then most of us are alien to the woods. The 



Town -dwellers and homestayers know little Awakener 



or nothing of the secret signals. It is only 



the obvious that they note, and seldom read 



in the great Script of Nature anything more 



than the conventional signature of certain 



loved and familiar names and tokens. 



It was in the Forest of Fontainebleau I 

 first heard the green woodpecker called by 

 this delightful name, the Awakener of the 

 Woods, le Reveitteur de la Foret. My 

 French friend told me it was not a literary 

 name, as I fancied, but one given by the 

 foresters. And how apt it is. In the first 

 weeks of March in the first week of April, 

 it may be, as the scene moves northward 

 there is no more delightful, and certainly no 

 more welcome, sound than the blithe bugle- 

 call of the green woodpecker calling through 

 the woods for love, and, after long expectant 

 pauses, hearing love call back in thrilling 

 response, now a flute-note of gladness, now a 

 challenging clarion-cry. True, whether in the 

 vast forest of Fontainebleau or in our northern 

 woods, the woodpecker is not so readily to be 

 heard in the inward solitudes. He loves the 

 open glades, and commonly the timbered 

 park-land is his favourite resort. Still, save 

 in the deepest and darkest woods, that 

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