ticulations and
strutting of little Mopsus were beyond endurance when he first caught
sight of his long-looked-for progeny. He screamed aloud, whilst Nisa
helped him to attack me with their united wings and hissings, as I
approached the nest in order to convey the little ones to the water ...
and this loving couple, apparently so ill-assorted and disproportionate,
have brought up the progeny with great care and success. The hybrids are
elegantly shaped, but are not so large as the mother nor so small as the
father; their plumage partaking in colour with that of both parents.... I
certainly acted rashly, notwithstanding appearances, in holding this
faithful couple up to the ridicule of visitors who accompanied me to the
spot. I have had a salutary lesson, and shall be more guarded for the
future in giving an opinion. My speculation that a progeny could not be
produced from the union of a Bernacle gander with a Canada goose has
utterly failed. I stand convinced by a hybrid, reprimanded by a gander,
and instructed by a goose."

The melody ascribed to the dying swan has long been well known to exist
only in the graceful mythology of the ancients; but as few opportunities
occur of witnessing the bird's last moments, some interest attaches to Mr
Waterton's personal observations on this point, which we can ourselves
corroborate, having not long since been present at the death of a pet
swan, which, like Mr Waterton's favourite, had been fed principally by
hand; and, instead of seeking to conceal itself at the approach of death,
quitted the water, and lay down to die on the lawn before its owner's
door. "He then left the water for good and all, and sat down on the margin
of the pond. He soon became too weak to support his long neck in an
upright position. He nodded, and then tried to recover himself; and then
nodded again, and again held up his head: till at last, quite enfeebled
and worn out, his head fell gently on the grass, his wings became expanded
a trifle or so, and he died while I was looking on.... Although I gave no
credence to the extravagant notion which antiquity had entertained of
melody from the mouth of the dying swan, still I felt anxious to hear some
plaintive sound or other, some soft inflection of the voice, which might
tend to justify that notion in a small degree. But I was disappointed....
He never even uttered his wonted cry, nor so much as a sound, to indicate
what he felt within."

Mr Waterton repeats