UNDER THE MAPLES 



newcomer" would be a fitter title. There is noth- 

 ing cheery or animated in his note, and he is about 

 as much a "wandering voice" as is the European 

 bird. He does not babble of sunshine and of 

 flowers. He is a prophet of the rain, and the 

 country people call him the rain crow. All his 

 notes are harsh and verge on the weird. His 

 nesting-instincts seem to lead him, or rather her, to 

 the thorn-bushes as inevitably as the grass finch's 

 lead her to the grass. 



The cuckoo seems such an unpractical and 

 inefficient bird that it is interesting to see it doing 

 things. One of our young poets has a verse in which 

 he sings of 



The solemn priestly bumble-bee 



That marries rose to rose. 



He might apply the same or similar adjectives to 

 the cuckoo. Solemn and priestly, or at least 

 monkish, it certainly is. It is a real recluse and 

 suggests the druidical. If it ever frolics or fights, 

 or is gay and cheerful like our other birds, I have 

 yet to witness it. 



During the last summer, day after day I saw one 

 of the birds going by my door toward the clump of 

 thorn-trees with a big green worm in its bill. One 

 afternoon I followed it. I found the bird sitting 

 on a branch very still and straight, with the worm 

 still in its beak. I sat down on the tentlike thicket 

 and watched him. Presently he uttered that harsh, 



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