Again, one reads so much about sea-birds hovering in the air, and ready to pounce upon the poor fish, as soon as they issue from the waves. However, though I have made three sea voyages—one in a sailing-ship—I have never had the luck to see this; from which I gather that there is at least a good deal of respite from this evil, to which, moreover, other fishes are subject—for whether in air or water, what matters it? No doubt, however, but that the _Exocetus volitans_—to give it its Latin name—is ardently pursued, and eaten, as it deserves to be, with the greatest relish. That its fins have been developed into wings, for the express purpose of escaping from such pursuit, is equally probable; and therefore it would be very strange if they did not often enable it to do so. A good evidence of their efficacy is, I think, the enormous abundance of the species possessing them; so that perhaps, on the whole, these creatures of two elements, on whom so much pity has been bestowed, have a better, instead of a worse, time than the majority of their fellows. The most curious thing I know about the flying-fish is that naturalists will keep on pretending that it can’t fly. However, we must not be led astray by this, but go by the name and what our gallant seamen tell us. Also we should remember this, that a sailor, when he sees a fish flying, or anything curious, is a free man, whereas a naturalist, under similar circumstances, has his hands more or less tied by a sort of professional etiquette, which requires that he should not let an animal be more interesting than he can help, or give in to any picturesque fact, unless it can be stated in a dull kind of way. The facility with which, in able hands, this compromise may be effected, has led to many tardy admissions; but exceptional cases arise, and this, perhaps, may be one of them. For here is the tropic sea, blue as a sapphire, gleaming like a diamond, glancing and throbbing with such jewels of light that it looks as though thousands of silver fishes were jumping in the meshes of a golden net, flung down by the sun from the sky. All at once, from amidst these myriads of sparkles a number flash higher, leap into the air, and fly, like bright arrows, towards you. Onwards they come, and from being light only, they pass into form and substance, begin to live, to move with sense and volition, and, all at once, they are fishes, flying with wings over their home of the sea. They sink towards the water, rise again, sink, rise, then dip for one moment, and, the next, go glittering up into the air, and come spinning round in a curve. Thus they gleam on for a most astonishing distance, till, near you, they disappear into the sea, or, far away, become again the sparkling jewels of the sun. And all around, over the great, wide sea, these showers of living gems are leaping in and out of it. It is a most beautiful sight. The body of the fish is of a light, gleaming blue, and the delicate film-like wings,