l88 IN BIRD LAND. 



the cuckoo, is a problem of bird school-life that 

 I must leave for solution to wiser heads. 



Having gone from the nest, the young bird has 

 not yet learned all about the art of flying ; no, 

 indeed ! He must become perfect by practice. 

 Many a blunder vsrill he make. At first he can- 

 not always nicely calculate the distance to the twig 

 that he has in view, and so he fails to give himself 

 the proper propulsive force ; he misses his footing 

 by going too far, or not far enough, and then where 

 he will alight is a question of what he happens to 

 strike first. Probably a wild, desperate scramble will 

 ensue, which ends only when the youthful novice has 

 fallen plump upon the ground. He may be very 

 much alarmed ; but as soon as he recovers his 

 breath, his courage rises, and he tries again. 



Although the young birds have the whole world 

 for their larder, with victuals just to their taste 

 constantly at their elbow, they must learn even the 

 art of eating, and, until they do so, they demand that 

 their parents be their caterers. For several weeks 

 after they have passed the first terra of school-life, 

 they will still sit on a limb, open their mouths, 

 twinkle their wings, and allow their patient victual- 

 lers to thrust morsel after morsel down their 

 throats. My opinion is that the patience of their 

 parents wears out after a time, and they leave 

 the overgrown youngster to paddle for himself. 

 How proud he must be of the exploit when he 

 catches his first insect and successfully stows it away 

 in his maw ! In a deep, quiet glen I watched a 



