CHIMNEY SWIFT. 17 
His tail is, of itself, an acute-angled triangle ter- 
IMinating merely in bristles; and his wings look 
as if made of skin stretched on a frame, bat 
fashion, instead of being of feathers. 
He twitters in a sharp chippering way as he 
flutters through the air and picks up flies, saying, 
as Mr. Burroughs puts it, “ chippy-chippy-chirio, 
not a man in Dario can catch a chippy-chippy- 
chirio.” And you are inclined to believe the 
boast — such zigzag darting, such circling and 
running! The men of Dario would need seven 
league wings to keep up with him, and then, after 
a lightning race, when just ready to throw their 
pinch of salt, with a sudden wheel the chippy- 
chirio would dart down a chimney and disappear 
from sight. 
And what a noise these swifts do make in the 
chimneys! If you ever had a room beside one of 
their lodging-houses you can testify to their “ noc- 
turnal habits during the nesting season.” Such 
chattering and jabbering, such rushing in and 
scrambling out! If you only could get your spy- 
glass inside the chimney! Their curious little 
nests are glued against the sides like tiny wall 
pockets; and there the swifts roost, or rather 
hang, clinging to the wall, side by side, like little 
sooty bats. Audubon says that before the young 
birds are strong enough to fly they clamber up 
to the mouths of the chimneys as the pitifully tri- 
umphant chimney-sweeps used to come up for a 
