362 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



them, and they tarried with me above a 

 month. Six years after this, another flock 

 sojourned on the lake for about a week. 



There is a peculiarity in the modification 

 of the domestic swan too singular to be 

 passed over without notice. At the time 

 that it lays its first egg, the nest which it 

 has prepared is of a very moderate size ; but, 

 as incubation proceeds, we see it increase 

 vastly in height and breadth. Every soft 

 material, such as pieces of grass and frag- 

 ments of sedges, are laid hold of by the 

 sitting swan as they float within her reach, 

 and are added to the nest. This work 

 of accumulation is performed by her 

 during the entire period of incubation, 

 be the weather wet or dry, settled or un- 

 settled ; and it is perfectly astonishing to see 

 with what assiduity she plies her work of 

 aggrandisement to a nest already sufficient 

 in strength and size to answer every end. 



My swans generally form their nest on an 

 island quite above the reach of a flood, and 

 still the sitting bird never appears satisfied 

 with the quantity of material which we 

 provide for her nest. I once gave her two 

 huge bundles of oaten straw, and she per- 

 formed her work of apparent supererogation 

 by applying the whole of it to her nest, 

 already very large, and not exposed to 

 destruction had the weather become ever so 

 rainy. This singular propensity, amongst 

 many others in the economy of birds, puts 

 speculation on our part quite out of the 

 question. We can no more account for this 

 seemingly unnecessary anxiety in the sitting 

 swan to augment the size of its nest, than we 

 can explain why the little long-tailed tit- 

 mouse 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 net-work 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 perse- 

 cution, until the young ones return to the 

 water. To curb these rancorous proceedings 

 on the part of the parent birds, I 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 

 favor, and profited by it ; for, on finding that 

 they could easily outswim their pursuing 



parents, they set their fury at naught, and 

 kept out of their reach with very little 

 exertion. 



Where the domestic swan is free from 

 every species of molestation, it becomes ex- 

 ceedingly 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. 



The supposed melody of the dying swan 

 seems to be a fable of remote antiquity. 1 

 have long been anxious to find out upon 

 what grounds the ancients could possibly 

 attach melody to an expiring bird, which 

 neither in youth nor in riper years ever 

 shows itself gifted with the power of pro- 

 ducing a single inflection of the voice that 

 can be pronounced melodious. 



Ovid, no doubt, was well skilled in real orni- 

 thology, for in every part of his Metamor- 

 phoses we can trace some of the true habits 

 of birds, and often see their natural propen- 

 sities through the mystic veil which his 

 poetical fancy had so dexterously placed 

 before them. Still the swan is an exception ; 

 for there is nothing whatever to be perceived 

 in the entire economy of this bird that can, 

 by any turning or twisting, justify Ovid's 

 remark, that it will warble its own funereal 

 song on the near approach of death. 



The transformation of Cycnus into a swan 

 is very entertaining : — 



When Phaeton, the well-known incendiary, 

 had burnt down every com -rick in mother 

 Earth's farm-yard, and placed her own 

 beloved person in danger of immediate suf- 

 focation — 



neque enim tolerare vaporem 



Ulterius potuit, 



Jupiter felled him dead into the "yellow 

 river;" a somewhat milder punishment than if 

 he had sent him to Norfolk Island for life. His 

 poor sisters wept so intensely at having lost 

 him for ever, that they became trees (probably 

 weeping willows), and actually took root in 

 the ground. His near relative, Cycnus, too, 

 was so stupefied at what had happened, that 

 he could no longer perform the duties of his 

 royal station. He left his throne and all its 

 pleasures, and became a voluntary wanderer 

 on the banks of that river into which the 

 dead body of Phaeton had fallen. Its banks 

 and its trees, some of which had so lately 

 been Phaeton's own sisters, resounded far and 

 near with his doleful lamentations. One 

 morning, on awaking from sleep, he found 

 that he had lost his usual voice, and that he 

 could only squeak. Soon after this, his neck 



