Y6 WINTER NEIGHBORS. 



fice was about fifteen feet from the ground, and ap. 

 peared as round as if struck with a compass. It was 

 on the east side of the tree, so as to avoid the prevail- 

 ing west and northwest winds. As it was nearly two 

 inches in diameter, it could not have been the work of 

 the downy, but must have been that of the hairy, or 

 else the yellow-bellied woodpecker. His home had 

 probably been wrecked by some violent wind, and he 

 was thus providing himself another. In digging out 

 these retreats the woodpeckers prefer a dry, brittle 

 trunk, not too soft. They go in horizontally to the 

 centre and then turn downward, enlarging the tunnel 

 as they go, till when finished it is the shape of a long, 

 deep pear. 



Another trait our woodpeckers have that tndears 

 them to me, and that has never been pointedly noticed 

 by our ornithologists, is their habit of drumming in 

 the spring. They are songless birds, and yet all are 

 musicians ; they make the dry limbs eloquent of the 

 coming change. Did you think that loud, sonorous 

 hammering which proceeded from the orchard or from 

 the near woods on that still March or April morning 

 was only some bird getting its breakfast ? It is downy, 

 but he is not rapping at the door of a grub ; he is rap- 

 ping at the door of spring, and the dry limb thrills 

 beneath the ardor of his blows. Or, later in the sea= 

 son, in the dense forest or by some remote mountain 

 lake, does that measured rhythmic beat that breaks 

 upon the silence, first three strokes following each 

 other rapidly, succeeded by two louder ones with longer 

 intervals between them, and that has an effect upon 

 the alert ear as if the solitude itself had at last found a 

 voice — does that suggest anything less than a delib- 

 erate musical performance? In fact, our woodpecki rs 



