ON THE CORVE 95 



I have often been told that cuckoos never 

 sing on the wing, and I have as often been 

 obliged to contradict that statement. I have 

 seen and heard them too often to accept it as 

 true. Now comes another proof. Yonder are 

 three cuckoos together (an unusual sight) flying 

 across the meadow, not far away, one of them 

 cuckooing all the time. This beautiful bird with 

 the monotonous song is, as you all know, " often 

 heard, but seldom seen"; I was, therefore, glad 

 to see them. It seemed to me as they swung 

 swiftly along that they considered " Two are 

 company, but three are none," for one of the 

 three looked much like an intruder. What a 

 clamour the birds are making in the woods ! 

 Just here, in the bushes, a little mother wren is 

 teaching her brood of twittering young ones 

 how to fly; it is a pretty sight when they are 

 good enough to give me a peep at them. A 

 quist is coo-cooing in the elm above my head, 

 unaware that I am underneath taking notes. 

 Chaffinches are "chirping their solemn matins 

 on each tree," young thrushes just fledged, im- 

 prudent in their innocence, come close up to me, 

 wondering what sort of two-legged creature I 

 may be. Old thrushes are almost too noisy, 

 " warbling their native wood-notes wild " it is 

 all very pleasant, but time, like the birds, is on 

 the wing. 



Where are the magpies? when I was a boy 



