180 THE PASSING OF THE BIRDS. 



some such matter, we shall have seen the 

 last of their saucy antics. Gay tyrants! 

 They are among the first birds of whom 1 

 can confidently say, "They are gone;" and 

 they seem as wide-awake when they go as 

 when they come. Being a man, I regret 

 their departure; but if I were a crow, I 

 think I should be for observing the 31st of 

 August as a day of annual jubilee. 



A few years ago, in September, I saw the 

 white-breasted swallows congregated in the 

 Ipswich dunes, a sight never to be forgot- 

 ten. On .the morning of the 9th, the fourth 

 day of our visit, a considerable flock but 

 no more, perhaps, than we had been seeing 

 daily came skimming over the marshes 

 and settled upon a sand-bar in the river, 

 darkening it in patches. At eight o'clock, 

 when we took the straggling road out of 

 the hills, a good many there might be a 

 thousand, I guessed sat upon the fence 

 wires, as if resting. We walked inland, 

 and on our return, at noon, found, as my 

 notes of the day express it, " an innumerable 

 host, thousands upon thousands," about the 

 landward side of the dunes. Fences and 

 haycocks were covered. Multitudes were on 



