22 HAMPSHIRE DAYS 



cuckoo, as if the robin weighed no more than a feather 

 on him; and away backwards he went, right up the 

 nest, without a pause, and standing actually on the 

 rim, jerked his body, causing the robin to fall off, 

 clean away from the nest. It fell, in fact, on to a 

 large dock leaf five inches below the rim of the nest, 

 and rested there. 



After getting rid of his burden the cuckoo continued 

 in the same position, perfectly rigid, for a space of 

 five or six seconds, during which it again and again 

 violently jerked its body, as if it had the feeling of 

 the burden on it still. Then, the fit over, it fell back, 

 exhausted as usual. 



I had been singularly fortunate in witnessing the 

 last scene and conclusion of this little bloodless tragedy 

 in a bird's nest, with callow nestlings for dramatis 

 persons, this innocent crime and wrong, which is not 

 a wrong since the cuckoo doesn't think it one. It is 

 a little curious to reflect that a similar act takes place 

 annually in tens of thousands of small birds' nests all 

 over the country, and that it is so rarely witnessed. 



Marvellous as the power of the young cuckoo is 

 when the fit is on him, it is of course limited, and 

 when watching his actions I concluded that it would 

 be impossible for him to eject eggs and nestlings from 

 any thrush's nest. The blackbird's would be too deep, 

 and as to the throstle's, he could not move backwards 

 up the sides of the cup-like cavity on account of the 

 smooth plastered surface. 



After having seen the young robin cast out I still 



