The Barn Swallow 
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the nearest fence-wire and recount 
to you with sparkling eyes and elo¬ 
quent gesture the adventures of that 
glorious trip up from Mexico. 
Perhaps it is his childlike enthu¬ 
siasm which stirs us. He has come 
many a league this morning, yet he 
dashes in through the open doors and 
shouts like a boisterous schoolboy, 
“Here we are, you dear old barn; 
ar'n’t we glad to get back again!” 
Then it’s out to see the horse-pond; 
and down the lane where the cattle 
go, with a dip under the bridge and 
a few turns over the orchard—a new 
purpose, or none, every second— 
life one full measure of abounding 
joy! 
Or is it the apotheosis of motion 
which takes the eye? See them as 
they cast a magic spell over the 
glowing green of the young alfalfa, 
winding about in the dizzy patterns 
of a heavenly ballet, or vaulting at 
a thought to snatch an insect from 
the sky. Back again, in again, out 
again, away, anywhere, everywhere, 
with two-miles-a-minute speed and 
effortless grace. 
But it is the sweet confidingness 
of this dainty Swallow which wins us. With all the face of Nature 
before him he yet prefers the vicinage of men, and comes out of his 
hilly fastnesses as soon as we provide him shelter. We all like to be 
trusted, whether we deserve it or not. And if we don’t deserve it—well, 
we will, that’s all. 
Truth to tell, the transition of the Barn Swallow from a state of 
nature to one of human dependence has been less conspicuous and less 
perfect in California than it has further north. With us the bird is still 
to be found nesting, sparingly, in little caves or rock-pockets in wild 
ravines, or, still more commonly, in sea-washed caverns. On the Santa 
Barbara Islands, especially, Barn Swallows are a familiar feature of shore 
life; and they show no disposition to forsake their haunts nor to avail 
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Taken in Washington 
Photo by the Author 
BARN SWALLOWS ON TELEGRAPH WIRES 
537 
