FIELD AND STUDY 



those squeaking, smacking, unctuous notes, his 

 throat swelling and throbbing, his beak opening and 

 shutting, glancing now to the right, now to the left, 

 as if to see if his mate is near, he looks, and we may 

 say is, the songster that Virgil called him. The 

 performance lacks resonance and the fluty quality 

 of our regular song-birds; it seems to be made in the 

 cheeks or by the softer parts of the mouth. The 

 beak is too small and feeble to play much of a part 

 in its production. What a waxy, adhesive sort of a 

 sound it is! I wonder if the swallow has the organ 

 called the syrinx common to the regular song-birds. 

 If one may compare sound with substance I should 

 say that the swallow's strain seems viscous and 

 turbid rather than liquid and translucent like that 

 of the acknowledged song-birds. It is less a musical 

 performance for its own sake than a note of self- 

 congratulation, or of salutation to its fellows. The 

 bird does not lift up his head and pour out his strain 

 as if for the joy of singing; he delivers it as a 

 speaker delivers his discourse, looking about him 

 and laying the emphasis here and there in a con- 

 fident and reassuring tone. 



The cliff swallows and the purple martins and bank 

 swallows are much more social and gregarious than 

 the barn swallows. I do not remember ever to have 

 seen more than one nest of the latter at a time in 

 the peak of the barn, though I am told that in New 

 England they nest in colonies. I do not know that 

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