122 THE OLIVE LEAF. CHAP. 



One of the pleasantest experiences of country life is 

 to be awakened at early morning by the twitter of the 

 swallows, and to see the sunlight flashing upon their 

 shining backs as they dart in and out of their nests 

 under the eaves. The sound seems to belong more to 

 the faint far-off world of dreams which has just been left, 

 than to the cold, hard world of reality into which one 

 has awakened. It has in it thoughts of things of beauty 

 and delight that have been dreamed of or overjoyed. 

 The nearness of the nest gives a near view of the bird ; 

 and what a beautiful creature it is, with the glossy blue 

 of its slender wings made for rapid flight, and the soft 

 snowy whiteness, mingled with a tawny hue, of its breast 

 and throat, and the quick sparkle of its fearless eye 1 

 Scarcely less wonderful than itself is the nest which it 

 builds, in defiance of the laws of gravity, against the 

 smooth masonry of the gable. The nest of any bird, if 

 we think seriously of it, is a very remarkable object. It 

 is not a home for permanent habitation, but a place for 

 the rearing of young, to be abandoned when that pur- 

 pose is served. Although the same eyrie may be used 

 by the eagle for many generations, and the crow may 

 frequent the same rookery for hundreds of years, the 

 generality of birds use their nests only for hatching and 

 nursing. Each spring, as the season returns, the bird is 

 guided by an instinct as undeviating as the law of gravi- 

 tation, to spend weeks in building a warm and delicate 

 abode for its future young, while all the rest of the year 

 it seeks no other shelter for itself than what it finds 

 among the thick branches of trees, or in the crevices of 



