It is related that a pair of Swallows built their nest for two successive years on the handle of a pair of garden shears, that were stuck up against the boards of an outhouse; and, therefore, must have had their nest spoiled whenever the implement was wanted. And what is still more strange, a bird of the same species built its nest on the wings and body of an owl that happened to hang dead and dry from the rafter of a barn, and so loose as to be moved by every gust of wind. This owl, with the nest on its wings, and with eggs in the nest, was taken to the museum of Sir Ashton Leaver as a curiosity. That gentleman, struck with the singularity of the sight, furnished the person who brought it with a large shell, desiring him to fix it just where the owl had hung. The man did so; and in the following year a pair of Swallows, probably the same, built their nest in the shell and laid eggs. Modern poets have not been unmindful of the Swallows; and our immortal Shakspeare mentions the Martin, in Macbeth, in the following manner: “This guest of summer, The temple-haunting Martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the Heaven’s Breath smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coigne of ’vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate.” “The Swallow,” writes Sir Humphry Davy, “is one of my favourite birds, and a rival of the nightingale, for he cheers my sense of seeing as much as the other does my sense of hearing. He is the glad prophet of the year, the harbinger of the best season--he lives a life of enjoyment amongst the liveliest forms of nature--winter is unknown to him; and he leaves the green meadows of England in autumn for the myrrh and orange groves of Italy, and for the palms of Africa; he has always objects of pursuit, and his success is secure. Even the beings selected for his prey are poetical, beautiful, and transient. The ephemeræ are saved by his means from a slow and lingering death in the evening, and killed in a moment when they have known nothing but pleasure. He is the constant destroyer of insects, the friend of man, and may be regarded as a sacred bird. His instinct, which gives him his appointed season, and teaches him when and where to move, may be regarded as flowing from a divine source; and he belongs to the oracles of nature, which speak the awful and intelligible language of a present Deity.” The Chimney Swallow is, on the head, neck, back, and rump, of a shining black colour, with purple gloss and sometimes with a blue shade; the throat and neck are of the same colour; the breast and belly are white, with a dash of red. The tail is forked, and consists of twelve feathers. The wings are of the same colour with the back. Swallows feed upon flies and other insects; and generally hunt their prey on the wing: