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 J'uly, 1913 THE ALL-DAY T,ST AT SANTA BARBARA 155 entirely white save for the black tip of the bill, which still marks the last' stage preceding maturity, and the other with plumage of a dirty white cast. Still an- other of this species was seen later in the day on the beach near .Carpinteria, some ten miles to the eastward. The sandy stretch along the boulevard, where at least a thousand automo- biles pass daily at this dull season and three thousand in the tourist season, yield- ed five new species; viz., Semipalmated Plover, Hudsonfan Curlew, Forster Tern, Sanderling, and Snowy Plover--the last-named resident and breeding.. But still we had only 87. The fortunes of the day hinged upon the behavior of Sandylands, Mr. Stewart Edward White's waterfront stretch near Carpinteria. A line of sand dunes backed by a shallow lagoon and extended into a low spit, had usually treat- ed us well; but there was no predicting this day, and the wind was blowing al- most a gale. Belding Marsh Sparrow, California Brown Pelican, and Hyper- onca Blue Heron were certainties, but Black-bellied Plovers and the Turnstones were more gracious materializations, while the Snowy Egret was a gem of gen- erosity. This wary bird cherishes its skin more carefully than the Last of the Mohicans, and I verily believe he is the same one who showed up at this time last year. We left at 4:3 1,. r. 'with Squawk ranking as 99. A surly road boss spread- ing asphalt on the Summerland road intercepted our Santa Barbara-ward flight and sent us around by E1 Toro Canyon over a very Hades of bumps--thus losing us fifteen minutes of the precious daylight. If the list is one short it is the fault of that Plutonian taskmaster. From Ortega Hill I scanned the sea and succeeded in locating a single West- ern Grebe, No. IOO. Here is where I cheated the boy, quite unintentionally; for I monopolized the glasses until the Grebe was gone. So Master Will mourns that his list falls one short of his daddy's, for otherwise he checked up on every one. So surely as you pass the hundred point, you get interested, enthusiastic, ex- cited. You are making history and you know it. Every bird is a godsend, and you watch the descending sun like an anxious Joshua.. Cedar Birds ! Bless them ! Forty plump bodies ranged on a telegraph wire by the roadside on purpose to be listed. The Beale Estero, approached cautiously from the north side, yields Greater Yellowlegs, Spotted Sandpiper, and an able-bodied Pintail at one clip, while an Eared Grebe bobs up by the roadside as we cross the outlet, and it submits to a delighted scrutiny. All sail now for the Mission Hill! We know a bank where the wild Rufous-crowned Sparrow grows, and we'll make it by sundown or crack ,a cylinder. Or-by the way, Sonny, we flushed a Poorwill the other day from that field the other side of the new Normal School, didn't we? Well, we'll try for that, first. Poor Will wouldn't; but just as we were about to heave a very much aspirated sigh, "click buzzz,z tsip" came from a Western Grasshopper Sparrow. De!ighted to meet you, Buzzy. Come again! Now up the winding road to Rufous-crowned Sparrowburg! And just as the lower limb of the sun plunged into the western sea, we silenced the motor and listened to the evening offering of the titled singer himself. Twice he held forth in those exquisite sweet strains and then plunged into the thicket for the night. Our work was done at 6:37, and the Jolly Ellen rolled her soft shoes home- ward to her dreamless stall. The record was IO7, although we still had hopes; not vain ones either, for at eight o'clock when we came forth from dinner to test the