Hirundo rustica, Linn.
PLATE CLXXIII. Male, Female, and Nest.

There is a pleasure known but to few, a pleasure which I have often enjoyed and still enjoy, whenever an opportunity occurs. It is when the heats of summer have already swelled the fruits of our fields, our gardens, and our orchards; when Nature herself benignantly smiles on the rich scenery which she has thus embellished; when the husbandman guides the healthful labours of his sons, and wields the instruments of his humble but important calling from the early dawn to the noontide hour of repose; when the bee herself for a while retires from the honeyed flower, which now languishingly droops on its tender stem; when the cattle recline beneath the broad shade of some majestic tree, and the labourers retire to the banks of some favourite brook to enjoy their frugal meal, and quench their thirst from the limpid waters. Now all is silent, sweet sleep closes their eyes, and nature seems to pause in her labours. But no sooner have the meridian hours passed, than all return to their occupations, and again every thing is full of life and activity.

Observe that passing Swallow, how swiftly she glides around us, how frequently she comes and goes, how graceful her flight, how pleasant her musical twitterings, how happy she seems to be! Now she has again entered the barn. I will follow her into her summer abode, and laying myself down on the fragrant new-mown hay, watch her motions in silence. Ah! over my head a nest is firmly fixed to each rafter; nay on this and that are placed several, and the barn is filled with swallows and their melodies. Happy and charming little creatures! There a female sits on her eggs, and is receiving a store of insects from the mouth of her mate. Having fed her, he solaces her with a soft chattering voice, and away he goes in search of more food. Here is another nest filled to the brim with young birds trimming their new clothing, and shaking their little wings, while their parents approach with a supply of food. See how they open their yellow throats! There, how busily are these two birds occupied in sticking layer after layer of damp sandy earth mixed with bits of grass against the beam! Dear things! their old tenement has crumbled and fallen down, or they are unusually late; but going and returning so often will surely enable them to accomplish their undertaking. Leaving them for a moment, I see some old birds meeting their young on wing. How cleverly have the little things received the proffered fly! and now away for more speeds the happy parent. I wish I could count the number now in the barn; but I cannot unless I ascertain first how many young there are, and then double the quantity of nests to get the number of their parents. I have done so:—there are more than a hundred.

Night now draws near, the sun is beneath the horizon; the farmer has closed the barn door, the Swallows enter by the air-holes; there is still enough of light to enable them to find their nests, and now each has alighted on the edge, and addresses itself to rest. Here are no bickerings, no quarrels; all is peace and harmony, and now, the labours of the day ended, how quiet is their repose! I too may take a nap among the fragrant hay, and dream of the joys of my distant home.

Day-light approaches from the east. All is calm, pure, and delightful. The little birds shoot forth from their retreats, and with songs of joy commence their pleasant labours. What a happy world are they in! Here a smart fellow roguishly challenges his neighbour in all the pride of his full song, or listens for a while to the gentler notes of his beloved mate, while she sits on her pearly egglets. Others have already resorted to the fields, the meadows, or the river's side; and there I will follow them. The dew glitters on every leaf and blade, and the bright sun throws his glory over the face of nature, which joyously spreads out all her treasures before him. The husbandman, who is seen advancing toward the scene of his labours, observes the flight of the Swallows, and assures himself that there will be a continuance of fair feather. Numberless insects have already left their place of rest, and, like the birds, are seen in search of food, swiftly moving through the calm and balmy air. She of the forked-tail follows them with gliding motion, and with unerring dexterity seizes one and another. She seems hardly to exert herself on this occasion; for all her movements, upwards, downwards, or sidewise, are performed with perfect ease, and now she sweeps along like a meteor. How many circuits she makes in the hour is more than I can tell, but numerous indeed they must be, when every one knows that at her ordinary speed she can travel a mile in a minute.

Now, towards the sandy shores of the lake or river, she betakes herself. She alights, and with delicate steps, aiding her motions by gentle flappings of her wings, she advances towards the edge, takes a few drops, plumes herself, and returns to her nest, filling as she flies her wide mouth with insects. Should her nest be not finished, or need some repair, she carries a pellet of tempered earth in her bill, or picks up a feather that has been shed by a goose or a fowl, or from the hay carries off a stem of long grass to mix with the mortar. As the heat becomes oppressive to all animals save herself, she passes and repasses round the cattle under the shady trees, and snaps off each teasing insect. Now on the fence she alights by the side of her offspring, or teaches them to settle on the slender dry twig of some convenient tree. There they plume themselves, chatter, and rest for a while, until, sorry to have lost so much time, they launch into the air, to continue their sport.

