A MOUNTAIN POND 75 



were half a dozen rough-wings, — probably 

 not stragglers, — hawking over the water ; 

 feeding, bathing, and now and then, by way 

 of variety, engaging in some pretty spirited 

 lovers' quarrels. In one such encounter, I 

 remember, one of the contestants received 

 so heavy a blow that she quite lost her bal- 

 ance (the sex was matter of guesswork) and 

 dropped plump into the water ; and more 

 than once the fun was interrupted by an 

 irate phoebe, who dashed out upon the mak- 

 ers of it with an ugly snap of his beak, as 

 much as to say, " Come, now, this is my 

 bridge." Mr. Stewart himself could hardly 

 have held stricter notions about the rights 

 of property. The rough-wings frequently 

 perched in the dead trees, and once, at least, 

 the barn swallow did likewise ; something 

 which I never saw a bird of his kind do 

 before, to the best of my recollection. For 

 to-day he was in Rome, and had fallen in 

 with the Roman customs. 



As I have said already, his presence was 

 unexpected. His name is not included in 

 Mr. Brewster's North Carolina list, and I 

 saw no other bird like him till I was ap- 

 proaching Asheville, a week later, in a rail- 



