Aristocratic Aloofness 357 



Bnt I admit that I have never seen them feed. 

 In the crow's-nest of a whaler, when lazily turning to 

 and fro on the Line grounds, I have often been kept 

 pleasant company with by a bos'un, who just floated 

 near, suspended in the clear ether, apparently fully 

 engaged in the endeavour to decide what sort of strange 

 bird I was. All the two hours' spell he would remain, 

 hardly moving a feather, and when, after my four 

 hours' watch below had been spent and I mounted 

 to my lofty perch again, there he was still. I never 

 saw such a bird descend more than a few feet ; never 

 saw him manifest the slightest interest in anything 

 except the mastheads of the ship. And I have won- 

 dered, until my curiosity has been almost unbearable, 

 how the pretty solitary lived — in fact, despite com- 

 mon-sense and reasoning power, there would obtrude a 

 feeling of the uncanny, especially after gazing stead- 

 fastly into the deep dark eyes of the bird floating so 

 near that I could almost touch him with my hand. 

 I do not recall any instance where two of them thus 

 accompanied a ship, but I do remember that whenever 

 other birds came about the bos'un soon took his leave, 

 just floated away and disappeared, with a fine aristo- 

 cratic air of disliking any society but that which he 

 had chosen for himself, a suggestion of being perfectly 

 content with his entirely lonely life, and needing no 

 external aids to comfort or happiness. In the tropical 

 seas, however, at a distance from land, except for the 

 tiny petrel, bird-life is comparatively scarce, and 

 apparently this is just what the Tropic Bird desires and 

 enjoys, with an occasional calm and serene criticism 

 of the uncouth mortals who penetrate into his lonely 

 realm. 



Except in calms or very light winds the Tropic Bird 

 is seldom observable from the masthead of an ordinary 