The summer has now closed, and the Swallows, young and old, assemble on the roof of the barn, and in a few days are joined by many others, reared in humbler situations. Each parent bird perhaps tells her young that, before dismal winter cramps the insects, they must escape to some far distant land, where the genial heat continues unabated. The talk becomes general, and day after day increases. The course of the journey is pointed out to each inexperienced traveller, by means of short excursions through the air. At length a chill night comes, the following brings a slight frost, the time has arrived, and on the next bright morning the flocks rise high above the trees, and commence their journey.

The Barn Swallow makes its first appearance at New Orleans, from the middle of February to the first of March. They do not arrive in flocks, but apparently in pairs, or a few together, and immediately resort to the places where they have bred before, or where they have been reared. Their progress over the Union depends much on the state of the weather; and I have observed a difference of a whole month, owing to the varying temperature, in their arrival at different places. Thus in Kentucky, Virginia, or Pennsylvania, they now and then do not arrive until the middle of April or the beginning of May. In milder seasons, they reach Massachusetts and the eastern parts of Maine by the 10th of the latter month, when you may rest assured that they are distributed over all the intermediate districts. So hardy does this species seem to be, that I observed it near Eastport in Maine, on the 7th May 1833, in company with the Republican or Cliff Swallow, pursuing its different avocations, while masses of ice hung from every cliff, and the weather felt cold to me. I saw them in the Gut of Cansso on the 10th of June, and on the Magdeleine Islands on the 13th of the same month. They were occupied in building their nests in the open cupola of a church. Not one, however, was observed in Labrador, although many Sand Martins were seen there. On our return, I found at Newfoundland some of the present species, and of the Cliff Swallow, all of which were migrating southward on the 14th of August, when Fahrenheit's thermometer stood at 41°.

In spring, the Barn Swallow is welcomed by all, for she seldom appears before the final melting of the snows and the commencement of mild weather, and is looked upon as the harbinger of summer. As she never commits depredations on any thing that men consider as their own, every body loves her, and, as the child was taught by his parents, so the man teaches his offspring, to cherish her. About a week after the arrival of this species, and when it has already resorted to its wonted haunts, examined its last year's tenement, or made choice of a place to which it may securely fix its nest, it begins either to build or to deposit its eggs.

The nest is attached to the side of a beam or rafter in a barn or shed, under a bridge, or sometimes even in an old well, or in a sink hole, such as those found in the Kentucky barrens. Whenever the situation is convenient and affords sufficient room, you find several nests together, and in some instances I have seen seven or eight within a few inches of each other; nay, in some large barns I have counted forty, fifty, or more. The male and the female both betake themselves to the borders of creeks, rivers, ponds, or lakes, where they form small pellets of mud or moist earth, which they carry in their bill to the chosen spot, and place against the wood, the wall, or the rock, as it may chance to be. They dispose of these pellets in regular layers, mixing, especially with the lower, a considerable quantity of long slender grasses, which often dangle for several inches beneath the bottom of the nest. The first layers are short, but the rest gradually increase in length, as the birds proceed upwards with their work, until they reach the top, when the fabric resembles the section of an inverted cone, the length being eight inches, and the greatest diameter six, while that from the wall or other flat surface to the outside of the shell is three and a half, and the latter is fully an inch thick. I have never observed in a newly finished nest, the expansion of the upper layer mentioned by Wilson, although I have frequently seen it in one that has been repaired or enlarged. The average weight of such a nest as I have described is more than two pounds, but there is considerable difference as to size between different nests, some being shorter by two or three inches, and proportionally narrow at the top. These differences depend much on the time the birds have to construct their tenement previous to depositing the eggs. Now and then I have seen some formed at a late period, that were altogether destitute of the intermixture of grass with the mud observed in the nest described above, which was a perfect one, and had occupied the birds seven days in constructing it, during which period they laboured from sunrise until dusk, with an intermission of several hours in the middle of the day. Within the shell of mud is a bed, several inches thick, of slender grasses arranged in a circular form, over which is placed a quantity of large soft feathers. I never saw one of these nests in a chimney, nor have I ever heard of their occurring in such situations, they being usually occupied by the American Swift, which is a more powerful bird, and may perhaps prevent them from entering. The eggs are from four to six, rather small and elongated, semitranslucent, white, and sparingly spotted all over with reddish-brown. The period of incubation is thirteen days, and both sexes sit, although not for the same length of time, the female performing the greater part of the task. Each provides the other with food on this occasion, and both rest at night beside each other in the nest. In South Carolina, where a few breed, the nest is formed in the beginning of April, and in Kentucky about the first of May.

