THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS 9 
sensible to the wooing of the spring, and, like the 
partridge, testifies his appreciation of melody after 
quite a primitive fashion. Passing through the 
woods on some clear, still morning in March, while 
the metallic ring and tension of winter are still in 
the earth and air, the silence is suddenly broken by 
long, resonant hammering upon a dry limb or stub. 
It is Downy beating a reveille to spring. In the 
utter stillness and amid the rigid forms we listen 
with pleasure; and, as it comes to my ear oftener 
at this season than at any other, I freely exonerate 
the author of it from the imputation of any gastro- 
nomic motives, and credit him with a genuine musi- 
cal performance. 
It is to be expected, therefore, that ‘“yellow- 
hammer ” will respond to the general tendency, and 
contribute his part to the spring chorus. His April 
call is his finest touch, his most musical expres- 
sion. 
I recall an ancient maple standing sentry to a 
large sugar-bush, that, year after year, afforded 
protection to a brood of yellow-hammers in its 
decayed heart. A week or two before the nesting 
seemed actually to have begun, three or four of 
these birds might be seen, on almost any bright 
morning, gamboling and courting amid its decayed 
branches. Sometimes you would hear only a gen- 
tle persuasive cooing, or a quiet confidential chat- 
tering, — then that long, loud call, taken up by 
first one, then another, as they sat about upon the 
naked limbs, — anon, a sort of wild, rollicking 
