CHAPTER X. 
THE CUCKOO 
(Cuculus canoras). 
“ Thrice welcome, darling of tlie spring! 
Even yet thou art to me 
No bird, but an invisible thing, 
A voice, a mystery! ” 
WOEDSWOETH. 
“ Sweet bird ! thy boAver is ever green, 
Thy sky is ever clear; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 
No winter in thy year.” 
Logan. 
As soon as the buds unfold their leaves, and the trees 
break forth in verdant tints, a bird comes amongst us, 
announcing its arrival instantly, and as distinctly as any 
other of our summer visitants,—it is the Cuckoo. This 
bird hails from the depths of Central Africa, for it wanders 
fully as far as the Swallow, even to the coast of Guinea, and 
on this account arrives rather late, say the middle of April at 
the earliest, or more usually the commencement of May. It 
inhabits woodlands of every description, whence it wanders 
amongst the fields and bushes, visiting isolated trees, 
and everywhere announcing its presence by its loud call. 
Some little time after the arrival of the male bird, the 
female makes her appearance, when each pair selects 
its private domain or beat. 
It is singular that so large a bird, one seen, indeed, 
almost by everyone, should be so little known. Scarcely 