When the young have attained a considerable size, the parents, who feed them with much care and affection, roost in the nearest convenient place. This species seldom raises more than two broods in the Southern and Middle Districts, and never, I believe, more than one in Maine and farther north. The little ones, when fully fledged, are enticed to fly by their parents, who, shortly after their first essays, lead them to the sides of fields, roads or rivers, where you may see them alight, often not far from each other, on low walls, fence-stakes and rails, or the withered twigs or branches of some convenient tree, generally in the vicinity of a place in which the old birds can easily procure food for them. As the young improve in flying, they are often fed on the wing by the parent birds. On such occasions, when the old and young birds meet, they both rise obliquely in the air, and come close together, when the food is delivered in a moment, and they separate to continue their gambols. In the evening the family retires to the breeding place, to which it usually resorts until the period of their migration.

About the middle of August, the old and young birds form more extensive associations, flying about in loose flocks, which are continually increasing, and alighting in groups on tall trees, churches, court-houses, or barns, where they may be seen for hours pluming and dressing themselves, or removing the small insects which usually infest them. At such times they chirp almost continually, and make sallies of a few hundred yards, returning to the same place. These meetings and rambles often occupy a fortnight, but generally by the 10th of September great flocks have set out for the south, while others are seen arriving from the north. The dawn of a fair morning is the time usually chosen by these birds for their general departure, which I have no reason to believe is prevented by a contrary wind. They are seen moving off without rising far above the tops of the trees or towns over which they pass; and I am of opinion that most of those large parties usually migrate either along the shores of the Atlantic, or along the course of large streams, such places being most likely to afford them suitable retreats at night, when they betake themselves to the reeds and other tall grasses, whenever it is convenient to do so, although I have witnessed their migration during a fine clear and quiet evening. Should they meet with a suitable spot, they alight close together, and for a while twitter loudly, as if to invite approaching flocks or stragglers to join them. In such places I have seen great flocks of this species in East Florida;—and here, reader, I may tell you that the fogs of that latitude seem not unfrequently to bewilder their whole phalanx. One morning, whilst on board the United States Schooner "Spark," Lieutenant commandant Piercey and the officers directed my attention to some immense flocks of these birds flying only a few feet above the water for nearly an hour, and moving round the vessel as if completely lost. But when the morning is clear, these Swallows rise in a spiral manner from the reeds to the height of thirty or forty yards, extend their ranks, and continue their course.

I found flocks of Barn Swallows near St Augustine for several days in succession, until the beginning of December; but after the first frost none were to be seen. These could not have removed many degrees farther south for want of proper food, and I suspect that numbers of them spend the whole winter along the south coast of the Gulf of Mexico.

The flight of this species is not less interesting than any other of its characteristics. It probably surpasses in speed that of any other species of the feathered tribes, excepting the Humming Bird. In fine calm weather their circuits are performed at a considerable elevation, with a lightness and ease that are truly admirable. They play over the river, the field, or the city with equal grace, and during spring and summer you might imagine their object was to fill the air around them with their cheerful twitterings. When the weather lowers, they move more swiftly in tortuous meanderings over the meadows, and through the streets of the towns; they pass and repass, now close to the pavement, now along the walls of the buildings, here and there snapping an insect as they glide along with a motion so rapid that you can scarcely follow them with the eye. But try:—there she skims against the wind over the ruffled stream; up she shoots, seizes an insect, and wheeling round, sails down the breeze with a rapidity that carries her out of your sight almost in a moment. Noon arrived, and the weather being sultry, round the horse or the cow she passes a thousand times, seizing on each tormenting fly. Now she seems fain to enter the wood, so close along its edge does she pursue her prey; but spying a Crow, a Raven, a Hawk or an Eagle, off she shoots with doubled speed after the marauder, and the next instant is seen lashing, as it were, the object of her anger with admirable dexterity, after which, full of gaiety and pride the tiny thing returns towards the earth, forming to herself a most tortuous path in the air.

