112 



WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA. 



inside that I could fancy, or my stomach, digest. I 

 often visit them, it is true, but a knock or two convince 

 me that I must go elsewhere for support ; and were you 

 to listen attentively to the sound which my bill causes, 

 you would know whether I am upon a healthy or an 

 unhealthy tree. Wood and bark are not my food. I 

 live entirely upon the insects which have already formed 

 a lodgement in the distempered tree. When the sound 

 informs me that my prey is there, I labour for hours 

 together till I get at it : and by consuming it, for my 

 own support, I prevent its further depredations in that 

 part. Thus I discover for you your hidden and un- 

 suspected foe, which has been devouring your wood in 

 such secrecy, that you had not the least suspicion it 

 was there. The hole which I make in order to get at 

 the pernicious vermin, will be seen by you as you pass 

 under the tree. I leave it as a signal to tell you, that 

 your tree has already stood too long. It is past its 

 prime. Millions of insects, engendered by disease, are 

 preying upon its vitals. Ere long it will fall a log in 

 useless ruins. Warned by this loss, cut down the rest 

 in time, and spare, spare the unoffending wood- 

 pecker." 



In the rivers, and different creeks, you 

 fis'S 8 King " lllimDer S1X species of the King-fisher. They. 



make their nest in a hole in the sand on the 

 side of the bank. As there is always plenty of foliage 

 to protect them from the heat of the sun, they feed at 

 all hours of the clay. Though their plumage is prettily 

 varied, still it falls far short of the brilliancy dis- 

 played by the English >king-fisher. This little native 

 of Britain would outweigh them altogether in the scale 

 of beauty. 



