Hints to Audubon Workers. 



35 



Late in December I have seen a flock 

 of them flying over the meadows with the 

 rhythmical undulating motion of the gold- 

 finches, twittering ter-ra-lee, ter-7'a-lee, ter- 

 ra-lee as they went. Now and then they 

 would light for a moment to pick at the 

 seeds appearing above the snow, but soon 

 they would fly on toward the north. 



HAIRY WOODPECKER. 



The habits of the woodpecker family are 

 more distinctive than those of almost any 

 group of the birds we have been consider- 

 ing. Of course the finches suggest a seed- 

 cracking bill, thickset bodies, and compar- 

 atively phlegmatic temperaments, that con- 

 trast strangely with the delicate bill, the 

 slender frame and nervous temper of the 

 warblers ; and the sparrows coming under 

 the finch group, emphasize the difference 

 by their dull colors and heavy flight. So 

 the families of thrushes, blackbirds, swal- 

 lows, and wrens stand apart ; but many of 

 their distinguishing features are found only 

 by careful study, while the most super- 

 ficial observer cannot fail to recognize the 

 family traits of the woodpeckers. 



Woodpeckers — the very name proclaims 

 them unique. The vireo daintily picks his 

 measure-worm from the green leaves, and 

 steals birch bark for his hammock ; the 

 robin drags his fish-worm from its hiding 

 place in the sod, and carols his happiness 

 to every sunrise and sunset ; the sparrow 

 eats crumbs in the dooryard and builds his 

 nest in a sweet briar ; the thrushes chant 

 their matins among the moss and ferns of 

 the shadowy forest ; the ovenbirds and 

 chewinks "rustle" among the rich brown 

 leaves of the woods ; the goldfinch balances 

 himself on the pink thistle or yellow mul- 

 lein top, while he makes them " pay toll " 

 for his visit, and then saunters through the 

 air in the abandonment of blue skies and 

 sunshine. The meadowlark, looking for 

 breakfast, sends up his song from among 

 the cowslips ; the redwing " flutes his o-ka- 



lee" over alders and cat-tails; the bobo- 

 link, forgetting everything else, rollicks 

 among the buttercups and daisies ; but the 

 woodpecker finds his larder under the hard 

 bark of the trees, and, oblivious to sunrise 

 and sunset, flowering marsh and laughing 

 meadow, clings close to the side of a tree, 

 as if the very sun himself moved round a 

 dead stub ! 



But who knows how much these grave 

 monomaniacs have discovered that is a 

 sealed book to all the world besides ? Why 

 should we call them names ? They are phi- 

 losophers ! They have the secret of happi- 

 ness. 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 won- 

 ders 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 the 

 poets shut their study doors in his face, 

 drawing their armchairs up to the hearth 

 while they rail at November. But the wise 

 hairy woodpecker clings to the side of a 

 tree and fluffing his feathers about his toes 

 makes the woods reverberate with his cheery 

 song — for it is a song, and bears an impor- 

 tant part in nature's orchestra. Its rhyth- 

 mical rat tap, tap, tap, tap, not only beats 

 time for the chickadees and nuthatches, but 

 is a reveille that sets all the winter blood 

 tingling in our veins. There the hardy 

 drummer stands, beating away on the wood 

 with all the enjoyment of a drum major! 

 How handsome he looks with the scarlet 

 cap on the back of his head, and what a 

 fine show the white central stripe makes 

 against the glossy black of his back ! 



Who can say how much this brave fellow 

 has learned from the wood spirits ? What 

 does he care for rain or blinding storm? 

 He can never lose his way. No woodsman 

 need tell him how the hemlock branches 

 tip, or how to use a lichen compass. 



