The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 101, March, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 101, March, 1866: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
_Tuesday, August 1st._--There having been a heavy rain yesterday, a nest
of chimney-swallows was washed down the chimney into the fireplace of
one of the front-rooms. My attention was drawn to them by a most
obstreperous twittering; and looking behind the fire-board, there were
three young birds, clinging with their feet against one of the jambs,
looking at me, open-mouthed, and all clamoring together, so as quite to
fill the room with the short, eager, frightened sound. The old birds, by
certain signs upon the floor of the room, appeared to have fallen
victims to the appetite of the cat. La belle Nancy provided a basket
filled with cotton-wool, into which the poor little devils were put; and
I tried to feed them with soaked bread, of which, however, they did not
eat with much relish. Tom, the Irish boy, gave it as his opinion that
they were not old enough to be weaned. I hung the basket out of the
window, in the sunshine, and upon looking in, an hour or two after,
found that two of the birds had escaped. The other I tried to feed, and
sometimes, when a morsel of bread was thrust into its open mouth, it
would swallow it. But it appeared to suffer a good deal, vociferating
loudly when disturbed, and panting, in a sluggish agony, with eyes
closed, or half opened, when let alone. It distressed me a good deal;
and I felt relieved, though somewhat shocked, when B---- put an end to
its misery by squeezing its head and throwing it out of the window. They
were of a slate-color, and might, I suppose, have been able to shift for
themselves.--The other day a little yellow bird flew into one of the
empty rooms, of which there are half a dozen on the lower floor, and
could not find his way out again, flying at the glass of the windows,
instead of at the door, thumping his head against the panes or against
the ceiling. I drove him into the entry and chased him from end to end,
endeavoring to make him fly through one of the open doors. He would fly
at the circular light over the door, clinging to the casement, sometimes
alighting on one of the two glass lamps, or on the cords that suspended
them, uttering an affrighted and melancholy cry whenever I came near and
flapped my handkerchief, and appearing quite tired and sinking into
despair. At last he happened to fly low enough to pass through the door,
and immediately vanished into the gladsome sunshine.--Ludicrous
situation of a man, drawing his chaise down a sloping bank, to wash in
the river. The chaise got the better of him, and, rushing downward as if
it were possessed, compelled him to run at full speed, and drove him up
to his chin into the water. A singular instance, that a chaise may run
away with a man without a horse!
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