THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS 13 
“While I am lying on the grass, 
Thy loud note smites my ear ! 
From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
At once far off and near ! 
“Thrice welcome, darling of the spring ! 
Even yet thou art to me 
No bird, but an invisible thing, 
A voice, a mystery.” 
The black-billed is the only species found in my 
locality, the yellow-billed abounds farther south. 
Their note or call is nearly the same. The former 
' sometimes suggests the voice of a turkey. The call 
of the latter may be suggested thus: h-k-k-k-k-kow, 
kow, kow-ow, how-ow. 
The yellow-billed will take up his stand in a 
tree, and explore its branches till he has caught 
every worm. He sits on a twig, and with a pecul- 
lar swaying movement of his head examines the 
surrounding foliage. When he discovers his prey, 
he leaps upon it in a fluttering manner. 
In June the black-billed makes a tour through 
the orchard and garden, regaling himself upon the 
canker-worms. At this time he is one of the 
tamest of birds, and will allow you to approach 
within a few yards of him. I have even come 
within a few feet of one without seeming to excite 
his fear or suspicion. He is quite unsophisticated, 
or else royally indifferent. 
The plumage of the cuckoo is a rich glossy 
brown, and is unrivaled in beauty by any other 
neutral tint with which I am acquainted. It is 
also remarkable for its firmness and fineness. 
