True, we have nowhere read of a
human lover's serenading his mistress with a drum; but we must remember
what creatures of convention men are, and that there is no inherent
reason why a drum should not serve as well as a flute for such a
purpose.

"All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
_All_ are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame."

I saw two of these flickers clinging to the trunk of a shell-bark tree;
which, by the way, is a tree after the woodpecker's own heart. One was
perhaps fifteen feet above the other, and before each was a strip of
loose bark, a sort of natural drum-head. First, the lower one "beat his
music out," rather softly. Then, as he ceased, and held his head back
to listen, the other answered him; and so the dialogue went on.
Evidently, they were already mated, and were now renewing their mutual
vows; for birds, to their praise be it spoken, believe in courtship
after marriage. The day happened to be Sunday, and it did occur to me
that possibly this was the woodpeckers' ritual,--a kind of High Church
service, with antiphonal choirs. But I dismissed the thought; for, on
the whole, the shouting seems more likely to be diagnostic, and in spite
of his gold-lined wings, I have set the flicker down as almost certainly
an old-fashioned Methodist.

Speaking of courtship after marriage, I am reminded of a spotted
sandpiper, whose capers I amused myself with watching, one day last
June, on the shore of Saco Lake. As I caught sight of him, he was
straightening himself up, with a pretty, self-conscious air, at the same
time spreading his white-edged tail, and calling, _Tweet, tweet,
tweet_.[18] Afterwards he got upon a log, where, with head erect and
wings thrown forward and downward, he ran for a yard or two, calling as
before. This trick seemed especially to please him, and was several
times repeated. He ran rapidly, and with a comical prancing movement;
but nothing he did was half so laughable as the behavior of his mate,
who all this while dressed her feathers without once deigning to look at
her spouse's performance. Undoubtedly they had been married for several
weeks, and she was, by this time, well used to his nonsense. It must be
a devoted husband, I fancy, who continues to offer attentions when they
are received in such a spirit.

Walking a log is a somewhat common practice with birds. I once detected
our little golden-crowned thrus