as I am. If there be that spark of
feeling in your breast which they say man possesses, or ought to possess,
above all other animals, do a poor injured creature a little kindness,
and watch me in your woods only for one day. I never wound your healthy
trees. I should perish for want in the attempt. The sound bark would
easily resist the force of my bill: and were I even to pierce through it,
there would be nothing 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 lodgment 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 unsuspected 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, O spare the unoffending woodpecker."

In the rivers, and different creeks, you number six species of the
kingfisher. 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 day. Though their plumage
is prettily varied, still it falls far short of the brilliancy displayed
by the English kingfisher. This little native of Britain would outweigh
them altogether in the scale of beauty.

A bird called jacamar is often taken for a kingfisher, but it has no
relationship to that tribe; it frequently sits in the trees over the
water, and as its beak bears some resemblance to that of the kingfisher,
this may probably account for its being taken for one; it feeds entirely
upon insects; it sits on a branch in motionless expectation, and as soon
as a fly, butterfly,