A TASTE OF MAINE BIRCH. 119 



muzzle loader, and this the poor loon could not or did 

 not dodge. He had not timed himself to that species 

 of fire-arms, and when, with his fellow, he swam 

 about within rifle range of our camp, letting off vol- 

 leys of his wild, ironical ha-ha, he little suspected the 

 dangerous gun that was matched against him. As 

 the rifle cracked both loons made the gesture of div- 

 ing, but only one of them disappeared beneath the 

 water ; and when he came to the surface in a few 

 moments, a hundred or more yards away, and saw 

 his companion did not follow, but was floating on the 

 water where he had last seen him, he took the alarm 

 and sped away in the distance. The bird I had killed 

 was a magnificent specimen, and I looked him over 

 with great interest. His glossy checkered coat, his 

 banded neck, his snow-white breast, his powerful 

 lance-shaped beak, his red eyes, his black, thin, slen- 

 der, marvelously delicate feet and legs, issuing from 

 his muscular thighs, and looking as if they had never 

 touched the ground, his strong wings well forward, 

 while his legs were quite at the apex, and the neat, 

 elegant model of the entire bird, speed and quickness 

 and strength stamped upon every feature, all de- 

 lighted and lingered in the eye. The loon appears 

 like anything but a silly bird, unless you see him in 

 some collection, or in the shop of the taxidermist, 

 where he usually looks very tame and goose-like. 

 Nature never meant the loon to stand up. or to use 

 his feet and legs for other purposes than swimming. 

 Indeed, he cannot stand except upon his tail in a per- 



