HAIRY WOODPECKER. 93 



flowering marsh and laughing meadow, clings 

 close to the side of a stub, as if the very sun him- 

 self moved around a tree trunk ! 



But who knows how much these grave mono- 

 maniacs have discovered that lies a sealed book 



to all the world besides ? Why should we scorn 

 them ? They are philosophers ! They have the se- 

 cret of happiness. Any bird could be joyous with 

 plenty of blue sky and sunshine, and the poets, 

 from Chaucer to Wordsworth, have relaxed their 

 brows at the sight of a daisy ; but what does the 

 happy goldfinch know of the wonders of tree 

 trunks, and what poet could find inspiration in a 

 dead stub on a bleak November day ? Jack Frost 

 sends both thrush and goldfinch flying south, and 



