NATURAL HISTORY NOTES 
195 
Professor Newton (“ Dictionary of Birds ”) says, “The cuckoo is a summer 
visitant to the whole of Europe, reaching even far within the arctic circle, and 
crossing the Mediterranean from its winter quarters in Africa.” 
Mr. Howard Saunders (“ Manual of British Birds,” .second edition), says, 
“. . . in winter it [the cuckoo] reaches the Philippines, Celebes, Burma, and 
Ceylon, as well as Natal in .Africa.” 
Dr. R. Bowdler Sharpe (“ Handbook to the Birds of Great Britain,” vol. ii.), 
says, “The winter home of the cuckoo extends throughout the African Continent, 
as it occurs at that season on the Gold Coast, and it is also found in South Africa. 
Throughout the whole of the Indian Peninsula it likewise extends in winter, and 
even reaches Australia.” 
The superficial resemblance of the cuckoo to a hawk no doubt has something 
to do with the superstition among country folk that the cuckoo turns into a hawk 
in the winter. 
Elm Lodge., Hampstead. Basil W. Martin. 
Coal-Tits. — In the course of some improvements in our land this summer 
a coal-tit’s nest in a bank that was partially thrown down was broken up by the 
carelessness of the labourer and the six young ones scattered on the ground. Being 
only half fledged and quite helpless, and deserted by the parents, I gathered them 
up and put them in a cage. One, injured by the violence of the expulsion, was 
evidently dying, and 1 gave it chloroform, but the other five ate greedily, and I 
made for them a paste of the yolk of egg and the seeds of the Italian stone pine, 
of which I had a quantity provided for my squirrels, and which the wild tits 
were always in the habit of stealing. I knew that they eat insects, but it was 
impossible to provide them, as insects are rather rare in this district. They 
throve after a manner on their diet, though we soon saw that it was not enough, 
and one after another three died, each in its turn going into a corner of the 
cage to be worried by the others, and being found dead in the morning. My 
daughter suggested ants’ eggs, and made a search for some, w’hich they took 
with avidity, and the remaining two grew well and strong rapidly. Later we 
found that they ate aphides with greediness, and the little green caterpillars 
which infest the roses and the raspberries, and they are now quite healthy, enjoy- 
ing the liberty of my study in perfect unity with three young squirrels, which, 
like the tits, are being trained for liberation when old enough. They are the 
most delightful pets in feathers, with a restless activity quite unusual in birds, 
fond of little mischief, always prying into every box and cianny, and their chief 
delight is pulling my hair or beard, scattering the pins from my pin-box, examin- 
ing any tiny spot on my hands or face and neck, prying into my type-writer, 
getting into my drawers and cupboard, and they are especially fond of contesting 
with me the possession of my pen when I am writing with it, and pulling away 
the paper I am writing on. They were accustomed to sleep in the cage, and 
when one got out of the window I took the cage out and oftered it, when it got 
in at once. I have grown so fond of them that I look forward with regret to 
their becoming fit lor complete liberty. Their quick and arch ways, their 
vivacity and perfect friendliness, and their delicate beauty of colour and form, 
as well as their fearlessness, make them the most engaging birds I have ever had. 
The quantity of aphides and other insects and caterpillars they will eat proves them 
to be of an undeniable value to gardens, though they are accused of eaiing the 
young buds of the flower trees, but I should question whether as insect-destroyers 
they are not likely to be of infinitely greater utility than damage. But that also 
makes them very difficult to keep as pets, for insect food is not always to be had. 
VV. J. Stillman. 
The Nightjar. — Whilst crossing the common near the beach at Hayling 
Island, on the evening of July 21, I disturbed a large bird that fluttered from a 
low bush apparently injured, but really to entice me from the spot where two 
eggs lay on the ground under the bush. The whirr of nightjars had been heard 
around a clump of trees near the common on previous occasions, but I had not 
seen one until this evening. Having marked the place, I visited it again in the 
day-time. During the week following the old bird again fluttered from the bush 
for a few yards, then rose and flew a short distance, uttering its cry, and settled 
