The White-throated Swift 
carded, either because the pioneers reported them unsuitable for nest¬ 
lining, or because there was no need of lining nests further. While the 
fun was on, there was considerable rivalry among the birds as to which 
should get the dainty first, and in one instance a “hand to hand” tussle 
ensued, during which the birds tumbled over and over and lost a hundred 
feet of altitude. 
That most friendly of encounters, the nuptial embrace, appears 
to take place, also, in the air. In this the birds come together from 
opposite directions, engage with the axes of their bodies held at a decided 
angle laterally, and begin to tumble slowly downward, turning over and 
over the while for several seconds, or until earth impends, whereupon they 
separate without further ado. 
Romantic as are the mountainous associations of our hardy Rock 
Swift, it is in order to note certain exceptions. Thus, Mrs. Bailey 1 
reports the nesting of White-throated Swifts in the ruined arches of the 
Mission San Juan Capistrano, near San Diego. No less than five pairs 
of these birds enlivened this pale sanctuary in a single season, sharing 
its hospitality, as they did, with the Cliff Swallows, Barn Owls, Wrens, 
Phoebes, and other drabs. Many triumphs has the Church had over 
the savage breast; I wonder if she knows the full significance of this one. 
Still more striking is the exception noted by Mr. H. Arden Edwards 2 
—that a pair of these Swifts attempted to nest in a weathered fissure of a 
giant fir stub in the Big Tujunga Range. Perhaps, after all, we attribute 
too much of cunning to our hero in the selection of a nesting site. In 
sober prose, availability is doubtless the chief test. 
The heights of heaven are being stormed by man. The virgin 
precincts of the upper air are desecrated now by monsters of aluminum 
and steel, while the soft zephyrs reek with the stench of gasoline. Fast 
and faster grows the pace. Near and nearer the skill of flying men 
approximates to that of the birds. It is with a feeling akin to sadness 
that the lover of Nature sees her last sanctuary ravished by the ruthless 
enterprise of his own kind. But there are those whose laurels will never 
be snatched away by the hand—or wing—of man; and chief among 
these towers the White-throated Swift. Her perpetual challenge is 
flung to the teeth of the air-men. She will outfly the fairest of them all 
through all the centuries; and as often as .some hapless Lucifer of the 
vaunting crew starts upon his last journey earthward, she will weave 
about his tumbling body a mocking shroud of flight. 
1 Condor, Vol. IX., Nov., 1907, p. 169. 
2 Condor, Vol. XVI., Sept., 1914, p. 207. 
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