78 THE GOLDEN-WINGED WOODPECKER. 



just before the full, and in front of the green is a bright 

 train of silvery clouds, tinted with the lingering hues of a 

 rosy sunset. 



I am traversing the border of a large tract of woods, 

 when, high above the rest of the trees, in the tops of the tower- 

 ing elms, I discern the form and flight of the Golden-winged 

 Woodpecker (Colaptes auratus), a bird but occasionally seen 

 in this locality in winter. Silent and shy, he makes off as 

 fast as convenient, keeping to the tops of the tallest trees. 

 I strain my eyes for a last glimpse of him, but he soon 

 vanishes in the gloaming. 



What a train of recollections and associations that mo- 

 mentary flight recalls! Next to the Robin, Bluebird, or 

 Barn Swallow, few members of the feathered tribes are bet- 

 ter known than "Flicker," "High-hole," "Yellow-hammer," 

 etc., for the Golden-wing is known by all these names. 

 His several notes are among the most characteristic sounds 

 of spring, at which time he is thoroughly noisy. Com- 

 ing from the south in large numbers late in March or 

 early in April, ascending some tall, dry tree-top at early 

 dawn, he announces himself either by a sonorous rapping 

 on the dry wood or by a loud squealing, but jovial call, 

 chee-ah, chee-ah which, once noted, is not easily forgotten. But 

 even this latter is not half so awakening as a certain pro- 

 longed strain, of merely two syllables in regular repetition, 

 something like whric'k-ah whric'k-ah whrick-ah whrick- 

 ah whric'k-ah whric'k-ah. This vocal performance, meant 

 for a song no doubt, is a mere rollicking racket toned 

 down, indeed, amidst the many voices of spring, and 

 even rendered pleasing by its good-natured hilarity. How 

 significant is that little love-note, yu-cak, half guttural, 

 half whisper, which he repeats at intervals as he flits 

 about the solitude of the forest in spring, or plays bo- 



