UNDER THE MAPLES 



That strain of parasitism in the blood of the 

 cuckoo — how long in the history of its race since 

 it mastered it and became its own nest-builder? 

 But a crude and barbarous nest-builder it certainly 

 is. Its "procreant cradle" is built entirely of the 

 twigs of the thorn-tree, with all their sharp needle- 

 like spines upon them, some of the twigs a foot long, 

 bristling with spines, certainly the most forbidding- 

 looking nest and nursery I ever beheld — a mere 

 platform of twigs about four inches across, carpeted 

 with a little shredded brown fibrous material, look- 

 ing as if made from the inner bark of some tree, 

 perhaps this very thorn. 



In the total absence of the tent caterpillar or 

 apple-tree worm, which is their favorite food, 

 cuckoos seem to succeed in finding a large green 

 worm here in the orchard. In the beech woods 

 they can find a forest worm that is riddling the 

 leaves of the beeches. The robins are there in 

 force and I hope the cuckoos will join them in the 

 destruction of the worms. It is interesting to see 

 the cuckoo fly by several times a day with a big 

 green worm in its beak. Inefficient as it seems, 

 here it is doing things. It is like seeing a monk at 

 the plough-handle. It is a solemn creature; its 

 note is almost funereal. 



Our indigo bunting is as artful and secretive 

 about its nesting-habits as any of the sparrows. 

 The male bird seems to know that his brilliant 



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