278 SHOOTING THE WILD SWAN. 



nerves to stand the approach of such apparitions. 

 We doubt whether either the master or man would 

 have stood their ground had they seen a brace of 

 figures stealing upon them through the grey dawn 

 " in clean white linen and white nightcaps." 



Upon the vexed question of the music made by 

 the dying swan, Mr. Colquhoun has an anecdote so 

 interesting, and so simple withal, that we cannot 

 resist transferring it to our pages. He has already 

 related an incident of his early wild fowl shooting 

 career, and thus proceeds : 



' k Another stormy mid- winter day, a farmer sent 

 to let us know that a flock of wild swans had appeared 

 off the shore. My brother and I instantly started 

 with our duck guns. When we had reconnoitred with 

 our glasses from a rising ground, we saw that the 

 flock were resting some hundred yards from the land, 

 but had little doubt, from the high wind, that they 

 would soon seek its shelter. We accordingly chose 

 different stations, and crawling to them with the 

 utmost caution, waited patiently for upwards of an 

 hour. At last the swans, by imperceptible de- 

 grees, and much turning and wheeling, neared the 

 shore, opposite my brother ; but the water being 

 shallow, they began to feed as soon as their long 

 necks could sound the bottom. He was thus forced 

 to rush down to the edge, and take the distant shot. 

 One lay badly wounded : had the wind been blowing 

 towards the shore, the swan was so disabled, he could 

 not have made head against it, but as it blew side- 



