WAYS OF NATURE 
was left flying, and it took three or four trials either 
to make up its mind or to catch the trick of the 
descent. On dark or threatening or stormy days the 
birds would begin to assemble by mid-afternoon, 
and by four or five o’clock were all in their lodgings. 
The chimney is a capacious one, forty or fifty feet 
high and nearly three feet square, yet it did not seem 
adequate to afford breathing-space for so many 
birds. I was curious to know how they disposed 
themselves inside. At the bottom was a small open- 
ing. Holding my ear to it, I could hear a continuous 
chippering and humming, as if the birds were still 
all in motion, like an agitated beehive. At nine 
o'clock this multitudinous sound of wings and voices 
was still going on, and doubtless it was kept up all 
night. What was the meaning of it? Was the press 
of birds so great that they needed to keep their wings 
moving to ventilate the shaft, as do certain of the 
bees in a crowded hive? Or were these restless 
spirits unable to fold their wings even in sleep? I 
was very curious to get a peep inside that chimney 
when the swifts were in it. So one afternoon this 
opportunity was afforded me by the removal of the 
large smoke-pipe of the old steam-boiler. This left 
an opening into which I could thrust my head and 
shoulders. The sound of wings and voices filled 
the hollow shaft. On looking up, I saw the sides 
of the chimney for about half its length paved with 
the restless birds; they sat so close together that their 
12 
