very good 
care to improve the favorable opportunity 
afitorded by the storm to steal from the 
acorn stores of the woodpeckers. I also 
noticed one solitary gray eagle braving the 
storm on the top of a tall pine stump just 
outside the main grove: He was standing 
bolt upright with his back to the wind, and 
with a tuft of snow piled on his square 
shoulders, the very type of passive endur¬ 
ance. Thus every snow-bound bird seemed 
more or less uncomfortable if not in positive 
distress. The storm was reflected in every 
gesture, and not one cheerful note, not to 
say song, came from a single bill; their 
cowering, joyless endurance offering a most 
striking contrast to the spontaneous, irre¬ 
pressible gladness of the ouzel, who could 
no more help exhaling sweet song, than a 
rose sweet fragrance. He 7 niist sing if the 
heavens fall. 1 remember noticing the dis¬ 
tress of a pair of robins during the violent 
earthquake of the year 1872, when the pines 
of the valley, with strange movements, 
flapped and waved their branches; and beet¬ 
ling rock-brows came thundering to the 
meadows in fiery avalanches. It did not 
occur to me in the midst of the excitement 
of other observations to look for the ouzels, 
but I doubt not they were singing straight 
on through it all, regarding its terrible thun¬ 
ders as fearlessly as they do the booming of 
the water-falls. 
What may be regarded as the separate 
songs of the ouzel are exceedingly difficult 
of description, because they are so variable 
and at the same time so confluent. I have 
been acquainted with my favorite for eight 
years, and though, during most of this 
time I have heard him sing nearly every 
day, I still detect notes and strains that are 
quite new to me. Nearly all of his music is 
very sweet and tender, lapsing from his 
round breast like water over the smooth lip 
of a pool, then breaking farther on into a rich | 
sparkling foam of melodious notes, which i 
glow with subdued enthusiasm, yet without ; 
expressing much of the strong, gushing 
ecstasy of the bobolink or sky-lark. 
The more striking strains are perfect 
arabesques of melody, composed of a few 
full, round, mellow notes, embroidered with 
a great variety of delicate trills which fade 
in long slender cadences like the silken 
fringes of summer clouds melting in the 
azure. But as a whole, his music is that 
of the stream itself, infinitely—organized, 
spiritualized. The deep booming notes of 
the falls are in it, the trills of rapids, the 
swirling and gurgling of pot-holes, low 
hushes of levels, the rapturous bounce and 
dance of rocky cascades, and the sweet 
tinkle of separate drops oozing from the 
ends of mosses and falling into tranquil 
pools. 
The ouzel never sings in chorus with 
other birds, nor with his kind, but only 
with the streams. And like flowers that 
bloom beneath the surface of the ground, 
some of our favorite’s best song-blossoms 
never rise above the surface of the heavier 
music of the water. I have oftentimes 
observed him singing in the midst of beaten 
spray, his music completely buried beneath 
the water’s roar; yet I knew he was surely 
singing by the movements of his bill. 
His food consists of all kinds of water 
insects, which in summer are chiefly pro¬ 
cured along shallow margins. Here he 
wades about ducking his head under water, 
and deftly turning over pebbles and fallen 
leaves with his bill, 
seldom choosing to 
go into deep water 
where he has to use 
his wings in diving. 
He seems to be 
especially fond of 
the larvae of mos¬ 
quitoes, found in 
great quantities' at¬ 
tached to the bot¬ 
tom of smooth rock 
channels where the 
current is swift and 
shallow. When feed¬ 
ing in such places he 
OIIZKI, ENTERING A WHITE CURRENT. 
