sert of the ocean,
lonely and tireless as they. I sympathize with the watchful crow
perched yonder on that tree, or walking about the fields. I hurry
outdoors when I hear the clarion of the wild gander; his comrade in my
heart sends back the call.

II

Here comes the cuckoo, the solitary, the joyless, enamored of the
privacy of his own thoughts; when did he fly away out of this brain?
The cuckoo is one of the famous birds, and is known the world over. He
is mentioned in the Bible, and is discussed by Pliny and Aristotle.
Jupiter himself once assumed the form of the cuckoo in order to take
advantage of Juno's compassion for the bird.

We have only a reduced and modified cuckoo in this country. Our bird is
smaller, and is much more solitary and unsocial. Its color is totally
different from the Old World bird, the latter being speckled, or a kind
of dominick, while ours is of the finest cinnamon-brown or drab above,
and bluish white beneath, with a gloss and richness of texture in the
plumage that suggests silk. The bird has also mended its manners in
this country, and no longer foists its eggs and young upon other birds,
but builds a nest of its own and rears its own brood like other
well-disposed birds.

The European cuckoo is evidently much more of a spring bird than ours
is, much more a harbinger of the early season. He comes in April, while
ours seldom appears till late in May, and hardly then appears. He is
printed, as they say, but not published. Only the alert ones know he is
here. This old English rhyme on the cuckoo does not apply this side the
Atlantic:--

"In April
Come he will,
In flow'ry May
He sings all day,
In leafy June
He changes his tune,
In bright July
He's ready to fly,
In August
Go he must."

Our bird must go in August, too, but at no time does he sing all day.
Indeed, his peculiar guttural call has none of the character of a song.
It is a solitary, hermit-like sound, as if the bird were alone in the
world, and called upon the Fates to witness his desolation. I have
never seen two cuckoos together, and I have never heard their call
answered; it goes forth into the solitudes unreclaimed. Like a true
American, the bird lacks animal spirits and a genius for social
intercourse. One August night I heard one calling, calling, a long
time, not far from my house. It was a true night sound, more fitting
then than by day.

T