36 FIELD-NOTES FOR THE YEAR. CH. XXII. 



The first flock of swans which I have seen this 

 season are just arriving in a long, undulating line. 

 As they come over the sands where they will pro- 

 bahly rest for the night, the whole company sets up 

 a simultaneous concert of trumpet-like cries ; and 

 after one or two wheels round the place, light down 

 on the sand, and immediately commence pluming 

 themselves and putting their feathers in order, after 

 their long and weary flight from the wild morasses 

 of the north. After a short dressing of feathers 

 and resting a few minutes, the whole beautiful flock 

 stretch their wings again, and rise gradually into 

 the air, but to no great height, their pinions sound- 

 ing loud as they flap along the shallow water before 

 getting well on wing. They then fly off*, led by 

 instinct or the experience of former years, to where 

 a small stream runs into the bay, and where its 

 waters have not yet mingled with the salt sea. 

 Here they alight, and drink and splash about to 

 their hearts' content. This done, they waddle out 

 of the stream, and after a little stretching of wings 

 and arranging of plumage, standing in a long row, 

 dispose themselves to rest, every bird with her head 

 and long neck laid on her back, with the excep- 

 tion of one unfortunate individual, who by a well- 

 understood arrangement stands with erect neck and 

 watchful eye to guard his sleeping companions. 



