INDIAN SONG-BIRDS 2097 
no sympathy with the cross-grained old poet who spoke 
of the “leud Cuckoo” and said, “I pray to God will fire 
her bren.” Rather would I cry with Wordsworth— 
“O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird ? 
Or but a wandering voice? 
Darling of the spring. 
No bird: but an invisible thing— 
A voice or mystery.” 
The European cuckoo visits India. I have never 
heard it in the south of the peninsula, but others have 
been more fortunate. From April to June the Hima- 
layas resound with its familiar call. The bird is there, 
as in England, the harbinger of spring. A Himalayan 
station in springtime is a sight for the gods, It is a 
parti-coloured island cast in a magenta sea, for the 
rhododendrons are in bloom, The spirza hedgerows 
have felt the touch of spring; their snowy flowers have 
come forth in such abundance as to obliterate the 
foliage. The horse-chestnut trees have awakened from 
their long winter sleep; they have opened out their 
emerald fans, and over these profuse, Nature has 
‘howered “ten thousand waxen pyramidal flowers.” 
Here and there a mass of the pale yellow blossom 
of the mimosa trees forms a pleasant contrast to the 
deeper tints of the horse-chestnut inflorescences. 
The little hill gardens are gay with English flowers : 
roses, carnations, honeysuckle, geraniums, phlox, portu- 
lacas, nasturtiums, and sweet peas vie with one another 
for supremacy, and turn the flower-beds into patches 
of brilliant colour. In the far distance the great snow- 
