THE CUCKOO.
"Tell me what bird this is a picture of," said Arthur.
"That," said Uncle Oscar, "is the cuckoo, a bird which arrives in England, generally, about the middle of April, and departs late in June, or early in July."
"Why does it go so early?" asked Arthur.
"Well, I think it is because it likes a warm climate; and, as soon as autumn draws near, it wants to go back to the woods of Northern Africa."
"Why is it called the cuckoo?"
"Because the male bird utters a call-note which sounds just like the word kuk-oo. In almost every language, this sound has suggested the name of the bird. In Greek, it is kokkux; in Latin, coccyx; in French, coucou; in German, kukuk."
"What does the bird feed on?" asked Arthur.
"It feeds on soft insects, hairy caterpillars, and tender fruits."
"Where does it build its nest?"
"The cuckoo, I am sorry to say, is not a very honest bird. Instead of taking the trouble to build a nest for herself, the female bird lays her eggs in the nest of other birds, and to them commits the care of hatching and rearing her offspring."
"I should not call that acting like a good parent," said Arthur. "Do the other birds take care of these young ones that are not their own?"
"Oh, yes! they not only take care of them and feed them for weeks, but sometimes they even let the greedy young cuckoos push their own children out of the nest."
"That's a hard case," said Arthur. "Is there any American bird that acts like the cuckoo?"
"Oh, yes!" said Uncle Oscar. "There is a little bird called the 'cow-bunting,' about as large as a canary-bird: she, too, makes other birds hatch her young and take care of them."
"I don't like such lazy behavior. Did you ever hear the note of the cuckoo?" said Arthur.
"Oh, yes!" replied Uncle Oscar. "I have heard it in England; and there, too, I have heard the skylark and the nightingale, neither of which birds we have in America. But we have the mocking-bird, one of the most wonderful of song-birds."
"I wonder if the cuckoo would not live in America," said Arthur. "I should like to get one and try it. I would take good care of it."
"It would not thrive in this climate, Arthur."
UNCLE OSCAR.
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WORK AND SING!
You must work, and I must sing, That's the way the birdies do: See the workers on the wing; See the idle singers too. Yet not wholly idle these, They the toilers do not wrong; For the weary heart they ease With the rapture of their song. If our work of life to cheer We no music had, no flowers, Life would hardly seem so dear, Longer then would drag the hours. Like the birdies let us be; Let us not the singers chide; There's a use in all we see: Work and sing! the world is wide. EMILY CARTER. |
