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Mr. Weir says a young Cuckoo was hatched with three young Titlarks on the 6th June. "On the afternoon of the 10th two of the Titlarks were found lying dead at the bottom of the ditch; the other one had disappeared." Subsequently this Cuckoo was removed, and placed in another Titlark's nest, nearer home, for more convenient observation. On the following day Mr. Weir found it covered by the old Titlark "with outstretched wings from a very heavy shower of rain * * * while her own young ones had in the meantime been expelled by the Cuckoo, and were lying lifeless within two inches of her nest." Another instance is given wherein two Cuckoos were hatched in a Titlark's nest. "On the third or fourth day after this the young Titlarks were found lying dead on the ground, and the Cuckoos were in possession of the nest." Ultimately one of the latter, the weaker of the two, disappeared.

A German naturalist, Adolf Miiller, of Gladenbach, writing in a German periodical, "Der Zoologische Garten," in October, 1868, has

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given a curious account of the conduct of two young Cuckoos, which were hatched in the nest of a Robin. A translation of this account was published in "The Field "of Nov. 21, 1868, and it will be unnecessary therefore to give more than the merest outline of the facts detailed in it. Two young Cuckoos, five or six days old, were found in a Robin's nest, four Robin's eggs lying on the heath before the nest. The two birds were extremely restless, striving to push each other out of the nest, the smaller one always the more active. Herr Miiller placed the smaller on the back of the larger one, which immediately began to heave it upwards, and, thrusting its claws into the moss and texture of the nest, actually succeeded in pushing it to the edge of the nest and about four inches further amongst the heath stems. After every contest which was observed both birds contrived to creep back again into the nest. Ultimately the larger one was found lying dead outside the nest, while the Robin was sitting on the smaller bird and the eggs, which had been replaced.

The latest contribution on the subject is that of Mr. Gould, who in his splendid folio work on "The Birds of Great Britain," expressed himself a disbeliever in the popular story. He has since found reason to change his opinion, for in his recently published octavo "Introduction" to that work he says: "I now find that the opinion ventured in my account of this species as to the impossibility of the young Cuckoo ejecting the young of its foster parents at the early age of three or four days is erroneous; for a lady of undoubted veracity and considerable ability as an observer of nature, and as an artist, has actually seen the act performed [he seems to overlook the circumstance that others had previously seen it], and has illustrated her statement of the fact by a sketch taken at the time, a tracing of which has been kindly sent to me."

This tracing he has reproduced as an engraving in the "Introduction" referred to, and as he has been good enough to allow me the use of the wood block to illustrate the present remarks, the reader may consider himself in possession of a fac-simile sketch from nature.

The following is the account given by Mrs. Blackburn (the lady referred to) of the circumstance as it came under her observation :*—

"The nest which we watched last June, after finding the Cuckoo's egg in it, was that of the Common Meadow Pipit (Titlark, or MossCheeper), and had two Pipit's eggs, besides that of the Cuckoo.

"It was below a heather bush, on the declivity of a low abrupt bank, on a Highland hill-side, in Moidart. At one visit the Pipits were found to be hatched, but not the Cuckoo.

"At the next visit, which was after an interval of forty-eight hours, we found the young Cuckoo alone in the nest, and both the young Pipits lying down the bank, about ten inches from the margin of the nest, but quite lively after being warmed in the hand. They were replaced in the nest beside the Cuckoo, which struggled about till it got its back under one of them, when it climbed backwards directly up the open side of the nest, and hitched the Pipit from its back on to the edge. It then stood quite up

1 It would seem that this account was first published by Mrs. Blackburn, in what she terms "a little versified tale of mine," entitled "The Pipits," which appeared in Glasgow in 1872.

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right on its legs, which were straddled wide apart, with the claws firmly fixed half-way down the inside of the nest among the interlacing fibres of which the nest was woven; and, stretching its wings apart and backwards, it elbowed the Pipit fairly over the margin so far

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