A FLY-CATCHING WOODPECKER. 133 



some kind of a flying insect and then flits back 

 to his starting point or to the bare tip of the 

 other tree. In the space between the tops of 

 these oaks is the bird's hunting ground. No 

 need for him to peck and hammer for grubs to- 

 day. Mature insects, fat and juicy, are flitting 

 by, and only a long swing, an open mouth, a 

 click of the bill, and a dart to a perch are neces- 

 sary to secure a dinner. He is too busy to even 

 scold, and not a sound has he uttered during the 

 time I have watched his movements. 



Carlyle, in his Sartor Resartus, likens our 

 sun to a porch lamp which lightens one little 

 corner of a limitless universe. That corner 

 through which the earth and other planets con- 

 tinually pass in their movements about the sun, 

 is large enough for my comprehension without 

 going beyond into the realms of other suns. 



From Sartor Resartus to the grasshoppers 

 loafing in the sunshine on the sides of the tree- 

 trunks is a long descent, yet the human brain, 

 in its activity, leaps boundless chasms. I note 

 a pair of the grizzly locust, 32 on the bole of the 



sa Melanoplus punctulatus (Uhler). 



