few people, not students of birds, is the Cuckoo really known.
Its evanescent voice is often recognized, but being a solitary wanderer
even ornithologists have yet to learn much of its life history. In their
habits the American and European Cuckoos are so similar that whatever of
poetry and sentiment has been written of them is applicable alike to
either. A delightful account of the species may be found in Dixon's Bird
Life, a book of refreshing and original observation.

"The Cuckoo is found in the verdant woods, in the coppice, and even on
the lonely moors. He flits from one stunted tree to another and utters
his notes in company with the wild song of the Ring Ousel and the harsh
calls of the Grouse and Plover. Though his notes are monotonous, still
no one gives them this appellation. No! this little wanderer is held too
dear by us all as the harbinger of spring for aught but praise to be
bestowed on his mellow notes, which, though full and soft, are powerful,
and may on a calm morning, before the everyday hum of human toil begins,
be heard a mile away, over wood, field, and lake. Toward the summer
solstice his notes are on the wane, and when he gives them forth we
often hear him utter them as if laboring under great difficulty, and
resembling the syllables, "_Coo-coo-coo-coo_"."

On one occasion Dixon says he heard a Cuckoo calling in treble notes,
_Cuck oo-oo, cuck-oo-oo_, inexpressibly soft and beautiful, notably the
latter one. He at first supposed an echo was the cause of these strange
notes, the bird being then half a mile away, but he satisfied himself
that this was not the case, as the bird came and alighted on a noble oak
a few yards from him and repeated the notes. The Cuckoo utters his notes
as he flies, but only, as a rule, when a few yards from the place on
which he intends alighting.

The opinion is held by some observers that Nature has not intended the
Cuckoo to build a nest, but influences it to lay its eggs in the nests
of other birds, and intrust its young to the care of those species best
adapted to bring them to maturity. But the American species does build
a nest, and rears its young, though Audubon gives it a bad character,
saying: "It robs smaller birds of their eggs." It does not deserve the
censure it has received, however, and it is useful in many ways. Its
hatred of the worm is intense, destroying many more than it can eat. So
thoroughly does it do its work, that orchards, which three yea