ed coachman, on a little scale, making London their
Zodiac. Well for them if tradesmen's bills, and other trivial
perplexities, have not caused them to be thrown into the King's Bench.

The productions of the torrid zone are uncommonly grand. Its plains, its
swamps, its savannas, and forests abound with the largest serpents and
wild beasts; and its trees are the habitation of the most beautiful of
the feathered race. While the traveller in the Old World is astonished
at the elephant, the tiger, the lion, and the rhinoceros, he who wanders
through the torrid regions of the New is lost in admiration at the
cotingas, the toucans, the humming-birds, and aras.

The ocean, likewise, swarms with curiosities. Probably the flying-fish
may be considered as one of the most singular. This little scaled
inhabitant of water and air seems to have been more favoured than the
rest of its finny brethren. It can rise out of the waves, and on wing
visit the domain of the birds.

After flying two or three hundred yards, the intense heat of the sun has
dried its pellucid wings, and it is obliged to wet them in order to
continue its flight. It just drops into the ocean for a moment, and then
rises again and flies on; and then descends to remoisten them, and then
up again into the air; thus passing its life, sometimes wet, sometimes
dry, sometimes in sunshine, and sometimes in the pale moon's nightly
beam, as pleasure dictates, or as need requires. The additional
assistance of wings is not thrown away upon it. It has full occupation
both for fins and wings, as its life is in perpetual danger.

The bonito and albicore chase it day and night; but the dolphin is its
worst and swiftest foe. If it escape into the air, the dolphin pushes on
with proportional velocity beneath, and is ready to snap it up the moment
it descends to wet its wings.

You will often see above one hundred of these little marine aerial
fugitives on the wing at once. They appear to use every exertion to
prolong their flight, but vain are all their efforts; for when the last
drop of water on their wings is dried up, their flight is at an end, and
they must drop into the ocean. Some are instantly devoured by their
merciless pursuer, part escape by swimming, and others get out again as
quick as possible, and trust once more to their wings.

It often happens that this unfortunate little creature, after alternate
dips and flights, finding all its exertions of no av