THE CUCKOO AND HER NEST. 



" KooJc^ Jcook, kook-kook-kooh-Jcook ! " 

 Such is the far-away call that often comes from 

 the woods in a kind of hollow, gurgling tone, 

 almost any day in spring or summer. It is the 

 song, if it can be called that, of the yellow-billed 

 cuckoo, alias rain-crow, alia% rain-dove, alia% chow- 

 chow. Owing to a certain perversity in human 

 nature, the cuckoo is looked upon by many persons 

 as a bird of ill-omen like the raven. And I see no 

 reason why. If his quaint and somewhat plaintive 

 call is really a prophecy of rain, it should be a wel- 

 come sound fully as often as an unwelcome one, 

 for what is more refreshing than the summer 

 shower when the earth is parched with drought? 



Perhaps I am so partial to the birds tliat my 

 judgment is blinded, but I cannot bring mj^self to 

 feel disdain for any creature that has pinions. I 

 even feel a kind of undercurrent of admiration for 

 that nuisance in feathers, the English sparrow, 



on account of his pluck and energy, his saucy, 



175 



