THE KETURN OF THE BIRDS 9 



sensible to the wooing of the spring, and, like the 

 partridge, testifies his appreciation of melody after 

 quite a primitive fashion. Passing through the 

 woods on some clear, still morning in March, while 

 the metallic ring and tension of winter are still in 

 the earth and air, the silence is suddenly broken by 

 long, resonant hammering upon a dry limb or stub. 

 It is Downy beating a reveille to spring. In the 

 utter stillness and amid the rigid forms we listen 

 with pleasure; and, as it comes to my ear oftener 

 at this season than at any other, I freely exonerate 

 the author of it from the imputation of any gastro- 

 nomic motives, and credit him with a genuine musi- 

 cal performance. 



It is to be expected, therefore, that "yellow- 

 hammer " will respond to the general tendency, and 

 contribute his part to the spring chorus. His April 

 call is his finest touch, his most musical expres- 

 sion. 



I recall an ancient maple standing sentry to a 

 large sugar-bush, that, year after year, afforded 

 protection to a brood of yellow-hammers in its 

 decayed heart. A week or two before the nesting 

 seemed actually to have begun, three or four of 

 these birds might be seen, on almost any bright 

 morning, gamboling and courting amid its decayed 

 branches. Sometimes you would hear only a gen- 

 tle persuasive cooing, or a quiet confidential chat- 

 tering, — then that long, loud call, taken up by 

 first one, then another, as they sat about upon the 

 naked limbs, — anon, a sort of wild, rollicking 



