and built a compact little nest inside, containing four eggs of the ordinary colour. The young of this species have since flown.—Stanley Lewis (Mount Pleasant, Wells, Somerset).
A Cuckoo's Economy in Question.—Ornithologists of a speculative turn of mind may be interested to learn that during the last week of May, in 1896, I found a Meadow Pipit's (Anthus pratensis) nest on the lower slopes of Aran, a well-known mountain in North Wales. In addition to one solitary egg belonging to the lawful owners, the nest contained a Cuckoo's egg. The former I left in situ; the latter I appropriated for reasons which need not here be specified, despite the fact that egg-collecting then as a hobby was with me a thing of the past. On retracing my steps some six hours later, I turned aside to have another look at the nest in question, and was surprised to find that the Meadow Pipit's egg had been hatched in the interim, the callow youngster lying dead in the nest. I say "surprised" advisedly, for though I had not examined the commoner egg at all critically in the morning, I had nevertheless satisfied myself before abstracting it that the Cuckoo's egg was absolutely fresh, and such was subsequently proved to be the case.
Now the main points of interest are as follows: What agency had been instrumental in removing the other eggs, which it is quite legitimate to assume had been originally laid? A Meadow Pipit's almost invariable clutch, I may observe, is four to six; not one odd egg. Again, admitting for the sake of argument that sundry eggs had been removed, what was the motive underlying their removal, assuming the Cuckoo to have been the culprit? Oologists of experience will not need to be told that when Voles plunder little birds' nests, they usually make a clean sweep—in time and by degrees—of all the eggs; while there are but few birds which will allow themselves to be robbed of every egg but one, yet still continue sitting, and to this category, in my experience, Meadow Pipits do certainly not belong. Another interesting point, too, is this: a perfectly fresh Cuckoo's egg is found side by side with a Meadow Pipit's egg on the point of hatching; what then becomes of the alleged prescience, or intelligence, or instinct, or inherited memory on the part of the Cuckoo in always arranging things so adroitly that no hitch shall occur in the due incubation of its eggs if left unmolested by the foster-parents? For in this particular instance, had there been no interference on my part, the young Meadow Pipit, in the event of all having gone well with it, would have been fledged and away before the Cuckoo's egg was hatched, even supposing the foster-parent to have "sat" pretty assiduously—which I doubt—after its own young one had emerged from the shell!
Howsoever the facts are to be accounted for, I do not disguise my personal conviction that the Cuckoo herself abstracted the surplus eggs of the
