198 WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA. 



Aristotle down to the present day, has been in disgrace with 

 man. Father has handed down to son, and author to author 

 that this nocturnal thief subsists by milking the flocks. 

 Poor injured little bird of night, how sadly hast thou 

 suffered, and how foul a stain has inattention to facts put 

 upon thy character ! Thou hast never robbed man of any 

 part of his property, nor deprived the kid of a drop of 

 milk. 



When the moon shines bright, you may have a fair 

 opportunity of examining the goatsucker. You will see it 

 close by the cows, goats, and sheep, jumping up every now 

 and then, under their bellies. Approach a little nearer, — 

 he is not shy, " he fears no danger, for he knows no sin." 

 See how the nocturnal flies are tormenting the herd, and 

 with what dexterity he springs up and catches them, as fast 

 as they alight on the belly, legs, and udder of the animals, 

 Observe how quiet they stand, and how sensible they seem 

 of his good offices, for they neither strike at him, nor hit 

 him with their tail, nor tread on him, nor try to drive him 

 away as an uncivil intruder. Were you to dissect him, 

 and inspect his stomach, you would find no milk there. It 

 is full of the flies which have been annoying the herd. 



The prettily mottled plumage of the goatsucker, like that 

 of the owl, wants the lustre which is observed in the 

 feathers of the birds of day. This at once marks him as 

 a lover of the pale moon's nightly beams. There are nine 

 species here. The largest appears nearly the size of the 

 English wood-owl. Its cry is so remarltable, that having 

 once heard it you will never forget it. When night reigns 

 over these immeasurable wilds, whilst lying in your ham- 

 mock, you will hear this goatsucker lamenting like one in 

 deep distress. A stranger would never conceive it to be 

 the cry of a bird. He would say it was the departing 

 voice of a midnight-murdered victim, or the last wailing of 



