"Is he yours?" I asked, to prolong the conversation.

She gave me a quizzical look. "Why, I'm sixty years old! I'm his grandmother, that's his mother," nodding at a woman sitting by, whose evident delight in our praise would have caused much less than a Solomon to give instant judgment in her favor.

"Where's your baby?" said the Potentate to a third member of this group of sitters in the sun. Whereat the other two gave a shrill reply. "Huh! she ain't got any. She ain't married yet!" The conversation had to be turned, so I said, "Fine place you have up here." "Yes, indeed," this the elder woman,- "the best air and finest view in the city. It's the healthiest part of the town."

We recognized that this was a hobby, and had to break in on the flow of language.

"Lots of children up here." "Well, there ought to be. They don't raise much else on the hill."

Again a turn was necessary.
"Any lots for sale up this way?"

But this was the worst of all. Instantly there came such a burst of eloquence that we beat a hasty retreat and turned the nearest corner.

We made our way up the slopes of Telegraph Hill by many a devious path, avoiding the steep streets that they call "chicken coop alleys" because of the cleats nailed across the sidewalks, as in stairways for fowls, to give foothold. At last, however, we were at the top, in the very presence of Duncan Ross's deserted castle and the old semaphore.

Our last bit of climbing was enlivened by an incident,—— small enough in itself, but all incidents seemed great to us that day. There were three schoolboys, bent on some prank, and the sister of one of them, unmindful of the fact that she was

was only the brother were giving her a hint that her society was not welcome by pelting her with stones.

The Potentate's chivalrous instincts were at once aroused. "Stop that! you might hit her."

This, however, was precisely the object of the young man that was firing

rocks." He but redoubled his zeal, and the only way in which we could make him stop was by placing ourselves directly between him and his poor little target. She departed down the hill, perhaps lamenting that she belonged to the weaker sex, perhaps scheming that some day she would make them sue for her company, now rejected. Probably neither of those conjectures is within gunshot of the truth. I don't claim to understand the mental processes of even a nine year old woman.

It is a pity that the traction road up Telegraph Hill has been abandoned. The view from the top is superb. As we saw it on that pleasant afternoon of early November it justified all the Potentate's ready enthusiasm. The sky was almost a deep violet overhead and shaded down to a turquoise near the horizon. The rains of a week before had left the air

delightfully clear and we could see far out the Gate where the sails of ships in the offing showed dark in the west, except where they caught the sun aslant with a gleam like that on a gull's wing. Tamalpais and the Marin hills were wonderful shades of blue, each more intense than the other, and the glimpses of Sausalito, Belvedere, and the upper Bay, were like looking into fairyland. Diablo loomed over the Contra Costa hills, whose lower slopes were dotted with the houses of Berkeley and Oakland, reflecting the westering sun.

Before us was spread the Bay with other and different shades of blue, bordering on the indigo. It was Thursday afternoon and the Bay was dotted with the homecoming feluccas of the fishermen bringing the Friday's supply. Their tanned triangular sails contrasted finely with the water. There were many ships in the harbor. One of them, a great iron ship that lay out in the stream drying her sails, was painted pink, almost a coral color, and the Potentate yearned for this or that great artist to see it and put it on canvas.

"Truly," he said, "you don't realize what a wonderful pictorial field you have here. There are beautiful things in the East and abroad, but they have been done to death, while the half of this has never been shown."

But we could not stay longer even here, and the Artist broke in on the exalted mood caused by the wonderful

beauty of the place by hailing the three schoolboys, who were still hovering near, and inciting them to an act of daring.

"Here, I'll take your books, and we'll go down to that path there. When I raise my hand you fellows start in to roll and the one that gets to us first I'll give five cents."

The Potentate did not approve of this scheme, which he considered far too risky. Indeed, he afterwards confessed that the thought before his mind was how it would look to have it appear in the morning papers that of the magazine was called on to testify before the coroner's jury in regard to the death of one of those boys.

But the Artist had been there before. When the signal was given the boys. came whirling down the steep grassy slope so fast that it made us dizzy to watch them. One of them knew how to do the pinwheel act, and came touching

only his hands and feet, far outstripping the others. The Artist was so pleased with his performance that he doubled the reward, whereat the trio departed with a great hurrah, to seek the nearest shop where candy could be had.

It was some moments before the Potentate recovered from his scare.

On the seaward slope of the Hill we paused at a little grocery, kept by a broad-gauge, rufous-hued matron.

"How do they get these beer kegs to you, since there is no road?"

"O, that's easy. They roll them down from above, and the empties we roll down from here the rest of the way to the bottom."

We continued our way down many a sharp declivity and rickety stair, where often two or three treads together had yielded to the elements.

The Artist discoursed about the inhabitants.

"These people make good citizens. They never give the police any trouble, and at the election they will cast their votes much more intelligently than the South of Market' section, where the lower orders of Germans and Irish live.”

That the people were considered worth cultivating by the politicians was shown by placards, announcing that So-and-so was, "Candidato Democratico por il As

sembleo," and the name was no better Italian than the announcement.

