ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 47 



race. Then up from a hedge go two of the birds, 

 beak to beak, towering like butterflies, but fight- 

 ing to far more purpose. They come down locked 

 to the ground, from which only one flies away. 

 I pick up the other, and find as I feared that one 

 of its eyes has been pecked sightless. It is some 

 minutes before the poor thing can recover and 

 fly away, all its warlike pride for the time being 

 destroyed. 



Every one desires to sing on such a day as this. 

 Even the rook, which at other times never attempts 

 more than plain speech, and that none of the 

 sweetest, ^ comes to his love with drooping wing 

 and upspread tail, bowing like a ring-dove and 

 ' caw-caw-cawing ' in an absurd attempt to play 

 ' Home, sweet Home ' on one note. 



The woodpecker is far wiser. He knows that 

 his voice is a poor one, and he makes the woods 

 ring with a very pretty piece of instrumental 

 music. The great spotted - woodpecker is par- 

 ticularly industrious and successful. Choosing 

 the most resonant piece of dead wood in the 

 whole country-side, he comes to it again and 

 again at intervals of a few minutes throughout 

 the day, and makes a rattle upon it that stirs 

 the heart of nature like a violin, not merely through 

 the drum of the ear, but through the nerves of the 

 skin. He is a solitary bird and a rare bird, but 

 at length his far-ringing call reaches the ear of 

 another. She comes near and answers the call 

 with a like vibration on another tree, and some 



