Great was my happiness to find them
still there, as well as the daws and all the other feathered
people who make this great building their home; even the
kestrels were not wanting. There were three there one
morning, quarrelling with the daws in the old way in the old
place, halfway up the soaring spire. The doves were somewhat
diminished in number, but there were a good many pairs still,
and I found no dead young ones lying about, as they were now
probably grown too large to be ejected, but several young
daws, about a dozen I think, fell to the ground during my
stay. Undoubtedly they were dragged out of their nests and
thrown down, perhaps by daws at enmity with their parents, or
it may be by the doves, who are not meek-spirited, as we have
seen, or they would not be where they are, and may on occasion
retaliate by invading their black enemies' nesting-holes.
Swallows, martins, and swifts were numerous, the martins
especially, and it was beautiful to see them for ever wheeling
about in a loose swarm about the building. They reminded me
of bees and flies, and sometimes with a strong light on them
they were like those small polished black and silvery-white
beetles (Gyrinus) which we see in companies on the surface of
pools and streams, perpetually gliding and whirling about in a
sort of complicated dance. They looked very small at a height
of a couple of hundred feet from the ground, and their
smallness and numbers and lively and eccentric motions made
them very insect-like.
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