BY ROSA MEYERS MUMMA
As sable night fades into soft rose tint,
Through leafy aisles slow filters daylight's glint;
From green tree arch is faintly heard the call
Which summons quickly feathered choir all
To Nature's vast cathedral, where in song
Unite the worshippers, a feathered throng.
What harmonies pour forth from each bird throat!
A morning prayer ascends with each clear note.
BY MARY F. DAY
Near Boonton, N. J., it was my good fortune last summer to have the exceptional opportunity of watching closely the rearing of a family of Chimney Swifts. The nest was built opposite and slightly above an opening in the chimney designed for the insertion of a stovepipe. The opening was about two feet from the floor of a second-story room in the house where I spent the summer.
When discovered, the nest was only partially completed, so it was necessary to exercise care, lest the birds become alarmed and choose a more secluded spot. To guard against disturbance to them, a black cloth was hung over the opening in such a way that it could be carefully and noiselessly lifted during periods of observation. Although the room was used as a bedchamber throughout the summer, the Swifts never seemed to be annoyed by the close proximity of their human neighbors. They were of a trustful disposition, and soon became accustomed to being watched. Occasionally, when I looked in upon them at the beginning of our acquaintance, they would spread their long, beautifully formed wings and lift them gracefully above the back, as if intending to fly, but usually, upon second consideration, would conclude it was unnecessary.