UP THE CHIMNEY. 253 



not unaware of their near presence, for at all 

 hours of the day and night the thunder of their 

 wings and their high-pitched voices invaded my 

 room. After exchanging places at intervals of 

 from fifteen to forty-five minutes all day long, it 

 seemed to my human intelligence that they might 

 keep still at night. But no, during evening twi- 

 light, and at ten, twelve, one, and three o'clock, 

 and then with tenfold energy between dawn, 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 pa- 

 tience, 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 

 heavens, toward which we will not turn for aid. 

 These swifts, however, seem to plough through 

 darkness or light with equal confidence, 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 Choco- 

 rua, framed in its sombre spruces, and again 

 some far range of untrodden mountains where 



