three or four times, without coming within his reach, at last became stationary over the ledge of the projecting rock, leaving the bird-catcher apparently without a chance of escape; for to ascend the precipice without a rope was impossible, and no one was near to hear his cries, or to afford him help. What was to be done? Death stared him in the face. After a few minutes' pause he made up his mind. By a desperate leap he might regain the rope; but if he failed—and, at the distance at which it hung, the chances were against him - his death was certain amidst the pointed crags ready to receive him, over which the waves were dashing far, far below. Collecting, therefore, all his strength, with outstretched arms he sprang from the rock, and lived to tell the tale- for the rope was caught! Another fact occurred at St. Kilda; where, amongst other modes of catching the sea-fowl, that of setting gins or nooses is adopted. They are fixed in various places frequented by the birds. In one of these, set upon a ledge, a hundred and twenty feet above the sea, a birdcatcher entangled his foot, and not being at the moment aware of it, was, on moving onwards, tripped up, and precipitated over the rock, where he hung suspended. He, too, as in the preceding case had no companion; and, to add to his misfortune, darkness was at hand,

D

leaving little prospect of his being discovered before morning. In vain he exerted himself to bend upwards, so as to reach the noose or grapple the rock. After a few fruitless efforts, his strength was exhausted, and in this dreadful situation, expecting, moreover, that the noose might give way every instant, did he pass a long night. At early dawn, happily, his shouts were heard by a neighbour, who rescued him from his perilous suspension.

THE SWAN.

On the water of large estates in this country, swans are kept for the sake of ornament. Wordsworth has thus described the form and movements of this bird, which is so attractive to the eye wherever it is beheld :—

Fair is the swan, whose majesty prevailing

O'er breezeless water, on Lacarno's lake,
Bears him on, while proudly sailing

He leaves behind a moon-illumined wake:
Behold! the mantling spirit of reserve
Fashions his neck into a goodly curve;

An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings
Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs,
To which, on some unruffled morning, clings
A flaky weight of winter's purest snows!

Behold! as with a gashing impulse, heaves
That downy prow, and softly cleaves
The mirror of the crystal flood,

Vanish inverted hill, and shadowy wood,
And pendant rocks, where'er, in gliding state,
Winds the mute creature without visible mate
Or rival, save the Queen of the Night,
Showering down a silver light

From heaven, upon her chosen favourite.

The plumage is of an ash-colour till the second year, after which it becomes pure white. The female builds her nest of water-plants, reeds, long grass, and sticks, in some retired bank of a river or lake, and her eggs are much larger than those of a goose. The young are called cygnets: as soon as they can fly their quillfeathers are clipped; and this is repeated every year.

The swan lives to a great age; sometimes, it is said, to a century or more. Though a powerful enemy when attacked, it is not an offensive bird. A few years ago a very fine swan was drowned in Trentham Pool, the seat of the Marquess of Stafford, by a pike driving at its bill: they were of equal strength, and the bird and the fish alike perished.

Each family of swans on the river Thames has its own district; and if its limits are encroached upon by others, a pursuit immediately takes place, and the offenders are driven off: in other cases they live in perfect harmony. The male is very attentive to his mate, and the parent birds take great care of the cygnets. Where the stream is strong, the old swan will sink herself sufficiently low to bring her back on a level with the water, when the young ones will get upon it, and in this manner are conveyed to the other side of the river, or into stiller water.