BRUTE NEIGHBORS. 
251 
or twelve inches long by two and a half wide, and under 
her chin like a muff, the upper side loose, the under 
matted like felt, and in the spring these appendages 
dropped off. They gave me a pair of her 66 wings,” 
which I keep still. There is no appearance of a mem¬ 
brane about them. Some thought it was part flying- 
squirrel or some other wild animal, which is not impos¬ 
sible, for, according to naturalists, prolific hybrids have 
been produced by the union of the marten and domes¬ 
tic cat. This would have been the right kind of cat for 
me to keep, if I had kept any; for why should not a 
poet’s cat be winged as well as his horse ? 
In the fall the loon (Colymbus glacicdis) came, as 
usual, to moult and bathe in the pond, making the 
woods ring with his wild laughter before I had risen. 
At rumor of his arrival all the Mill-dam sportsmen are 
on the alert, in gigs and on foot, two by two and three 
by three, with patent rifles and conical balls and spy¬ 
glasses. They come rustling through the woods like 
autumn leaves, at least ten men to one loon. Some 
station themselves on this side of the pond, some on that, 
for the poor bird cannot be omnipresent; if he dive here 
he must come up there. But now the kind October 
wind rises, rustling the leaves and rippling the surface 
of the water, so that no loon can be heard or seen, 
though his foes sweep the pond with spy-glasses, and 
make the woods resound with their discharges. The 
waves generously rise and dash angrily, taking sides 
with all waterfowl, and our sportsmen must beat a re¬ 
treat to town and shop and unfinished jobs. But they 
were too often successful. When I went to get a pail 
of water early in the morning I frequently saw this 
stately bird sailing out of my cove within a few rods. 
