THE GREATER SPOTTED WOODPECKER. 477 



July 26th. After performing his ablutions, which he always 

 enjoys immensely, the Woodpecker clings to the bark almost 

 motionless until half- dried, when he begins to plume himself. 

 He has now begun to develop secretive tendencies. His supply 

 of bread and milk ran short in my absence yesterday ; con- 

 sequently he had reproached my landlady (who discovered the 

 oversight) with additional bitterness, because there was no five- 

 o'clock tea that day. To-day he has stowed away, in crevices of 

 the cork, all the bread and milk that was left after his breakfast. 

 He has eaten some red currants to-day, their skin being first 

 broken : he generally bolts the skin and pulp together. 



July 29th. After lunch to-day I gave the Woodpecker some 

 mealworms, all of which he crushed, even one which had only 

 just shed its skin. " Jack," I said, " do you want a grub, old 

 fellow?" " Kuck, kuck!" he responded; "indeed I do." He 

 then pecked my finger for more. He is, however, losing much of 

 his tameness with me ; he has never lost his dread of strangers, 

 my landlady (a precious soul, as fond of the Woodpecker as 

 myself, and ever as solicitous for his comfort as for mine) being 

 the one person besides me whom he trusts. We form, in fact, a 

 "triple alliance"; but if either of the bipeds approach him in 

 unwonted head-gear, his confidence flies at once. He recognises 

 me best by my voice, but knows my footstep also, and calls me 

 if he hears me open the door quietly with my latch-key. 



On August 4th I placed the Woodpecker in a small outdoor 

 aviary. Being heavily taxed with parish work, I found less time 

 than ever to bestow on him, and he became very wild and shy, 

 at least comparatively so. When I entered the aviary, I used 

 to see a bright diamond iris peering cautiously round the tree- 

 trunks ; if I was alone, he sidled round and took the mealworms 

 from my fingers ; if I placed them in a small pan, he would 

 descend to terra firma and carry them back to the tree. Only 

 once during all my study of him did he descend to the ground to 

 pick up a dropped insect ; the exception occurred in the aviary, 

 and it was after an unsuccessful attempt to catch it across his 

 legs. On the ground, as on lattice-work, he progressed by hops. 

 He generally slept in the corner of a ledge, under the eaves of 

 the aviary. Both in the cage and aviary he occasionally sat 

 crosswise on a bough, a trait that I have noticed in the wild state 

 in Newnham Park, near Oxford. He lived on excellent terms 



