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country, his first labor is to construct a home wherein to spend the 

 cold, dark night. I have often watched him at work, and have found 

 that he is apt to remain for several days in the vicinity of his burrow. 

 Let me give a chapter of Downy's history, copied from my note-book: 

 I first saw him at half-past four o'clock, on the afternoon of February 

 20, 1878. At that time he had burrowed a very little way into a pear- 

 tree — just made a beginning — at a height of about four feet from the 

 ground. When I returned, in less than a couple of hours, he had 

 entirely disappeared from view, except when he came to the top of 

 his mine, and dropped the chips which resulted from his labors down 

 below. When I visited the place by daylight, I found a smoothly-fin- 

 ished cavity such as is used for the purpose of nidiflcation, and the 

 ground covered with chips, but no Downy was in sight. Shortly after 

 sunset I again visited the nest, and found him snugly ensconced 

 within the cavity, with his bill warmly tucked away amongst the 

 feathers, which latter were rufl'ed up so as to look like a black and 

 white ball, with a red-napped head tucked in the middle. While 

 sleeping, his whole frame heaved at every breath, so profound was 

 his slumber. I summoned a friend to come and see my Woodpecker: 

 after watching him a while, our voices awoke him, when he flew 

 swiftly out, and lit upon a pear-tree close by, whence, after a lapse of 

 five minutes, during which time he remained perfectly motionless, he 

 returned to the burrow. 



March 1st, I visited Downy at 5.50 o'clock a. m., and found him 

 still sleeping soundly, although the Bluebirds were already singing, 

 and the Crows flying in flocks overhead. I waited for one hour to 

 find out his time of rising. At 6.50 o'clock, I heard an admonitory 

 tapping upon the inside of the tree — a waking-up process analogous 

 to our bathing and dressing, doubtless. A moment later, his head 

 appeared at the entrance to his burrow, whence, after a jerky salu- 

 tation to the first sunrise of spring, he hied him forth to his day's toil. 

 At first, he lit on a pear-tree near by, tapped sleepily at the branch, 

 ascended to the top of it, looked curiously at me, and then took a 

 long flight over into the woods, where I soon heard his loud notes. 

 Downy is not an early riser! On March 3d, I made the following 

 note : " This evening at half-past five o'clock, I visited the Downy 

 Woodpecker, and found him sound asleep in his hole, clinging to the 

 side of the cavity, with head thrown over to one side and nestling 

 amongst the feathers, showing conspicuously the crimson feathers of 

 the nape. The feathers of the breast were deeply creased down the 

 middle. As ray warm breath reached him, his chest stopped heaving, 

 and, with a swiftness that was astonishing as contrasted with his 

 previous deep slumber, he tkrew out his neck and head, but, as I in- 

 stantly retired, he did not leave the burrow, nor, probably, find out 



