No. 6. 



The Swallow. 



175 



The Swallow. 



So little was known of the emigration of 

 the swallow fifty years ago, that Dr. Johnson 

 in one of his conversations with Boswell, 

 makes the following observation ; ' Swallows 

 certainly sleep all the winter. A number of 

 them conglobulate together, by flying round 

 and round, and then all in a heap throw them- 

 selves under water, and lie in the bed of a 

 river.' This idea is still prevalent amongst 

 many persons who reside on the banks of the 

 Thames. They see swallows settling and 

 roosting by hundreds and thousands on the 

 willows growing on the aytes of the river, 

 which are bent down to the edge of the 

 water by the weight of the birds, and the 

 next day, perhaps, not one is to be seen. It 

 is therefore concluded, that they have im- 

 mersed themselves. 



It is an interesting sight to watch the 

 young chimney swallows after they have 

 quitted their nest, sitting quietly on the top 

 of a chimney and receiving, one after another, 

 the food brought to them by the parent bird. 

 During the period of incubation, the male 

 shows the greatest affection for, and atten- 

 tion to, his mate, and serenades her from the 

 chimney top as soon as the first gleam of 

 light appears. 



Kalm, in his travels in America, tells a 

 pretty anecdote of the swallow, which, he 

 says, was related to him by a lady of great 

 respectability, who was a witness of the fact. 

 ' A couple of swallows built their nest in a 

 stable belonging to the lady in question, and 

 the female laid eggs in the nest, and was 

 about to sit upon them. Some days after, 

 the male was seen flying about the nest, 

 sometimes sitting on a nail near it, and ut- 

 tering a very plaintive note, which betrayed 

 his uneasiness. On a nearer examination, 

 the female was found dead in the nest, from 

 which she was removed, and her body was 

 thrown away. The male then went to sit 

 upon the eggs, but after being about two 

 hours on them, and perhaps finding the busi- 

 ness too troublesome, he went out and re- 

 turned in the afternoon with another female, 

 who sat upon the nest, and afterwards fed 

 the young ones, till they were able to pro- 

 vide for themselves.' 



I have frequently noticed how apt swallows 

 are to settle on the ground, in a row, or per- 

 fect line. I have no doubt many persons 

 must have observed this, while they have been 

 walking near the Serpentine River in Hyde 

 Park, during a fine autumnal day. The 

 birds, after hawking for flies upon the surface 

 of the water, will at once settle on the path 

 which extends across the head of the river, 

 in so perfect a line, that one looks at it with 



astonishment as the simultaneous act of the 

 birds. Their flight is equally sudden and 

 regular on the approach of an intruder. I 

 have also noticed this regularity of line in 

 young birds, while waiting for food from 

 their parents. 



I observed a curious departure from the 

 usual mode of building, in the martin during 

 this summer. The circumstance occurred at 

 the Virginia Water, in Windsor Great Park. 

 Near the fishing temple on that beautiful 

 lake, there is a cottage, part of which is 

 covered with a trellis, against which a 

 pair of swallows had endeavoured to build 

 their clayey nest, the spot they had chosen 

 being protected from the weather by the 

 large and projecting wooden eaves of the 

 cottage. Whether they found any difficulty 

 in fixing the earth for their nest, in the pe- 

 culiar spot they had selected, or from some 

 other cause, the vacancy only between the 

 wall and the trellis was filled up with a 

 small deposit of clay, but the nest itself was 

 built of grass and straw, and was fixed alike 

 in the trellis and the deposit of clay. 

 Here I saw the swallow sitting on her eggs, 

 the depth of the nest being very inconsider- 

 able. 



Before I conclude this notice of these in- 

 teresting 'guests of summer,' I would plead 

 in their behalf, for the purpose of endeavour- 

 ing to put a stop to the cruel custom of wan- 

 tonly shooting at them. Independent of the 

 cruelty of starving whole nests of young ones 

 by killing the old birds, they may be scared 

 from a neighbourhood by being frequently 

 disturbed ; and then comes a redundancy of 

 insects, producing blight, mildew, and other 

 disorders on our corn and plants. We are 

 also deprived of their hilarity, their thousand 

 meanderings in the airj their pretty twitter- 

 ings, and all the agreeable associations which 

 their presence gives rise to. The swallow- 

 shooter is, moreover, guilty of a breach of 

 hospitality, by destroying a bird which has 

 voluntarily placed itself under his protection, 

 and which has always been considered as a 

 privileged guest. 



1 The swallow, privileged above the rest 



Of all the birds as man's familiar guest, 



Pursues the sun, in summer brisk and bold, 



And wisely shuns the persecuting cold: 



When frowning skies begin to change their cheer, 



And time turns up the wrong side of the year, 



It seeks a better heav'n and warmer climes.' 



Dryden. 



Since writing the above, I have had ano- 

 ther opportunity of witnessing a peculiarity 

 in the habits of the swallow. Residing near 

 the River Thames, and having a window 

 opening close to its banks, I frequently amuse 

 myself with watching the vast congregations 

 of them as they skim along the surface of the 



