170 FIELD NOTES FOR THE YEAR. 



beautiful 8ights imaginable. There is, too, a wild harmony hi 

 their bugle-like cry, as they wheel round and round, now 

 separating into small companies, as each family of five or six 

 seems inclined to alight, and now all joining again in a long 

 undulating line, waiting for the word of command from some 

 old leader, whose long acquaintance with the country and its 

 dangers constitutes him a swan of note among the common 

 herd. At last this leader makes up his mind to alight, and in 

 a few moments the whole flock are gradually sinking down on 

 the calm loch. After a brief moment or two spent in looking 

 round them, with straight and erect necks, they commence 

 sipping the water, and turning their flexible necks into a 

 thousand graceful curves and attitudes. They then break 

 off into small companies, each apparently a separate family, 

 and set to work, with seemingly a most excellent appetite, 

 on the water-grasses and plants. I regret to say that the 

 number of wild swans seems to decrease every year. Fewer 

 and fewer visit this country, scared away, probably, by the 

 yearly alteration made in their favourite haunts and feeding- 

 grounds by draining and other improvements, which substitute 

 oats for rushes, and sheep for wild fowl, an alteration by no 

 means gladdening to the eyes of my old garde-chasse. The 

 diminution in their numbers does not result from the quan- 

 tity killed, which, comparatively speaking, is inconsiderable. 



On their first arrival the swans are much less shy and 

 wary than they are after a few weeks' experience and know- 

 ledge of the dangers which surround them. On these lochs, 

 which are tolerably quiet, a flock generally remains during 

 the whole winter. The feeding is good, and when anything 

 disturbs them, the sands of the bay offer them a sure refuge. 

 I seldom interfere with them, unless I happen to want one 

 for any purpose ; and in reward for this forbearance I have 

 the pleasure of seeing them every day in nearly the same 

 part of the water, either feeding on the plants or pluming 

 themselves on the small banks and islands. Their favourite 

 loch is, of course, the one least accessible to any enemy. 



The flesh of the wild swan, at least of those who feed 

 inland, is perfectly free from all strong and unpleasant flavour, 

 their food consisting almost wholly of a kind of water-grass 

 which has a bulbous root. In these lochs there is a good 

 supply of this plant, and the swans become very fat, so much 

 so as to make it exceedingly difficult to preserve the skins, 

 the only part of them which I put to any use. When the 



