BIRDS' EGGS 69 



have entirely abandoned their former nesting-places 

 in hollow trees and stumps and to frequent only 

 chimneys. A tireless bird, never perching, all day 

 upon the wing, and probably capable of flying one 

 thousand miles in twenty-four hours, they do not 

 even stop to gather materials for their nests, but snap 

 off the small dry twigs from the treetops as they fly 

 by. Confine one of these swallows to a room and 

 it will not perch, but after flying till it becomes be- 

 wildered and exhausted, it clings to the side of the 

 wall till it dies. I once found one in my room on 

 returning, after several days' absence, in which life 

 seemed nearly extinct; its feet grasped my finger 

 as I removed it from the wall, but its eyes closed, 

 and it seemed about on the point of joining its com- 

 panion which lay dead upon the floor. Tossing it 

 into the air, however, seemed to awaken its won- 

 derful powers of flight, and away it went straight 

 toward the clouds. On the wing the chimney swal- 

 low looks like an athlete stripped for the race. There 

 is the least appearance of quill and plumage of any 

 of our birds, and, with all its speed and marvelous 

 evolutions, the effect of its flight is stiff and wiry. 

 There appears to be but one joint in the wing, and 

 that next the body. This peculiar inflexible motion 

 of the wings, as if they were little sickles of sheet 

 iron, seems to be owing to the length and develop- 

 ment of the primary quills and the smallness of the 

 secondary. The wing appears to hinge only at the 

 wrist. The barn swallow lines its rude masonry 

 with feathers, but the swift begins life on bare twigs. 



