162 THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
Soaring to beautiful worlds on wings sublime, 
Whilst thou dost mind me of their doom severe, 
Who live to feel the winter of their time ; 
Who linger on, till not a friend is near — 
Then fade into the grave — and go without a fear. 
HOWITT. 
I had almost forgotten to notice another species of 
swallow (Hirundo Esculenta) which is found on the 
coast of China* I have been informed by a friend, 
who has seen some of them, that these birds, at their 
pairing time, travel from the interior of the country 
to the sea coast, building their nests among the rocks. 
These nests are composed of some gelatinous sub- 
stance, supposed to be the slimy matter caused by 
the dashing of the waves against the rocks, and the 
spawn of fish ; in this singular nest, the hen lays 
four or five eggs, but even in such apparently secure 
asylums the poor birds feel the tyranny of man in 
robbing them of their habitations, the nests being 
considered great delicacies by the Chinese, who put 
them in their soups as we do vermicelli. They 
watch the poor bird's daily toil, almost with savage 
joy, and when she expects to reap the reward of all 
