IO OUR FIRST? DAY'S. (OU TING 
willows glides the boat, keeping near the 
sedges on the shore, my friend with his cold 
grey eye on them all the while, to spot a 
nest or watch a warbler where he goes, and 
so betrays his partner on her eggs. But 
besides some noisy sparrows from the town, 
which have come down just for a drink, we 
draw a blank in nests at all events. Ahead, 
above the island we are coming to, a pair 
of hawks are hovering—their prey young 
rats and birds, as- swe ‘soen “ind= > vsome 
carrion crows are squawking their hoarse 
notes, and Ted~ thinks~ thats iney are 
nesting there. ‘And do you see _ those 
pigeons ? This also is their home,’ says he. 
But as we neared the bend, behold! a 
swan sailing around in conscious majesty, 
with wings all quivering and head bent back, 
quite ready to attack, and longing, if he 
could, to drive his horny beak into our 
anatomy somewhere, or break our arms with 
one swift stroke of his strong wings.1 Now 
1 The deep metallic measured swish of a swan upon 
the wing betokens the great power that can lift and 