Having reached work-a-day levels, we sought, as our last and perhaps most foreign "bit," Fishermen's Wharf. Here we are treading on more familiar ground; OVERLAND readers know it well. But seldom has it shown to better advantage and to more appreciative eyes. I wonder if it is the old artistic spirit of these Mediterranean peoples that makes them choose for their flannel shirts and sashes such beautifully harmonizing tints, or whether it is that salt spray is a toner of harsh colors, and creates of itself the harmonies, which certainly are there.

We watched the boats quite a while. The "Padre e Figlio" rubbed gunwales contentedly with "Uncle Sam," which last rejoiced in a red, white, and blue striping, but in other respects was no whit the less Dago than the other. One of the boats had on its deck some beautifully mottled dogfish,—if they were dogfish. The ground tint was nearly white, with large irregular patches of rich brown and black.

The afternoon was far spent, and we turned reluctantly homeward. This article is the first fruits of that prowl, but if the pages of this magazine do not show the benefit of it in other ways, it will not be the Potentate's fault.

Charles S. Greene.

THE

Nixon Waterman.

are

HE American species of wood-
peckers are very numerous.
So widely distributed
they, and so distinguished
everywhere for their indus-
trious, sober, and provident
habits that it has occurred

to me that if Uncle Sam does ever really beat his swords and spears into ploughshares and pruning hooks, it will be appropriate to transfer the honor of being the emblem of the Republic from the eagle to the wood-pecker! Its facility of adapting itself to any portion of the country, from the Canadian boundaries. to the frontier of Mexico, and its disposition to make the best of whatever locality it inhabits, are prominent among its many virtuous traits.

But the species here to be described is that termed the Ivory-billed Wood-pecker, having for his habitat the Southern States, northern Mexico, and California, (Campelophilus principalis). It is probably far more numerous in Southern California than in any other portion of the Americas. It is called by Spanish-Americans El Carpintero, from the quantity of chips and the carpenter-like hammering it makes. Thus it was that the prosperous town of La Carpinteria, in the Santa Barbara valley, received its name.

Where Carpinteria stands now there was a large live oak grove at the period of Spanish occupation, and during the season of maturing acorns the whole southern end of the valley was resonant with the hammering of the Carpinteros, stowing away their supplies. This they do by perforating the bark of the liveoak. to the proper depth with holes exactly proportioned to the size and shape of the acorn to be deposited in each, into which

they are driven point first until the other end of the acorn is flush with the surface or just a little deeper, and so tight that no other bird or squirrel can draw the nut from its socket. To take them out even with the point of a penknife requires experience, unless the bark be cut entirely away. The birds themselves when they require a meal drive their bills straight into the larger end of an acorn and a sharp twitch in a direct line backward brings it out.

The holes are drilled in straight horizontal lines generally around half the tree, the southern side, or, if it be a leaning tree, the under side sheltered from the rain. The lines run parallel to each other, and beginning three or four feet. above the ground, extend upward as far as the thickness of the bark will admit, unless operations are intercepted by too numerous branches. The space occupied is for the most part four or five feet in length by half the circumference of the liveoak, other trees rarely being used.

The birds feed in part on fruits and seeds, besides acorns, as well as on insects. They may be heard at a considerable distance tapping the wood of trees with their bills, to discover the place where an insect is lodged, and to get at it when discovered. The common notion that they are very injurious to trees is erroneous, as they do more good by preventing the ravages of insects than harm by their pecking. Besides, it is only upon the decayed portions of trees that they operate, except in the case of stowing away the acorns in the live bark of the oak, the most vigorous of these indicating that from time immemorial their coverings have been perforated without apparent harm.

The birds strike out chips of wood with their strong bills and in this way enlarge holes in decayed parts of trees for a roosting place or for a nest, carrying away the chips to a long distance, especially in the case of a nest. that it may not be discovered. The nest consists of a mere hole, running horizontally until the hollow has been reached, if it is a hollow tree, perhaps with a few chips in the bottom of it but with no other lining for the nest.

Although the wood-pecker is industrious, provident, and peaceful, he is not to be trifled with or tyrannized over with impunity, as the following incident will show.

A companion and I on an August day not long since pitched our camp at a spring on the table-lands of the ridge dividing Ojai from Santa Clara Valley. About the spring stands a large grove of liveoaks. In one of these not far from the tent door a pair of wood-peckers had, for years, no doubt, made their dwelling place. Somewhat shy of us at first, the birds in a few days paid little attention to our presence. It had frequently amused us of a sultry afternoon as we lounged upon the buffalo robes laid on the shaded grass, to observe the birds with whose labors the warmth appeared to have little to do.

We had camped there a week or ten days when before daybreak one morning we heard a commotion about the home of our staid neighbors. Our attention was attracted by their shrill outcries and the whir of their wings among the branches overhead. It had no sooner grown light enough to see, than we pushed back the flap of the tent door and peered out to ascertain the cause of disdisturbance.

It soon became apparent that a little tecolote, or ground owl, at the approach of day had taken lodging in the hollow