4 o 4 THE DOMESTIC SWAN. 



ingly unnecessary anxiety in the sitting swan to augment the size of 

 its nest, than we can explain why the little long-tailed titmouse 

 invariably provides itself with a spherical nest, warm as a winter's 

 coat; whilst a still more delicate bird of passage from the hot 

 countries is content with one of hemispherical form, and so scantily 

 supplied with materials whereon to lay its eggs, in this cold and 

 changeable climate, that it is little better in appearance than one of 

 network composition. 



Where swans are kept on a moderately-sized sheet of water, the 

 old ones, as spring approaches, begin to pursue their own brood with 

 a ferocity scarcely conceivable. It is an unceasing pursuit, both 

 night and day ; till at last, the poor fugitives worn out with exertion, 

 betake themselves to the land, where the unnatural parents allow 

 them to stay, and then desist from further persecution, till the young 

 ones return to the water. To curb these rancorous proceedings on 

 the part of the parent birds, 1 cut through the web of their feet ; and 

 this at once diminished their powers of speed. The young birds 

 soon perceived the change in their favour, and profited by it ; for, on 

 finding that they could easily outswim their pursuing parents, they 

 set their fury at nought, and kept out of their reach with very little 

 exertion. 



Where the domestic swan is free from every species of molestation, 

 it becomes exceedingly tame, and passes by far the greater part of 

 its time out of the water. Here no idle boys molest the swans ; no 

 petted dogs pursue them ; no guns alarm them ; and no foxes prowl to 

 pounce upon them. Hence they are seen walking to and fro in all 

 parts of the park ; and they will take the bread from your hand with 

 a familiarity that at once bespeaks their unconsciousness of danger. 

 Towards the close of last April, our favourite male swan swallowed 

 a double eel-hook, to which was attached a shank of twisted wire 

 about a foot in length. It had descended so low into the gullet, and 

 fixed itself so firmly there, that I saw at once we had no chance 

 whatever of extracting it by the mouth. Knowing that death must 

 inevitably ensue if the hook were not removed in due time, and dis- 

 trusting my own operating powers on a living bird, I sent over to 

 Wakefield, and requested the immediate attendance of Mr Bennett, 

 our scientific family-surgeon. He laid open the gullet to the extent 



