sheep. To us, a fly is obliged to be a fly;
and even a sphinx is imperatively a sphinx.
Oh, for the credulity to take in a certain
bird in America with a beak so strong
and sharp that it would pierce an ox–hide,
so that two of them would set upon,
kill, and devour a bull! Oh, for the
credulity to take in the colibus, the
humming–bird, which made a noise like a
whirlwind, though it was no bigger than
a fly! which fed on dew, had an admirable
beauty of feathers, and a scent as sweet as
that of musk or ambergris! Odious
knowledge that refuses to let us revel in the
cannibals—man–eaters—a people in the
West Indies who feed on human flesh; or
in the Patagons, a people said to be ten
feet high, inhabiting Terra Magellanica in
America. What is the use of crossing the
Atlantic now ?

To sail off Westward–ho was something
in the days of Locke, and Addison, and
Bailey; was something, too, in the days
of Charles the First and the Covenanters.
On the voyage, it was expected that there
would be seen flitting, magically, St.
Hermes's fire—a sort of meteor appearing
in the night on the shrouds of ships.
In the case of the ship losing her course,
she might be blown far southward, and get
to mystic Magellanick Straits—a famous
narrow sea—and her passengers might look
out wonderingly (and perhaps not find)
Magellan's Clouds: two small clouds not far
distant from the south pole. And if
unfavourable weather came, and the passage were
long delayed, it is hard to say what miseries
would have to be endured. The wretched
people might have to devour dog, cat,
shoes, and by lot, and slowly fellow–
passengers; and then have to subsist "on
a miserable allowance per diem cut from a
pair of leather breeches found in the cabin,
reinforced with the grass which grew
plentifully upon the deck!" Smollett relates
this seriously, and with moving pity, as
having happened as late as 1759; and, he
adds, how sad it was that the master and
crew could not contrive some sort of tackle
to catch fish! If implements of this kind,
he says, were provided in every ship, they
would, probably, prevent all those tragical
events at sea that are occasioned by
famine.

Well, Columbia being hailed, the eyes
of two centuries ago expected to open to
sights to which they were utterly unused.
Scuttling about, quickly, we may suppose,
and in mighty fear, was to be found the
agouty, a little American beast, like a rabbit.
Animating the air, was the flying tiger, an
insect in America, spotted like the tiger.
More in the fastnesses, was the cerigon, a
wild beast in America, having a skin
under it like a sack, in which it carried its
young ones; was, likewise the tatous, an
American wild beast, covered with scales
like armour; was the blowing snake, a sort
of viper, in Virginia, which blew and swelled
its head very much before it gave the bite;
was, also, possibly (though its country is
not specified), the ejulator, a wild beast,
called a crier, which made a noise like the
crying of a young child. Truly, truly,
ignorance is bliss, and it is the merest folly
to be wise! It is folly, too, to travel. Why
should we? Stay at home, and amble
gently into Kent, where the Kentish men
(only Bailey doesn't believe it) are said to
have had tails for some generations, byway
of punishment for abusing Austin the monk
and his associates, by beating them and
opprobriously tying fish–tails to their backs!
Or amble on to Carne, in Dorsetshire, many
miles off, the (better authenticated) scene of
this lying wonder; and when there, consider
(as your brains will make you) which
account of the origin of these "appendants"
is correct, that just told of St.
Augustine, or this: That the common people,
seeing Thomas à Becket, being out of
favour with King Henry the Second,
riding towards Canterbury upon a poor
sorry horse, cut off the tail of the said
sorry horse, and wore it, or duplicates of
it, ever afterwards, just where such things
ought to be, on their own Kentish selves!
Why should Bailey refuse to swallow this
little Canterbury Tale, when he lets slide
down gently the unicorn, and the phœnix,
and Euripus: a narrow sea in Greece, which
ebbs and flows seven times in twenty–four
hours?

What does the Spectator mention (to
return to the cherished mouton that
regaled us at the beginning) with especial
commendation? The temple to Jupiter
Belus, that rose a mile high, by eight
several stories, each story a furlong in
height, and on the top of which was the
Babylonian Observatory! What does he
mention further? The prodigious made
basin that took in the whole Euphrates!
"I know," he says, "there are persons
who look upon some of these wonders of
art as fabulous: but I cannot find any
ground for such a suspicion!" Should not
this make us think of our own creeds, and
statements, and indignations, with tremor
and bated breath? And Addison was no