that had claimed sanctuary almost in his bosom. But the hawk was in no mind to be baffled; and on he wheeled too, keeping hi keen eye on the skylark. It was a chase. Which will beat? hawk or horse, wings or wheels? One mile is done; on spin the wheels, but on circles the bold fellow overhead. Two miles: there he is still, just overhead, circling, hovering, swooping with matchless determination. That fine bandit of the air deserves to win, were it not that the trustful little poet deserves to live to sing a fresh hymn in the sky; the little creature still clings to his new ally, showing the most eloquent signs of intense terror. At last, after the two miles of road (for our friend well knew the distance), the bandit gave in and swept away: and then, when all danger was over, when there was no dark spot overhead winnowing the air with strong wings, the fugitive crept out of sanctuary, and bounded joyously away.

An instance of considerate affection, but rather of sagacity than of sentiment, occurred in the same neighbourhood. A couple of ducks had been reared in the paved court of a town-house, where a small dish of water was the only sphere in which their aquatic instincts could be developed. So much fuss was made about this mimic bath, that the water supply used soon to be flicked and flirted away. Deprived of their natural element, the creatures grew up strangely enough; one was gaunt and lean, the other excessively deformed, with a long neck bent the wrong way, and with a singular propensity to tumble backward when she walked. As their ladypatroness was a humane person, she sent the invalids out of town to our cottage in the country, for the benefit of fresh air and hydropathy. One day, after enjoying the luxury of the great pond at Gillthwaiterigge, the deformed duck was accidently caught by the wry neck in the twisted root of an overhanging tree. Unless soon rescued she must die of strangulation. Away bustled the brother, up to the back door of the house, and there he stood,

quacking vehemently. One of the servants was struck with the earnestness of the creature's manner, and threw him some food. Oh no, he would not eat a mouthful. "What then?" Having fixed her attention, he ran quacking down towards the pond, looking back over his shoulder to see if she were following. At last he allured her to the very spot desired, where was still suspended by the neck the poor infirm duck. The servant immediately rescued the sufferer, and the excited message-bearer instantly subsided into his usual common-place character.

THE SWANS ON THE RIVER THAMES.

POETICAL descriptions of "the silver Thames" always include swans; and the descriptions are, in this feature, literally correct. Even in our days of sanitary drainage and bustling steamboats, the swans float tranquilly and majestically on the waters of the Thames. They are not, however, often now seen below Battersea. It is when we get up to Kew and Richmond, that the river becomes truly rural and reveals all its poetical beauties.

Thus writes one of our most delightful poets, whose works, however, are not familiar at the present day.—“Who now reads Cowley?"

"See the fair swans, on Thames's lovely side,

The which do trim their pennons, silver bright;
In shining ranks, they down the waters glide;

Oft have mine eyes devoured the gallant sight."

At Richmond we are among the swans of the Thames. Many of our most gifted poets have written lines on this beautiful river. What, for example, can be more charming than these lines of Thomson?

"Go, where the silver Thames first rural grows;
There let the feasted eye unwearied stray;

Luxurious there rove through the pendant woods;
There let us trace the matchless Vale of Thames,
Far winding up to where the Muses haunt,

To Twickenham bowers."

In quite another style are the following verses, which are so beautiful that, though very frequently quoted, they seem to me worthy of insertion :

:

"Oh, could I flow like thee and make thy stream

My great example, as it is my theme;

Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o'erflowing, full.

"My eye descending from the hill surveys

Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays:
Thames, the most loved of all the Ocean's sons,
By his old sire, to his embraces runs.
Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea,

Like mortal life, to meet eternity."

Pope has many allusions to the charming scenery of his Twickenham villa. Alas! nothing now remains of it but his well-known grotto, of which he gives the following pleasant account in one of his delightful letters:

"In my garden, on the banks of this lovely river, I found a spring of the clearest water, that echoes through my grotto day and night. From the river you see through my arch, up a walk of the wilderness, to a kind of open temple, wholly composed of shells, in the rustic manner; and from thence you look down, through a sloping arcade of trees, and see the sails on the river, passing suddenly and vanishing as through a perspective glass. When you shut the doors of this grotto, it becomes on the instant, from a luminous room, a camera-obscura, on the walls of which all the objects of the river, hills, woods, boats, &c., are forming a

moving picture, in their visible radiations; and if you have a mind to light it up, it affords different scene. you a very It is finished with shells, interspersed with coloured glass, and in the ceiling is a star of the same material, at which, when a lamp is hung in the centre, a thousand pointed rays glitter and are reflected all over the place. There are connected with this grotto, by narrower passages, two porches, one towards the river, of smooth stones, full of light and open, the other towards the garden, shadowed by trees and roughly paved with pebbles and shells; as is also the adjoining walk up the wilderness to the temple, in the natural taste, agreeing not ill with the little murmur of the constant dropping water, and the aquatic idea of the whole thing."

In another letter to his friend Digby, Pope thus alludes to the

Swans:

"No ideas you could form in the winter can make you imagine what Twickenham is in the summer; our river glitters beneath an unclouded sun, at the same time that its banks retain the verdure of flowers; the silver swans* sail along its placid bosom, or come close to my garden-bank to receive their accustomed food. Our trees, like new acquaintances brought happily together, are stretching their arms to meet each other, and growing nearer and nearer every hour, while the birds are pouring forth their thanksgiving songs."

But enough of the poetry and literature of "the Swans of the Thames." Now for some plain notes about the various species usually met with on the Thames, and also on the ornamental waters of England.

Three species are natives of Europe:-the tame, or mute swan (Cygnus olor); the wild, or whistling swan (Cygnus ferus); and Bewick's swan (Cygnus Bewickii), so named by Mr. Yarrell.

* In Yarrell's“ British Birds" (Van Voorst) a most interesting account is given of the swans and swan-marks of the Crown, the City Companies, and other proprietors of the birds on the Thames.

The tame or mute swan (Cygnus olor) is by far the most conspicuous for its beauty and the elegance of its attitudes, which

seem as if purposely intended for display.

Gliding over the water with arched neck and the plumes of its wings proudly expanded like sails to catch the breeze, it arrests the attention and courts the admiration of every observer. In our island and the adjacent parts of the continent, this noble bird is known only in a state of more or less complete domestication; it is not strictly indigenous with us, though it breeds and remains on our rivers and ornamental sheets of water without attempting to depart. In a wild state, it abounds in the eastern portions of Europe and the adjacent parts of Asia, where inland seas, vast lakes, and extensive morasses afford it food and a congenial home. In Siberia, and on the shores of the Caspian Sea, it resides in great multitudes; but, like most of the waterfowl, is migratory in its habits.

Gentle and inoffensive as it is, the muscular powers of the swan