lost all its charms for them.

This bird was of course the first to leave the nest. For two days before
that event he kept his position in the opening most of the time, and
sent forth his strong voice incessantly. The old ones abstained from
feeding him almost entirely, no doubt to encourage his exit. As I stood
looking at him one afternoon and noticing his progress, he suddenly
reached a resolution,--seconded, I have no doubt, from the rear,--and
launched forth upon his untried wings. They served him well, and carried
him about fifty yards up-hill the first heat. The second day after, the
next in size and spirit left in the same manner; then another, till only
one remained. The parent birds ceased their visits to him, and for one
day he called and called till our ears were tired of the sound. His was
the faintest heart of all: then he had none to encourage him from
behind. He left the nest and clung to the outer hole of the tree, and
yelped and piped for an hour longer; then he committed himself to his
wings and went his way like the rest.

A young farmer in the western part of New York sends me ... some
interesting observations about the cuckoo. He says a large
gooseberry-bush, standing in the border of an old hedge-row in the midst
of the open fields, and not far from his house, was occupied by a pair
of cuckoos for two seasons in succession; and after an interval of a
year, for two seasons more. This gave him a good chance to observe them.
He says the mother-bird lays a single egg and sits upon it a number of
days before laying the second, so that he has seen one young bird nearly
grown, a second just hatched, and a whole egg all in the nest at once.
"So far as I have seen, this is the settled practice,--the young leaving
the nest one at a time, to the number of six or eight. The young have
quite the look of the young of the dove in many respects. When nearly
grown they are covered with long blue pin-feathers as long as darning
needles, without a bit of plumage on them. They part on the back and
hang down on each side by their own weight. With its curious feathers
and misshapen body the young bird is anything but handsome. They never
open their mouths when approached, as many young birds do, but sit
perfectly still, hardly moving when touched." He also notes the
unnatural indifference of the mother-bird when her nest and young are
approached. She makes no sound, but sits quietly on a near branch in
apparent perfect