CHAPTER X.

SWALLOWS AND SWIFTS:-THE COMMON AND HOUSE SWALLOW SAND AND PURPLE MARTINS COMMON AND ALPINE SWIFTS.

The gorse is yellow on the heath,

The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
The oaks are budding, and, beneath,
The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,
The silver wreath of May.

The welcome guest of settled spring,
The Swallow, too, is come at last :
Just at sunset, when Thrushes sing,
I saw her dash with rapid wing,
And hailed her as she passed.

Come, summer visitant, attach

To my reed roof your nest of clay ;

And let my ear your music catch,

Low twittering underneath the thatch,
At the grey dawn of day.

CHARLOTTE SMITH.

T is thus that an English poetess hails the appearance of

rustica),

the Red-fronted, or Chimney Swallow, the most familiar representative of the Hirundine family of birds, of which we have in this country but three distinct species, or, including the Swifts, five. These birds are all remarkable for their short triangular bills, with bristle-feathers at the base of the upper mandible, extremely long pointed wings, forked tails (in most species), short slender feet, but little used for walking, and toes armed with hooked nails, which give them great tenacity of hold when clinging to the walls of buildings, or perpendicular cliffs. Their vigour and activity

of flight is prodigious: they take their insect-food, and pass the greater part of their time, on the wing, and sweep through and gambol in the air with a grace and elegance which is delightful to contemplate. Like most insectivorous birds, they are with us, as in all northerly climes, chiefly migratory, coming in at the sweet spring-time, and going out when

Autumn gales sweep whistling o'er the hills,
And strip their golden honours from the trees.

Although it remains with us but part of the year, few birds are better known in this country than the Chimney Swallow, so called from its partiality for chimneys as roost

ing-places. We know that the Swallows are come, when we first awake in the morning, by the twittering at our chamber-windows; and we know, too, by this welcome sound, that the spring is fast ripening into summer, and that the season of sunshine and flowers, and all things bright and beautiful, will soon be here. It may be any time, between about the middle of April and the first week in May, that this cheering sound greets our ears; sometimes, it is true, we may much earlier than this see a solitary individual, or two or three, sporting about in a treacherous gleam of sun

shine, like that described by Warton in his poem on April:

The Swallow, for a moment seen,
Skims in haste the village green.

This, however, does but remind us of the proverb, that 'One Swallow does not make a summer,' and we turn to our fireside again, convinced that we may look for more gloomy days and sleety storms before the buzzing bees and the gaily-tinted flies shall be flitting about amid the expanded blossoms, and we may venture forth into the woods and fields, secure from chilling blasts and drenching rain. It has long been a disputed question with naturalists, whether a portion, at all events, of the great army of Swallows which appear and disappear at certain settled periods, did not retire to some secure and secret retreats, and there remain in a state of torpor during the winter. The belief in the hybernation of Swallows, which was entertained by Aristotle, who stated that the birds slept in clusters beneath the surface of frozen streams, is now entirely discarded by modern naturalists, notwithstanding that stray specimens are occasionally found in this and other countries during the winter, and are sometimes revived by warmth from a state of torpidity. These are, no doubt, birds hatched late in the season, or which from injury or sickness were unable to take flight with their stronger-winged brethren, and so remained behind. Most of these weak and disabled birds undoubtedly perish, but some few appear to survive the rigours of the season, and, by their unexpected appearance on an unusually warm day in winter or early spring, give some colour of probability to the old hybernation theory, which probably had its foundation in the circumstance of the sudden appearance of large numbers of Swallows, and that, too, near streams and other collections of water, where their insect-food is most abundant. 'As to

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A COURAGEOUS BIRD.

the torpidity of these birds in winter,' says Macgillivray, 'their being found in holes and under water, it is surely now time to give up so absurd a notion. It is strange, but · true, that fancies of this sort, such as the breeding of Geese from barnacle-shells, remain for ages matter of popular belief, after the learned, with whom, perhaps, they originated, have given them up.'

Although gentleness is the predominant trait in the character of the Swallow, yet it is by no means deficient in courage. We are told that 'when the Swallows and other small birds are congregated for their departure, about the end of September, the instant a Hawk makes his appearance, they troop after him, apparently exposing themselves to unnecessary danger, but in reality, it would seem, with the design of perplexing and distracting their enemy by their numbers, their perpetual changes of direction, and their uniform endeavours to rise above him—indeed, he is usually, in such cases, completely out-manœuvred and baffled, being unable to fix upon the single victim; and, after exerting all his address, he is often compelled to relinquish the pursuit.'

The Swallows sometimes, on returning to their old nests, find them occupied by Sparrows, and then ensues a struggle for possession, in which the new-comers are generally victorious. One instance is related in which a pair of them could not succeed in ejecting the intruder; they therefore set to work, and plastered up the aperture of the nest, thus converting it into a sepulchre. Sometimes the Sparrows are the attacking parties, and much courage is displayed on both sides. Here is an instance of bravery and conjugal affection which deserves a place in our pages: it is related in a French paper-the Courrier de la Drôme:'—

A WIDOWED BIRD.-Last year a female Swallow, which had its nest in the Ardèche, was killed while defending its nest and brood from the attack of some Sparrows. The male arrived

WONDERFUL ACTIVITY.

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at the moment when some of its young were thrown out of the nest. He immediately attacked the assailants, and put them to flight; after which he picked up his young ones, and replaced them in the nest, where, during the remainder of the season, he carefully attended to their wants until they were able to fly and provide for themselves. The inhabitants of the house, who witnessed this interesting incident, one day caught the old bird, and placed a small piece of scarlet ribbon round its neck, in order that they might recognise it if it should come back. This year it has again returned to its old nest; but it has chosen no mate, lives quite alone, and appears to avoid the company of any other birds.

Although dwelling in such close proximity to man, this is a wild shy bird, and does not like to be handled or touched. Yet it is capable of domestication, and has been known to become very tame and familiar. It does not, however, live long in confinement - very rarely through the first year; one instance only, we believe, is on record of its having survived to the third.

Of the activity and celerity of the Swallow we may adduce a few examples while advocating its claims to the consideration of man. Wilson, in his 'Ornithology,' tells

us that

The wonderful activity displayed by these birds forms a striking contrast to the slow habits of most other animals. It may be fairly questioned whether, among the whole feathered tribes which Providence has formed to adorn this part of creation, there are any that in the same space of time pass over an equal extent of surface with the Swallow. Let a person take his stand, on a fine summer evening, by a new-mown field, meadow, or river shore, for a short time, and, among the numerous individuals of this tribe that flit before him, fix his eye on a particular one, and follow, for a while, all its circuitous labyrinths-its extensive sweeps· its sudden, rapidly reiterated excursions, little inferior to the lightning itself, and then attempt, by the powers of mathematics, to calculate the length of the various lines it describes. Alas! even his omnipotent fluxions would avail him little here, and he would