102 THE SWALLOW. 



The Swallow knows her time, 

 And, on the vernal breezes, wings her way, 

 O'er mountain, plain, and far-extending seas, 

 From Afric's torrid sands to Britain's shore. 



GRAHAME. 



WHEN I was last at Paris, I saw women going 

 about with numbers of Swallows in cages, which 

 were occasionally purchased by persons for the 

 pleasure of giving them freedom. I must confess 

 that I was sorry to see these joyous birds in a state 

 of confinement. There is so much hilarity in all 

 their movements, their song is so sweet, and they 

 nestle with so much confidence about our houses, 

 that I have always regarded them with peculiar 

 affection and pleasure. These have not been les- 

 sened by the following account, for which I am 

 indebted to the kindness of a clergyman ; many of 

 the clergy have sent me much pleasing information. 

 I cannot do better than copy his own words. 



" Five or six years ago, three swallows fell down 

 one of the chimnies of my house. Their naked 

 and helpless condition having excited the pity of 

 my family, it was determined to endeavour to rear 

 them. I, therefore, became their foster-parent: 

 for rainy days they were fed with egg, and in sunny 

 weather with various species of flies. I found it, 



