THE LIFE OF BIRDS 147 
mechanicians have speculated in vain upon the 
methods used in its locomotion, and prizes have 
been offered, by mechanical exhibitions, to him 
who could best explain it. With impetuous 
dash they sweep through our perilous streets, 
these wild hunters of the air, “so near, and yet 
so far ;”’ they bathe flying, and flying they feed 
their young. In my immediate vicinity, the 
Chimney Swallow is not now common, nor the 
Sand Swallow; but the Cliff Swallow, that 
strange emigrant from the Far West, the Barn 
Swallow, and the white-breasted species are 
abundant, together with the Purple Martin. I 
know no prettier sight than a bevy of these 
bright little creatures, met from a dozen differ- 
ent farmhouses to picnic at a wayside pool, 
splashing and fluttering, with their long wings 
expanding like butterflies, keeping poised by a 
constant hovering motion, just tilting upon 
their feet, which scarcely touch the moist 
ground. You will seldom see them actually 
perch on anything less airy than some tele- 
graphic wire ; but when they alight, each will 
make chatter enough for a dozen, as if all the 
rushing hurry of the wings had passed into the 
tongue. 
Between the swiftness of the Swallow and 
the stateliness of the birds of prey, the whole 
range of bird motion seems included. The long 
