Those who "go down to the sea in ships" have to face many perils, but the "wonders of the great deep" are for them a lure. One of these is to watch the marvellous "sailing" flights of the wandering albatross. His wings have, when expanded, a peculiarly "ribbon-like" form, and measure from tip to tip, over eleven feet--thus exceeding that of the condor, which, however, is the heavier bird of the two. The "ribbon-like" form of the wings is due to the extreme shortness of the flight-quills--the primaries and secondaries, and the great length of the arm and fore-arm. And it may be to these structural peculiarities that the "sailing" flight just alluded to is due. Resembling soaring in many of its aspects, yet it differs materially in that it is performed low down, not at immense heights. The most graphic description of these movements is surely that of Mr. Froude: "The albatross," he tells us, "wheels in circles round and round, and for ever round the ship--now far behind, now sweeping past in a long rapid curve, like a perfect skater on a perfect field of ice. There is no effort; watch as closely as you will, you will rarely see, or never see, a stroke of the mighty pinion. The flight is generally near the water, often close to it. You lose sight of the bird as he disappears in the hollow between the waves, and catch him again as he rises over the crest; but how he rises, and whence comes the propelling force, is, to the eye, inexplicable; he alters merely the angle at which the wings are inclined; usually they are parallel to the water and horizontal; but when he turns to ascend, or makes a change in his direction, the wings then point at an angle, one to the sky, the other to the water." One sometimes hears the skylark described as "soaring" upwards, when performing that wonderful musical ride which has made him so famous. But as, spell-bound, one listens to his rapturous strains, and watches his spiral ascent, one cannot help noticing that his wings are never still, they seem almost to be "beating time" to his music. In true soaring they are scarcely ever moved. The upward progress of a bird when soaring is, of necessity, comparatively slow. But in what we may call "plunging" flight the case is very different, for here the velocity of the descent is great.