Here we have a picture of Woodpeckers. See how they cling to the bark of the tree with their claws, and how eager the two little ones seem for the prize their mother has just captured. The woodpecker is a bird of very singular habits. It lives upon the insects which exist in the bark of trees, and is remarkably adapted by nature for obtaining this kind of food. Its bill is long and sharp and powerful; and with its hooked claws it clings to the tree while it sways its body to and fro to give force to the strokes of its bill. The object of these strokes is to shake the insects out of the tree, and they are given with wonderful force and in rapid succession. Then the bird thrusts its long tongue into the crevices, and the tongue being barbed at the end and covered with a sort of gum, it secures a vast number of insects as well as their eggs.

In the quiet of the woods the sound of the woodpecker tapping may be heard at a great distance. I remember once, when I was a little girl, being very much frightened by the noise: I will tell you how it happened.

The house where I lived in the country not only had a large garden, but beyond that was a little wood, which we called the shrubbery. This wood had a broad walk winding through it, with seats placed here and there. One beautiful summer morning I and my brother, who was some years older than I was, were sitting together upon one of these seats under the shade of the trees. He was on his way to go out fishing, and was only stopping to do something to his fishing tackle. Wanting a pair of scissors, he sent me into the house to fetch them, ordering me about in the sort of way in which big boys are apt to order their little brothers and sisters.

I soon returned with the scissors, but no longer found my brother where I had left him. The truth is he had gone off on his fishing expedition without waiting for my return. However, I looked about for him, and presently I heard a sound like somebody hitting a tree with a stick. “Ah, ah, so you are hiding, are you, Master Maurice?” thought I; and I looked behind different trees, one after another, thinking every moment to discover him. Then I began to fancy that the sound, although so clear and distinct, was some distance off; so I wandered on, still following it, and looking about as I went. Now and then the tapping ceased, but always went on again after a minute.

At last I began to be frightened, and called out:—“Maurice, dear Maurice, where are you? You are frightening me.” The tapping ceased from that moment, but my alarm did not. That such a noise should have been made without anybody to make it seemed to me very like something supernatural. I began to cry, and at the same time set off running towards home. I dared not look behind me as I ran, and when I reached the house, was at first too frightened and excited even to explain what was the matter. I must tell you that I was only seven years old at that time.

I remember the old gardener said, when he heard the story, that he suspected that it was only a woodpecker tapping; but I refused to believe that a bird could make so loud a noise. It was not till long afterwards, when I happened to both hear and see one, that I became convinced the old gardener was right.

The woodpecker is a handsome bird, about the size of a pigeon, of a greenish colour, with black and white marks upon the wings, and a crimson stain upon the head. It is heard much oftener than seen, for, being very timid, it is ingenious in hiding itself. It does not build a nest like other birds, but seeks for a decayed place in the trunk of some tree, where it scoops out a hole. There Mr. and Mrs. Woodpecker establish their little home: there the eggs are laid, and the young ones are reared.