THE HUMMING-BIRD OF THE CALIFORNIA WATER-FALLS. 553 
with people and their ways seems to change 
them in the least. To all appearance their 
behavior is just the same on seeing a man 
for the first time, as when seeing him every 
day. 
On the lower reaches of the rivers where 
mills are built, they sing on through the din 
of the machinery, and all the concomitant 
confusion of dogs, cattle, and workmen. On 
one occasion, while a wood-chopper was at 
work on the river-bank, I observed one 
cheerily singing within reach of the flying 
chips. Nor does any kind of unwonted 
disturbance put him in bad humor, or 
frighten him out of calm self-possession. 
In passing through a narrow gorge, I drove 
one ahead of me from rapid to rapid, dis¬ 
turbing him four times in quick succession, 
where he could not very well fly past me 
on account of the narrowness of the chan¬ 
nel. Most birds under similar circumstances 
fancy themselves pursued, and become sus¬ 
piciously uneasy; but, instead of growing 
nervous about it, he made his usual dippings, 
and sang one of his most tranquil strains. 
When observed within a few yards their 
eyes are seen to express remarkable gentle¬ 
ness and intelligence; but they seldom 
allow a sufficiently near approach. On one 
occasion, while rambling along the shore of 
a mountain lake, where the birds, at least 
those born that season, had never seen a 
man, I sat down to rest upon a large stone 
close to the water’s edge, upon which it 
seemed the ouzels and sandpipers were in 
the habit of alighting when they came to 
feed on that part of the shore, and some of 
the other birds also, when they came down 
to wash or drink. After I had sat a few 
minutes, along came a whirring ouzel and 
alighted on the stone beside me, within 
reach of my hand. Then observing me, all 
at once he stooped nervously as if about to 
fly on the instant, but as I remained mo¬ 
tionless as the stone, he gained confidence, 
and looked me steadily in the face for about 
a minute, then flew quietly to the outlet 
and began to sing. A sandpiper came next 
and gazed at me with much the same 
guileless expression of eye as the ouzel. 
Lastly, down with a swoop came a Steller’s 
jay out of a fir-tree, probably with the 
intention of moistening his noisy throat. 
But instead of sitting confidingly as my 
other visitors had done, he rushed off at 
once, nearly tumbling heels over head into 
the lake in his suspicious confusion, and 
with loud screams roused the neighborhood. 
Love for song-birds, with their sweet hu- 
VoL. XV.—38. 
man voices, appears to be far more universal 
and unfailing than love for flowers. Everyone 
loves flowers, to some extent at least in life’s 
fresh morning, attracted by them as instinct¬ 
ively as humming-birds and bees. Even the 
young Digger Indians have sufficient love 
for the brightest of those found growing 
on the mountains to gather them and 
braid them as decorations for tlie hair. 
And I was glad to discover, through the 
few Indians that could be induced to 
talk on the subject, that they have names 
for the wild rose and the lily, and other 
conspicuous flowers, whether available as 
food or otherwise. Most men, however, 
whether savage or civilized, become apa¬ 
thetic toward all plants that have no other 
apparent use than the use of beauty. But 
fortunately one’s first instinctive love of 
song-birds is never wholly obliterated, no 
matter what the influences upon our lives may 
be. I have often been delighted to see a 
pure, spiritual glow come into the coun¬ 
tenances of hard business men, and dis¬ 
sipated old miners, when a song-bird 
chanced to alight near them. Nevertheless, 
the little mouthful of meat that swells out 
the breasts of some song-birds is too often 
the cause of their death. Larks and robins 
in particular are brought to market in 
hundreds. But fortunately the ouzel has no 
enemy so eager for his little body as to 
follow him into the mountain solitudes. I 
never even knew him to be chased by hawks. 
An acquaintance of mine, a sort of 
foot-hill mountaineer, had a pet cat, a 
great, dozy, overgrown creature, about as 
broad-shouldered as a lynx. During the 
winter while the snow lay deep, the mount¬ 
aineer sat in his lonely cabin among the 
pines, smoking his pipe, and wearing the 
dull time away. Tom was his sole com¬ 
panion, sharing his bed, and sitting beside 
him on a stool, with much the same drowsy 
expression of eye as his master. 
The good-natured bachelor was content 
with his hard fare of soda bread and bacon, 
but Tom, the only creature in the world 
acknowledging dependence on him, must 
needs be provided with fresh meat. Accord¬ 
ingly, he bestirred himself to contrive 
squirrel traps, and waded the snowy woods 
with his gun, making sad havoc among 
the few winter birds, sparing neither robin, 
sparrow, nor tiny nut-hatch, and the pleasure 
of seeing Tom eat them was his great 
reward. 
One cold afternoon, while hunting along 
the river-bank he noticed a plain-feathered 
