erve
tingle. The new needles of the pines and firs are nearly full grown and
shine gloriously. Lizards are glinting about on the hot rocks; some that
live near the camp are more than half tame. They seem attentive to every
movement on our part, as if curious to simply look on without suspicion
of harm, turning their heads to look back, and making a variety of
pretty gestures. Gentle, guileless creatures with beautiful eyes, I
shall be sorry to leave them when we leave camp.

_June 29._ I have been making the acquaintance of a very interesting
little bird that flits about the falls and rapids of the main branches
of the river. It is not a water-bird in structure, though it gets its
living in the water, and never leaves the streams. It is not web-footed,
yet it dives fearlessly into deep swirling rapids, evidently to feed at
the bottom, using its wings to swim with under water just as ducks and
loons do. Sometimes it wades about in shallow places, thrusting its head
under from time to time in a jerking, nodding, frisky way that is sure
to attract attention. It is about the size of a robin, has short crisp
wings serviceable for flying either in water or air, and a tail of
moderate size slanted upward, giving it, with its nodding, bobbing
manners, a wrennish look. Its color is plain bluish ash, with a tinge of
brown on the head and shoulders. It flies from fall to fall, rapid to
rapid, with a solid whir of wing-beats like those of a quail, follows
the windings of the stream, and usually alights on some rock jutting up
out of the current, or on some stranded snag, or rarely on the dry limb
of an overhanging tree, perching like regular tree birds when it suits
its convenience. It has the oddest, daintiest mincing manners
imaginable; and the little fellow can sing too, a sweet, thrushy, fluty
song, rather low, not the least boisterous, and much less keen and
accentuated than from its vigorous briskness one would be led to look
for. What a romantic life this little bird leads on the most beautiful
portions of the streams, in a genial climate with shade and cool water
and spray to temper the summer heat. No wonder it is a fine singer,
considering the stream songs it hears day and night. Every breath the
little poet draws is part of a song, for all the air about the rapids
and falls is beaten into music, and its first lessons must begin before
it is born by the thrilling and quivering of the eggs in unison with the
tones of the f