literally slumbers upon the storm. If he
thinks fit to row in ernest, distance becomes
a thing of nought. He breakfasts in Senegal
and dines in America.

This strange being has, moreover, the
royal quality of fearing nothing in the
world. Little, but strong and intrepid,
he braves all the tyrants of the air. He
would despise the condor, in case of need;
before the monster-bird could get well on the
wing, he would be leagues away. One thing,
nevertheless, surprises you; which is, that
on closer inspection, the first member of the
winged kingdom does not enjoy one particle
of the peace which would seem to be promised
by a life of freedom. His eye is cruelly
hard, unmerciful, and restless. His twisted
attitudes are the contortions of a wretched
watchman, who is compelled, on pain of
death, to keep a constant look-out over
the infinite expanse of ocean. His sight,
visibly, strains at telescopic range; and if it
fail him, the sentence is passed on his sombre
visage; nature has condemned him, and he
dies.

Take a near view of his person: he has
scarcely any feet, and such as he has are
very short and webbed, incompetent to walk
or perch. With a formidable beak, he
has not the talons of the veritable sea-eagle.
False eagle, although superior to the true in
audacity and thievishness, he is inferior in
strength, and is unprovided with those
invincible claws. He can strike and slay;
but can he seize?  Hence arise the
uncertainty and the hazards of his life, which is
that of a corsair and a pirate rather than of
a sailor; and the permanent question written
on his face is, "Shall I dine to-day? Shall
I be able to feed my young ones to-night?"
His superb and enormous apparatus of wing
becomes, on land, an incumbrance and a
danger. In order to take flight, he requires
either a high wind or an elevated spot, a
peak, or a rocky cliff. Surprised on a sandbank
or a low reef, where he often makes a halt,
the frigate-bird is helpless and defenceless;
it is to no purpose that he threatens and
strikes right and left: he is knocked on the
head with blows of a stick. Out at sea,
these immense wings, admirable at a certain
altitude, are ill-adapted to skim the waves.
Once wet through, they would become heavy
and would sink. And then, alas for the bird!
he becomes the property of the fishes; he
feeds the inferior tribes, which he expected
to make his food; the grave devours the
sportsman, the catcher is caught.

And yet, what can he do? His daily meals
are in the waves; he must always, therefore,
be approaching them; he is obliged constantly
to return to, and beat about the odious and
prolific sea, which threatens to engulf him
Consequently, this being, that is so well
armed and so magnificently winged, so
superior to all his fellows in visual power, in
rapacity and courage, leads only a trembling
and precarious life. He would perish of
hunger, if he had not the cunning to find a
provider whose rations he devours. His
ignoble resource is to attack a heavy and
timid bird, the noddy, who is an excellent
fisherman. The frigate-bird, who is not
superior in size, pursues him, strikes him on
the neck with his bill, and makes him
disgorge his prey. All this takes place in mid-air;
before the fish falls, the frigate-bird has
caught it. The same impudent robber has
been known to snatch a fish from a man's
hand, and even to hover over a caldron with
the hope of snatching morsels of the boiling
meat, regardless of the sailors who were
superintending the cookery. Dampier saw
sick, old, or crippled frigate-birds establishing
themselves on reefs, which seemed to be
their hospitals, and levying contributions on
the fisheries of their vassals, the juvenile
noddies. But, while in vigorous health, they
rarely alight, but live like the clouds, floating
on their outspread wings from one
hemisphere to another, taking their chance, and
piercing with their implacable gaze the
boundless expanse of sea and sky.

The first of the winged race is he who
never reposes. The first of navigators is he
who never reaches the end of his voyage.
To him, land and sea are equally forbidden.
He leads a life of eternal exile. Let us envy
nothing. No existence is really free here
below, no career is sufficiently vast, no flight
is sufficiently lofty, no wing gifted with
sufficient power. The most potent of all is an
instrument of bondage. There must be other
wings which the soul awaits and hopefully
longs for.

CHRISTMAS READINGS
BY
MR. CHARLES DICKENS.
The third reading, consisting of THE CHRISTMAS CAROL,
and THE TRIAL FROM PICKWICK, will take place at ST.
MARTIN'S HALL, LONG ACRE, on the evening of
TWELFTH NIGHT, Thursday, January 6th; and the fourth
reading on Thursday, January l3th.

THE EIGHTEENTH VOLUME
OF
HOUSEHOLD WORDS
Bound in cloth, price Five Shillings and Sixpence, may
now be had of all Booksellers.

Now Ready, price 3d., stamped, 4d., THE CHRISTMAS
NUMBER of Household Words, entitled,
A HOUSE TO LET.
Contents:—1. Over the Way. 2. The Manchester
Marriage. 3. Going into Society, 4. Three Evenings in
the House. 5. Trottle's Report. 6. Let at Last.