On the ground the movements of this Swallow are by no means awkward, although, when compared with those of other birds, they seem rather hampered. It walks by very short steps, and aids itself with its wings. Should it be necessary to remove to the distance of a few yards, it prefers flying. When alighted on a twig, it shews a peculiar tremulous motion of the wings and tail.

The song of our Barn Swallow resembles that of the Chimney Swallow of England so much that I am unable to discern the smallest difference. Both sing on the wing and when alighted, and the common tweet which they utter when flying off is precisely the same in both. Their food also is similar; at least that of our bird consists entirely of insects, some being small coleoptera, the crustaceous parts of which are disgorged in roundish pellets scarcely the size of a small pea.

I have represented a pair of our Barn Swallows in the most perfect spring plumage, together with a nest taken from one of the rafters of a barn in the State of New Jersey, in which there was at least a score of them.

Adult Male. Plate CLXXIII. Fig. 1.

Bill very short, feeble, much depressed and very broad at the base, compressed towards the tip, upper mandible with the ridge straight and sloping, the sides towards the end convex, the edges sharp and overlapping, having a slight notch close upon the tip, which is very small, rather obtuse, and declinate; lower mandible flattish, the edges inflected, the tip acute. Nostrils basal, lateral, oblong, with a membrane above. Head of ordinary size, neck short, body rather slender. Feet very small and feeble, tarsus very short, anteriorly scutellate, sharp behind; toes free, lateral nearly equal, the outer united as far as the second joint; claws shortish, arched, much compressed, very acute.

Plumage rather compact and shining above, blended and with ordinary lustre beneath. Wings very long and narrow, primaries narrow and tapering to a rounded point, the first longest, the rest gradually diminishing; secondaries very short, truncato-emarginate.

Bill black. Iris hazel. Feet purplish-black. Anterior part of the forehead bright chestnut; the rest of the head, the hind neck, back, rump and smaller wing-coverts glossy deep steel-blue. Quills and tail brownish-black, the latter with a white spot on the inner web of each feather, excepting the two middle ones. Throat bright chestnut; a broad band of black glossed with steel-blue on the lower part of the neck, joining the dark colour of the upper parts. The rest of the lower parts light brownish-red.

Length 7 inches, extent of wings 13; bill along the back 3/12, along the edge 7/12; tarsus 4/12.

Adult Female. Plate CLXXIII. Fig. 2.

The Female differs from the Male only in being generally paler beneath.

The young bird fully fledged has the red of the forehead and throat paler, the band on the forepart of the breast brownish-black, without gloss, and the rest of the lower parts white tinged with red.

There is considerable diversity in the colouring of the under parts of this bird. Frequently there is a broad band of steel-blue across the neck or fore part of the breast, in other cases this band is narrow, or interrupted in the middle, or wanting, as in the individuals represented in the plate. The rufous colour of the breast, sides and belly varies from reddish-white in young birds to bright brownish-red in old ones. In the former case it is singular to the colour of the European Chimney Swallow, which, on the other hand, never has those parts so deeply tinted as in the latter case. The bill and feet of the two are precisely similar as are the colours of the upper parts; but in the European bird, the dark band on the fore part of the breast is much broader, the first and second primaries are almost equal, although the first is longest, and the lateral tail-feathers are more elongated. These differences do not seem to me to be sufficient to distinguish the two birds as species, and the similarity of their habits renders them too nearly allied to be separated with propriety.

The differences in colour between the European Chimney Swallow and the American Barn Swallow, are analogous to those between the Barn Owl of the former and that of the latter country. The Swallows and the Owls may be distinct species; but I see no reason for separation in the one case more than in the other; and if the so called Hirundo Americana be distinguished from the H. rustica, the Strix flammea ought to be distinguished from the American Owl, which might in that case be named Strix Americana. But let the differences first be shewn.