CHIMNEY SWALLOW. 331 



roosting place, where, early in spring, before they have begun building, 

 both sexes resort in multitudes, from an hour or more before sunset, un- 

 til long after dark. Before entering the aperture, they fly round and over 

 it many times, but finally go in one at a time, until hurried by the late- 

 ness of the hour, several drop in together. They cling to the wall with 

 their claws, supporting themselves also by their sharp tail, until the dawn, 

 when, with a roaring sound, the whole pass out almost at once. Whilst 

 at St FrancisviJle in Louisiana, I took the trouble of counting how many 

 entered one chimney before dark. I sat at a window not far from the 

 spot, and reckoned upwards of a thousand, having missed a considerable 

 number. The place at that time contained about a hundred houses, and 

 no doubt existed in my mind that the greater number of these birds were 

 on their way southward, and had merely stopped there for the night. 



Immediately after my arrival at Louisville, in the State of Kentucky, 

 I became acquainted with the hospitable and amiable Major William 

 Croghan and his family. While talking one day about birds, he asked 

 me if I had seen the trees in which the Swallows were supposed to spend 

 the winter, but which they only entered, he said, for the purpose of roost- 

 ing. Answering in the affirmative, I was informed that on my way back 

 to town, there was a tree remarkable on account of the immense numbers 

 that resorted to it, and the place in which it stood was described to me. I 

 found it to be a sycamore, nearly destitute of branches, sixty or seventy feet 

 high, between seven and eight feet in diameter at the base, and about five 

 for the distance of forty feet up, where the stump of a broken hollowed 

 branch, about two feet in diameter, made out from the main stem. This was 

 the place at which the Swallows entered. On closely examining the tree, I 

 found it hard, but hollow to near the roots. It was now about four 

 o'clock after noon, in the month of July. Swallows were flying over 

 Jeffersonville, Louisville, and the woods around, but there were none near 

 the tree. I proceeded home, and shortly after returned on foot. The sun 

 was going down behind the Silver Hills ; the evening was beautiful ; 

 thousands of Swallows were flying closely above me, and three or four at 

 a time were pitching into the hole, like bees hurrying into their hive. I 

 remained, my head leaning on the tree, listening to the roaring noise made 

 within by the birds as they settled and arranged themselves, until it was 

 quite dark, when I left the place, although I was convinced that many 

 more had to enter. I did not pretend to count them, for the number was 

 too great, and the birds rushed to the entrance so thick as to baffle the 



