OUR PRICELESS SWALLOWS 



well as day, it is awing, tireless in pursuit of fiying 

 insects. It has been estimated that each swift flies a 

 thousand miles every day, yet it never seems to weary. 



Under primitive conditions, before the settlement of 

 the country, the swift resorted to hollow trees for rest, 

 shelter and nesting. But now it seldom occupies any 

 other retreat than a chimney. In the autumn, when 

 flocking preparatory for its migration south, I have 

 seen assemblages of them at dusk drop into some 

 selected chimney in a steady stream, until thousands 

 must have been clinging to every available inch of 

 brick inside. 



They return to us about the last of April, but are 

 late in nesting, for ordinarily the eggs are not laid till 

 July. During June they may be seen darting over the 

 dead tops of trees, hardly pausing an instant in their 

 flight as they grasp and wrench off a twig. Having 

 secured one, the bird takes it down the chimney and 

 sticks it to the brick wall with gummy saliva, which 

 she ejects. This is continued till the curious basket- 

 like structure has been completed, and then four or 

 five elongated pure white eggs are laid. Many acci- 

 dents occur. Rains wash down the nest, or the young 

 fall down into the fireplace or pipe below, where they 

 are likely to be left to starve. The brood of swifts 

 make considerable racket, and the descent of the old 

 birds into the chimney causes a rumbling sound like 

 distant thunder. They drop a good deal of dirt, too, 

 down the chimney. But they amply pay for their 



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