THE CUCKOO.

AMONG the natural phenomena which mark the return of spring, few are more interesting than the reappearance of the birds of passage. Of these periodical visitants, the cuckoo is one of the most familiar and remarkable, whether we consider the peculiarity of its song, or the strange and apparently unnatural mode of providing a nest and sustenance for its young.

"This proceeding of the cuckoo," says White, of Selborne, that prince of observers, "of dropping its eggs as it were by chance, is such a monstrous outrage on natural affection, one of the first dictates of nature, and such a violence on instinct, that had it only been related of a bird in the Brazils or Peru, it would never have merited our belief. But yet, should it farther appear that this simple bird, when divested of that natural storgé (affection) that seems to raise the kind in general above themselves, and inspire them with extraordinary degrees of cunning and address, may still be endued with a more enlarged faculty of discerning what species are suitable and congenerous nursing-mothers for its disregarded eggs and young, and may deposit them only under their care, this would be adding wonder to wonder, and instancing in a fresh manner that the methods of Providence are not subjected to any mode or rule, but astonish us in new lights, and in various and changeable appearances."

The allusion in this fine passage is to the very remarkable circumstance, that the cuckoo drops her eggs only in the nests of those birds which have soft bills and feed on insects, and, like herself, have thin membranaceous stomachs suited to their soft food; while she avoids the nests of those birds that feed on grain and have strong muscular gizzards, which, like mills, grind by the help of small gravels and pebbles what is swallowed. The cuckoo

is not so furnished, and keeps away from the birds that grind their grain.

An anatomist once professed to have discovered the cause of the cuckoo not hatching its own eggs, in a peculiar arrangement of the breast-bone and of the intestines, which must render incubation painful. Were this the case, it would only add another illustration of creative design for special ends. But more accurate observers have shown that the same peculiarities of structure are found in many birds which do hatch their eggs; and there are other parasitical birds, with no anatomical arrangements that can in the slightest degree explain their habits.

The cuckoo arrives in our island generally about the middle of April, and by the first of July has taken its departure for Northern Africa. The Bishop of Norwich, in his Familiar History of Birds,' records an instance of about forty cuckoos being congregated in a garden, in the county of Down, from the 18th to the 22nd of July, and, with the exception of two, which were smaller than the rest, taking their departure at that time.

The cuckoo, after the season of incubation, loses his well-known note, which gradually becomes more inarticulate as the season advances.

The well-known ode, by Logan, contains so many beautiful specimens of "rural sights and rural sounds," associated with the cuckoo, that hardly any lover of nature would grudge to get it by heart.

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Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers;

And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.

"The school-boy wandering through the wood,
To pluck the primrose gay,
Starts-thy curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

"What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest the vocal vale,

And annual guest in other lands,
Another Spring to hail.

"Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear:

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year.

O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee;
We'd make, with social wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the SPRING."

If not in the same measured language, at least with as much truth, speaks the old doggrel rhyme :

"In April,

Come he will;

In May,

He sings all day;

In June,

He changes his tune;

In July,

Off he'll fly;

But in August,
Go he must."

Though the time of arrival here stated may be received as generally correct, it is yet certain that if the cuckoo does not sometimes

arrive much earlier in this country, he occasionally remains all winter with us. At Malvern, as recorded in the 'Naturalist,' it was seen and heard on the 12th of January, 1851. At page 114 of the first volume of that journal, a writer from Fleetwood states:"During a walk with my friend R. C., I saw a cuckoo flying across the fields below the church. Having pointed it out to him, he told me he had heard one calling only a few minutes before, but did not mention the circumstance, fearing that I should laugh at the idea of his hearing the cuckoo in the depth of winter. The day was remarkably mild, which was quite a treat, the weather having been very stormy for a long time." This occurred at Ormskirk, on the 28th of December, 1833. The same writer states that "the "Liverpool Courier' of January 1st, 1834, contained a paragraph to the effect that the cuckoo had been heard in Rutlandshire during the preceding week." Though the cold climate of Scotland be not over-tempting to birds of passage, the cuckoo, as we learn from the 'Ayr Advertiser,' was seen "flitting about the plantations of Seafield," near that town, early in March, 1852. Two naturalists heard it also in Scotland; the one on the 10th, and the other on the 12th of the same month. Even the time of departure cannot be settled with any degree of nicety, for though "in August fly he must," he has not unfrequently been seen in September. A young one was shot in Devonshire on the 12th of that month, in 1851, having in his gizzard at the time "about twenty half-digested hairy caterpillars." Eight days later another fell by the hands of the fowler in Wokingham. Another was seen, but not slain, near Shelly, in Suffolk, in the second week of September. Besides these, numerous instances occur; but as the above are recorded by naturalists, they may be with perfect security quoted. The general conclusion on the subject seems to be, that the cuckoo arrives from the beginning of April to the first week in May, and leaves England in July and August, with the exception of a few solitary

individuals who come sooner, linger later, or, it may be, winter in the island.

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The well-known call of the cuckoo was long supposed to be peculiar to the male bird. The writer of the article on this bird in the British Cyclopædia' says that, "generally speaking, he is pretty confident that the hen-bird does not utter the note," and adds, "there is, however, another cry, which certainly is repeated by both sexes, though most frequently by the female cuckoo; it may be expressed by the sound cul or cuil, repeated several times in rapid succession." Modern observers incline to the belief that the note is common to both sexes, though it may be possessed in a greater degree by the one than the other. The common couplet among the country people in some parts of Yorkshire

"The cuckoo is a pretty bird, and sings as she flies;

She brings us good news, and tells us no lies "

throws the balance as much in favour of the female as naturalists have hitherto done on the side of the male bird.

The most peculiar characteristic of the cuckoo, and one in which it stands almost alone, is its want of those feelings or instincts, so strong in the majority of birds, which prompt to the formation of a nest, the incubation of their eggs, and the rearing of their young. With the exception of the American cattle-bird, or cow-bunting (Malothrus pecoris), a bird of the starling family, the cuckoo is the only bird which does not perform these functions. The egg of the cuckoo is small, considering the size of the bird, not exceeding that of the skylark. This seems a provision of nature to ensure its incubation. Were it larger, it would be readily detected in the nest of the hedge-sparrow, titlark, robin, wagtail, red-warbler, or other bird, into which it is thrust without leave; and, on the other hand, were it put into the nest of a missel thrush, or blackbird, the young, unfledged offspring would, in all likelihood, be unceremoniously kicked out as soon as he showed his face.