124 THE SWIFT 
where, and on arriving at the church in Lower Street I was astonished 
to see the poor birds hanging in clusters from the eaves and cornices ; 
some clusters were at least two feet in length, and, at intervals, 
benumbed individuals dropped from the outside of the clusters. 
Many hundreds of the poor birds fell victims to the ruthless ignor- 
ance of the children.’ Being so susceptible of cold, the Swift 
does not visit us until summer may be considered to have completely 
set in. In the south it is generally seen towards the end of April, 
but it generally brings up the rear of the migratory birds by 
making its first appearance in the first or second week in May, in 
the north. 
Early in August it makes itself, for a few days, more than ever 
conspicuous by its wheeling flights around the buildings which 
contain its nest, and then suddenly disappears. At this period, too, 
its note is more frequently heard than during any other part of 
its visit, and in this respect it is peculiar. As a general rule, birds 
cease their song partially, if not entirely, when their eggs are hatched. 
The new care of providing for the wants of a brood occupies their 
time too much to allow leisure for musical performance, so that 
with the exception of their call-notes, and their cries of alarm or 
defiance, they are for a season mute. An early riser, and late 
in retiring to roost, the Swift is always on the wing. Thus, whether 
hunting on his own account or on behalf of his mate and nestlings, his 
employment is unvaried, and the same amount of time is always 
at his disposal for exercising his vocal powers. These are not 
great; he has no roundelay; he neither warbles nor carols ; he 
does not even twitter. His whole melody is a scream, unmusical 
but most joyous; a squeak would be a better name, but that, 
instead of conveying a notion that it results from pain, it is full 
of rollicking delight. Some compare it to the noise made by the 
sharpening of a saw; to me it seems such an expression of pent- 
up joy as little children would make if unexpectedly released from 
school, furnished with wings, and flung up into the air for a game 
of hide-and-seek among the clouds. Such soarings aloft, such 
chasings round the pinnacles of the church-tower and the gables 
of the farm-houses, no wonder that they cannot contain them- 
selves for joy. Every day brings its picnic or village feast, with 
no weariness or depression on the morrow. 
The nest of the Swift is constructed of any scraps that the bird 
may chance to find floating in the air, or brought to it by the 
wind, for it literally never perches on the ground, whence it rises 
with difficulty. These are rudely pressed together in any convenient 
aperture or moulding in a building, and cemented together by 
some glutinous secretion from the bird’s mouth. Two eggs are 
laid, and the young, as a matter of necessity, remain in the nest 
until quite fledged. 
Another name for the Swift is Black Martin, and in heraldry 
