roosting place, where, early in spring, before they have begun building,
both sexes resort in multitudes, from an hour or more before sunset, un-
til long after dark. Before entering the aperture, they fly round and over
it many times, but finally go in one at a time, until hurried by the late-
ness of the hour, several drop in together. They cling to the wall with
their claws, supporting themselves also by their sharp tail, until the dawn,
when, with a roaring sound, the whole pass out almost at once. Whilst
at St FrancisviJle in Louisiana, I took the trouble of counting how many
entered one chimney before dark. I sat at a window not far from the
spot, and reckoned upwards of a thousand, having missed a considerable
number. The place at that time contained about a hundred houses, and
no doubt existed in my mind that the greater number of these birds were
on their way southward, and had merely stopped there for the night.
Immediately after my arrival at Louisville, in the State of Kentucky, I became acquainted with the hospitable and amiable Major William Croghan and his family. While talking one day about birds, he asked me if I had seen the trees in which the Swallows were supposed to spend the winter, but which they only entered, he said, for the purpose of roosting. Answering in the affirmative, I was informed that on my way back to town, there was a tree remarkable on account of the immense numbers that resorted to it, and the place in which it stood was described to me. I found it to be a sycamore, nearly destitute of branches, sixty or seventy feet high, between seven and eight feet in diameter at the base, and about five for the distance of forty feet up, where the stump of a broken hollowed branch, about two feet in diameter, made out from the main stem. This was the place at which the Swallows entered. On closely examining the tree, I found it hard, but hollow to near the roots. It was now about four o'clock after noon, in the month of July. Swallows were flying over Jeffersonville, Louisville, and the woods around, but there were none near the tree. I proceeded home, and shortly after returned on foot. The sun was going down behind the Silver Hills ; the evening was beautiful; thousands of Swallows were flying closely above me, and three or four at a time were pitching into the hole, like bees hurrying into their hive. I remained, my head leaning on the tree, listening to the roaring noise made within by the birds as they settled and arranged themselves, until it was quite dark, when I left the place, although I was convinced that many more had to enter. I did not pretend to count them, for the number was too great, and the birds rushed to the entrance so thick as to baffle the
