Tfif HAVE shot three swans in my lifetime and 

 /3I have had chances of killing others, but I 

 would not shoot any more of these fine birds unless 

 I were starving. Young and fat birds may be all 

 right, but old ones are not worth eating, and I 

 consider it a sin to kill a bird or anything else 

 unless some use can be made of it. 



It was in 1864 that I shot my first two swans, 

 and they were the first I had ever seen on this 

 coast or in a wild state anywhere. I was in- 

 land trapping with my brother on one of the tri- 

 butaries of the Pentecost River and we were about 

 seventy miles from the sea shore. It was towards 

 the end of September. During the previous day 

 and most of the night it had been blowing a strong 

 gale of south-westerly winds with hazy and some- 

 what warmer weather than is usual at that season. 

 We were getting our winter quarters ready and 

 preparing dead falls for otter and searching for 

 beaver. We had camped on the edge of a lake 

 about a couple of miles wide, which the gale of the 

 previous day had prevented us from crossing. 

 Early next morning we were off and went direct 

 to the outlet, where there was an otter slide over 

 an old beaver dam. The outlet itself was pro- 

 bably thirty feet wide, bordered by spruce and 



