MIGRATION OF THE SWALLOW. 141 



title of Chimney Swallow. The bird is probably attracted to the chimney by the warmth 

 of some neighbour fire. 



The nest is composed externally of mud or clay, which is brought by the bird in small 

 lumps and stuck in irregular rows so as to build up the sides of its little edifice. There 

 is an attempt- at smoothing the surface of the nest, but each lump of clay is easily 

 distinguishable upon the spot where it has been stuck. While engaged at the com- 

 mencement of its labours, the Swallow clings perpendicularly to the wall of the house or 

 chimney, clinging with its sharp little claws to any small projection, and sticking itself by 

 the pressure of its tail against the wall. The interior of the nest is lined with grasses 

 and other soft substances, and after it has been inhabited by a young brood, becomes 

 very offensive to the nostrils and unpleasant to the touch, in consequence of the large 

 parasitic ticks which are peculiar to the birds of this tribe, and which swarm in the nest. 



Persons who value the cleanly exterior of their houses more than the pleasure of 

 affording shelter to these beautiful and graceful little birds, and of watching them through 

 the interesting period of building, hatching, and rearing, have tried many methods of 

 preventing the birds from building, and have found none so effectual as soap or <ojl laid 

 on the wall with a brush, a substance which will not suffer the clay to hold to the wall's 

 perpendicular surface. 



Sometimes the Swallow is seized with a fit of eccentricity, and builds its nest in very 

 odd localities. One of these birds actually made its home in the outspread wings of an 

 owl which had been nailed against a barn door, and it is not at all unusual to see the nests 

 of the Swallow built in the shaft of an old mine or wall. Various other localities are 

 recorded by zoological observers, such as a half-open drawer, an old cap hung upon a peg, 

 and in one curious instance, which is mentioned and figured by Mr. Yarrell, upon the forked 

 branch of a sycamore tree which hung over a pond. A brood of young was hatched in this 

 nest, and a second batch of eggs was laid, but came to nothing. 



There are sometimes two broods in the year, and when the second brood has been 

 hatched at a very late period of the year, the young are frequently deserted and left to 

 starve by their parents, who are unable to resist the innate impulse that urges them to 

 seek a warmer climate. It has occasionally, but very rarely, happened that the parents 

 have remained for some time in order to bring up their young brood. When fully fledged, 

 and before they are forced to migrate, the young birds generally roost for the night in 

 osiers and other water-loving trees. 



Except in confinement, the Swallow knows not the existence of frost, nor the extreme 

 of heat, passing from Europe to Africa as soon as the cold weather begins to draw in, and 

 migrating again to the cooler climes as soon as the temperature of its second home becomes 

 inconvenient to its sensitive existence. The time of its arrival in England is various, and 

 depends almost entirely on the state of the weather. Solitary individuals are now and 

 then seen in very early months, but as a general fact, the Swallow does not arrive until 

 the second week in April ; the time of its departure is generally about the middle of 

 September, although some few lingerers remain in the country for more than a month 

 after the departure of their fellows. 



Before the time of migration they may be seen assembled in great numbers, chattering 

 away eagerly, and appearing to be holding a great parliament for the settlement of affairs 

 before starting on their long journey. The dome of the Eadcliffe Library at Oxford is a 

 favourite assembling place of these birds, all the lines of its architecture being studded 

 with Swallows, whose white bellies look like pearl beads strung upon the dark surface of 

 the leaden dome. They do not, however, migrate in flocks, but pass in little families of 

 two or three in number across the vast space that separates them from the end of their 

 journey. Although such powerful and swift fliers, they become fatigued in passing the 

 sea, and will flock in great numbers to rest upon the rigging of some ship that may happen 

 to pass their course. It is rather curious that the birds almost invariably fly in a line 

 directly north and south, influenced doubtlessly by the magnetic current that flows 

 everlastingly in that direction. 



Sometimes the poor birds are so utterly worn out with fatigue, that when they have 

 perched upon the side of a boat, they are unable to take again to the wing, and if disturbed, 



