We do not read that the old Greeks or Romans ever used the remora of the Mediterranean—for there are several species—to fish with in this way. If they had, they would probably have expected it to pull in anything—even a whale—for their idea was that this little fish, by affixing itself to a ship, could retard its progress through the water, or even stop it if it wished to. Thus it was believed that at the battle of Actium a remora held back Antony’s ship, and thus contributed to his defeat. It seems strange that no one should have thought of turning such powers to practical account, not for fishing purposes merely, but also in naval warfare. Even now, were the story true, much might be done in this way. Instead of torpedoes discharged at the enemy’s ships, we might read, then, of remoras having been successfully affixed to them. There are several different kinds of sucking fishes, and some of them—like the common lump-sucker which frequents our coasts—have the adhesive disc, or part, situated on the under surface. Of the true remoras there are also several species, the smallest being about eight inches long, whilst the largest attains to three feet or more. If the remoras, by virtue of their parasitic relations with powerful and dangerous species, are the most protected of all fishes, we may, perhaps, look upon the flying-fish of the southern seas as the most persecuted. At any rate, it is popularly supposed to be, and equally when it leaps out of the water, or, after a long, skimming flight, descends into it again, the bonito—a sort of large mackerel, its principal enemy—is understood to be hungering for it. For myself, upon general principles, I am inclined to doubt this. Animals, it is well known, enjoy doing what they do with ease and mastery. If they have an art, they like to practise it—they do not seek to hide their light under a bushel. Why, then, should not a fish that can fly, fly, sometimes, for its own amusement? That it should do so would be in accordance with all analogy; so, as it is no more than an assumption to hold that it does not, I shall hold that it does. One reads, often, about the gaping jaws of a dolphin, or albacore, appearing above the water, just as the flying-fish is about to descend into it—and no doubt this may frequently occur. But were the dolphin or albacore or bonito always expecting it—having pursued it underneath, in the water, as we are told—I believe the signs of this would be much more frequent. It would be the usual thing then, I believe, to see the jaws, or the whole body of the enemy, leap into the air, or at least for there to be some disturbance in the water, as the excursionist touched it. But this, as a rule, one does not see—at least, I have not myself.