A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



me of a red-headed woodpecker that drums 

 upon a lightning-rod on his neighbor's house. 

 Nearly every clear, still morning at certain 

 seasons, he says, this musical rapping may 

 be heard. " He alternates his tapping with 

 his stridulous call, and the effect on a cool, 

 autumn-like morning is very pleasing." 



The high-hole appears to drum more pro- 

 miscuously than does downy. He utters 

 his long, loud spring call, whick — whick — 

 whick — whick, and then begins to rap with 

 his beak upon his perch before the last note 

 has reached your ear. I have seen him drum 

 sitting upon the ridge of the barn. The log- 

 cock, or pileated woodpecker, the largest 

 and wildest of our Northern species, I have 

 never heard drum. His blows should wake 

 the echoes. 



When the woodpecker is searching for 

 food, or laying siege to some hidden grub, 

 the sound of his hammer is dead or muffled, 

 and is heard but a few yards. It is only 

 upon dry, seasoned timber, freed of its bark, 

 that he beats his reveille to spring and wooes 

 his mate. 



Wilson was evidently familiar with this 

 vernal drumming of the woodpeckers, but 

 quite misinterprets it. Speaking of the red- 

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