By Leafy Ways. 35 



Now in the far recesses of the woodland sounds the 

 coo of a ringdove, where 



1 In some nook of shadowed swaying greenness, 

 her 



. . . calm voice deepeneth the holy hush.' 



The cuckoo still is calling, but at longer intervals. 

 His utterance is less clear than it was ; he stammers 

 now and then, and his voice is apt to fail him at his 

 second syllable. We shall not hear him much longer. 

 He will soon be silent altogether, and some moonlight 

 night will vanish unseen. The young birds stay much 

 later than their parents, even as late as September. 



In many a little woodland circle the appearance of 

 a young cuckoo, like an elfin changeling, has been 

 attended with dire results. For one of the earliest 

 concerns of the newly-hatched stranger is to make 

 room for himself by shouldering his foster-brothers 

 and sisters over the edge of the nest, to perish miser- 

 ably on the ground. He by this means absorbs the 

 undivided attention of his nurses, who, long after he 

 leaves the nest, full grown and strong of wing, will 

 follow and feed him ; and, with the assistance of their 

 equally infatuated friends and neighbours, will slave 

 from dawn to dark for their young monster, while 

 with gaping mouth and widespread wings he cries 

 unceasingly for food. 



Satisfactory reasons for the parasitic habits of the 

 cuckoo seem yet to seek, although it is just a century 



32 



