UP THE CHIMNEY. 27 



and six in the morning, they came and went, went and came with 

 apparently sleepless energy. The nights were clear and dry, and 

 in the sky or over the white surface of the lake, insects were prob- 

 ably easily seen at any hour by birds accustomed to such gloom 

 as that of my chimney. Still it was wonderful to think of their 

 strength and patience, and of their knowledge of place. Many, if 

 not most, of us poor mortals lose our paths under the simplest 

 conditions, even with the sun smiling down upon us, or the stars 

 writing their ancient guideboards anew for us in the dark heav- 

 ens, toward which we will not turn for aid. These swifts, how- 

 ever, seem to plow through darkness or light with equal confi- 

 dence, cleaving the cool wind at the rate of more than a mile a 

 minute, seeing first the pale lake below their chimney's shadow, 

 then the vast peak of Chocorua, framed in its somber spruces, and 

 again some far range of untrodden mountains where fellow swifts 

 still nest in hollow tree trunks, after the ancient practice of their 

 family. What marvelous sense is it which brings them back 

 by day or by night, in sunlight or in storm, straight as thought 

 itself, to home and rest ? 



I never have met a man who remembered having seen a swift 

 perch. It was formerly supposed that they had no feet, and some 

 people still believe the fable. In building time the birds come 

 spinning through the air like projectiles, and while flying thus, 

 snap small terminal twigs from sycamores and other brittle trees, 

 and carry them back to their chimneys, to be painstakingly glued 

 into their fragile nests. After seeing my swifts use their feet so 

 readily in getting to and from their nest, I shall not be much 

 surprised some day to see a swift alight upon some convenient 

 perch outside his chimney. Nevertheless, so far as is now known, 

 the swifts take no rest even after flying many miles with incredi- 

 ble speed, until their accustomed shelter is regained. 



When Saturday came, I felt that it was time to see more of 

 my noisy tenants. In the intervening days something which 

 looked like a happy thought had come to me. Why should I lie 

 supine among the fire irons, gazing up the black chimney hole, 

 when, by judicious use of a few mirrors, I could bring the swifts 

 and their cavern within range of my writing table ? Saturday 

 morning the small mirror climbed the flue a second time, and was 

 firmly lashed in position a few inches above the nest. The lash- 

 ing, of course, was applied to the butt of the fishing rod, at the 

 point where it rested in the fireplace among andirons and tongs. 

 Then a narrow, old-fashioned mirror, in which somebody's great- 

 grandmother may have admired her pretty face in the days of 

 a long- forgotten honeymoon, was gently rested upon the single 

 stick of wood at the back of the fireplace so that its face inclined 

 slightly toward me. Wonderful ! there were the shiny flue, the 



