ing the loon puts on his wedding-garment, and his fancy,
like the young man's, "lightly turns to thoughts of love."

But speaking of Mahng's wedding-garment reminds me that I haven't told
you about his winter dress. His back and wings were very dark-brown, and
his breast and under-parts were white. His head and the upper portion of
his neck were black; his bill was black, or blackish, and so were his
feet. His coat was very thick and warm, and his legs were feathered
right down to the heel-joint. More than five feet his wings stretched
from tip to tip, and he weighed at least twelve pounds, and would be
still larger before he died.

As to his nuptial finery, its groundwork was much the same, but its
trimmings were different and were very elegant. White spots appeared all
over his back and the upper surfaces of his wings, some of them round,
and some square. They were not thrown on carelessly, but were arranged
in gracefully curving lines, and they quite changed his appearance,
especially if one were as near him as one is supposed to be during a
courting. His spring neckwear, too, was in exceedingly good taste, for
he put on a sort of collar of very narrow vertical stripes, contrasting
beautifully with the black around and between them. Higher up on his
neck and head the deep black feathers gleamed and shone in the sunlight
with brilliant irridescent tints of green and violet. He was a very
handsome bird.

And now everything was going north. The sun was going north, the wind
was going north, the birds were going, and summer herself was sweeping
up from the tropics as fast as ever she could travel. Mahng was getting
very restless. A dozen times a day he would spread his wings and beat
the air furiously, dashing the spray in every direction, and almost
lifting his heavy body out of the water. But the time was not yet come,
and presently he would fold his pinions and go back to his courting.

Do you think he was very inconstant? Do you blame him for not being more
faithful to the memory of the bird who was shot at his side only a few
months before? Don't be too hard on him. What can a loon do when the
springtime calls and the wind blows fresh and strong, when the new
strong wine of life is coursing madly through his veins, and when his
dreams are all of the vernal flight to the lonely northland, where the
water is cold and the fish are good, and where there are such delightful
nesting-places around the marshy ponds?

B