Swallows are not known to migrate by night, and, so far as I am aware, no single Swallow has ever been found among the thousands of night-flying birds which have perished by striking lighthouses. The Swallows, therefore, when migrating probably leave the marsh during the day, but in what manner who can say? [Illustration: 51. Immature Tree Swallows gathering nesting material.] Several times when crossing the marshes on the cars I have observed gatherings of Swallows which made the immense flocks observed daily in August and September seem little more than a family of birds. They appeared in the distance like a vast swarm of gnats; it was as though all the Swallows in the marsh had collected in one great storm of birds. The significance of this movement I have never had the fortune to determine, but it seems highly probable that it is connected with the inauguration of an actual migration toward the birds’ winter quarters. TWO DAYS WITH THE TERNS Terns are useless for food, and can not therefore be classed as “game birds.” So far as we know they are of no special economic value. Consequently, when one protests against their practical annihilation for millinery purposes, he is not infrequently answered: “Well, what good are they?” The question exposes so absolute a failure to appreciate the bird’s exquisite beauty and unexcelled grace—such a discouraging materialism—that one realizes the hopelessness of replying. I confess I find it impossible to describe satisfactorily just what the presence of Terns along our coast means to me. It is not alone their perfection of color, form, and movement which appeals to one, but also the sense of companionship they bring; and doubtless this feeling is emphasized by the impressive loneliness of the sea, which makes anything alive doubly welcome. And so the coming of a single one of these beautiful creatures changes the character of the bay or shore. With unfailing pleasure one watches its marvelously easy flight, its startling darts for its food of small fish, and when it disappears the scene loses a grateful element of life. A milliner’s hunter or fisherman, however, might have made a very different reply to the unimaginative individual who asked the value of Terns. The former would have told him that they were worth about ten cents each for hat trimmings; the latter would have said that their eggs made excellent omelets; and each has done his best—the one to lay all Terns on the altar of Fashion, the other to see that none of their eggs escaped the frying pan. In the meantime a number of bird lovers have taken up the battle for the Terns in their few remaining strongholds, and the brief history of Tern destruction and protection is full of suggestive incidents.