PERCHING BIRDS, 157 
On the 20th of August, 1860, I witnessed with great 
interest a pied wagtail feeding a young cuckoo. I was 
crossing the bridge in the village, when I saw the cuckoo 
perched on the upper rail of a fence which divided the 
meadow from the stream, the spot where it sat being 
about fifteen yards below the bridge. The stream was 
shallow and partially filled with weed-beds, and on 
these the wagtail was running in its usual rapid manner, 
seizing first one insect and then another, which it directly 
conveyed to its foster-child on the fence. There the 
great overgrown baby sat, eagerly receiving the food 
from its tiny friend, but looking far more able to provide 
for itself. I stood on the bridge watching the pair for a 
quarter of an hour, and during the whole of this time 
the wagtail was constantly feeding the cuckoo, which sat 
so quietly that I thought it was unable to fly far, and 
that perhaps I might effect its capture. I accordingly 
got over the hedge into the meadow, and went cautiously 
towards the spot, which it allowed me to do until I was 
about three yards from it, when it flew off and settled 
on a pump that stood in the meadow at a short distance. 
The poor wagtail seemed distressed, and followed it to 
the pump, where it again resumed its feeding. On my 
approaching a little nearer it again took flight, but with 
such strength of wing as to convince me that I had been 
mistaken in thinking I could make it a prisoner. It 
settled on the top of an alder tree, and from there flew 
out of sight, the little wagtail faithfully following in its 
wake. It was evidently a strong, vigorous bird, equal 
to a long flight, and would doubtless soon take its 
departure. 
Some have supposed that the cry of the cuckoo 
is only uttered by the male bird, but this has been 
