they have been comparatively strangers, except at rare intervals. Not far in the distant past, they were annually seen with us on the large lakes and rivers, and frequently feeding in immense bayous. Of all the birds that swim the waters with shapely forms, gracefulness of proportion, elegance of contour, the swan exceeds them all, as it floats on the bosom of some broad lake, or wide and deeply flowing river. It is larger than other wild fowl, and the rare grace of its movements, the litheness of its arched neck, its jet black bill, with the deep yellow streak running in a diminutive line from the eye, the spotless white, seeming purer and whiter than the drifted snow, attracts our admiration at once. They are the synonym of beauty and grace, and our imagination, however vivid it may be, can picture nothing more graceful, and quietly beautiful, than one of these birds on the water, in its uniform of frosted white. When we see a whiteness that is absolutely colorless, resting inanimately, it attracts our attention, for we see in it, what the world recognizes as an emblem of perfect purity. But when we see the swan, an animated being, moving quietly and gracefully with arched neck, sailing so queenly and majestically through the rippling water, gently propelling itself forward with its great wide black feet, the sunshine making conspicuous the glossy white, and faint shadows seeming to flit and follow each other, we gaze in pleasing wonder on the trail of incandescence left in their wake.

For ages past their beauty, grace and elegance has been recognized. When in ancient times nobility sought to build vessels whose cost was disregarded, whose beauty of design was to reach perfection itself, the uppermost thoughts in the mind of the builders were,

to make the vessel sit upon the water with the natural grace of the swan. To make it still more realistic, the archness of the neck, the beautifully shaped head, were placed at the prow, while the gondola itself followed in shape the body of the bird, while fluted and corrug ated wings extended symmetrically toward the stern of the boat. It was in such a barge as this that Cleopatra first went forth, and met and conquered Antony,-not by force and arms, but with fascinating glances, oriental loveliness, and Egyptian splendor.

I have not seen a swan for years until this spring, when my companion and myself had the good fortune of securing two. They were evidently travellers bound for the distant North, and stopped among us temporarily for food and rest. There were fifteen in the flock. The two we got had separated from the rest, and we shot them in the middle of the Mississippi river, amongst floating ice, having first trimmed our low scull-boat to represent a drifting cake of ice. They were both old birds, one weighing 19 lbs.. and the other a few pounds heavier. The heaviest and largest one I have had mounted, the other being skinned, rewarded us with the nicest down I ever saw, being fully two inches in length, and of the purest white. There are no particular instructions to be given as to the manner of shooting them, they are too rarely found. Getting them is ascribed wholly to luck, the duck-hunter coming upon them unexpectedly while in pursuit of wild fowl.

When the hunter has the rare good fortune to kill one, it is a bright spot in his experience, and an event which he always remembers with pleasure.

Their habits are similar to geese. They are exceedingly wary, always rise up-wind, and should be ap

proached from the windward. Should the wind blow hard, the hunter will be pretty sure to get a shot. A thick coating protects their bodies, and consequently they are hard to kill. When flying, their long neck seems out of proportion, and although a large bird, their flight is exceedingly swift. Their cry is a mixture, sounding like half crane, half goose. Some authorities consider them good eating. Don't try it, unless you are inquisitive, or desirous of experimenting.

Sailing in the solemn midnight, underneath the frosty moon,
I can hear the clanging pinions of each shadowy platoon,
Near the winged hosts, commotion, marching to the Northern
Ocean,

File on file, rank on rank, speeding to some reedy bank,
Oozy fens or marshes gray, far up Baffin's icy bay;

Honking, clamoring in their flight under the black clouds of night.

Winging over wastes of ocean, over voyaging ships they pass, Where from reeling mast the shipboy notes them with the uprais'd glass,

And the fisher in his dory drops his line to view their flight,
And the baffled fowler gazes, hopeless, till they fade from sight;
Inland over plain and pasture, over mountain, wood and stream,
Onward speeds the long procession, northward the swift pinions
gleam.