THE CUCKOO.
[TO THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."] SIR,—May I supplement your correspondent's account of the cuckoo by our own experience this summer ? A wagtail built in the ivy on our school chapel, and laid, as we supposed, six eggs. Much as I wished for one for our collection, I felt that the nest was too much "in sanctuary," and left them alone ; and one Sunday all but one were hatched. This last came out on Monday evening, and on Tuesday morning I visited the nest; and behold ! all but one of the young ones were dead,—some on the ground, and some in the nest. I called for my brother, and he and the gardener came up and took the survivor, which was quite a different colour, and much bigger than the corpses, out of the nest, and my brother at once said it must be a cuckoo. So it proved to be, and was for three weeks a great source of interest and amusement to us all, especially as it grew and fledged; and the boys were taken to see it most days in detachments. The poor little wagtails had a hard time of it, as it had an enormous appetite. I tried to help them by feeding it twice a day with chopped-up egg, which the little monster swallowed voraciously down its huge and bright-orange throat. It grew to about the size of a pigeon, and one evening, on being a little teased, it suddenly flew away, and was only seen once again on the railing, with the patient wagtails still supplying it with food.—I am, Sir, &c., E. E. B.
Previous page
