THE FIRST FLUTTERINGS OF THE WING. 95 
Let us pause for a few moments at the solemn passages where 
life uncertain seems still to oscillate, where Nature appears to question 
herself, to examine her own volition. ‘Shall I be fish or mammal ?” 
says the creature. It falters, and remains a fish, but warm- 
blooded ; belongs to the mild race of lamentins and seals. “Shall I 
be bird or quadruped?” A great question ; a perplexed hesitancy — 
a prolonged and changeful combat. All its various phases are dis- 
cussed ; the diverse solutions of the problems naively suggested and 
realized by fantastic beings like the ornithorhynchus, which has 
nothing of the bird but the beak; like the poor bat, a tender and 
innocent animal in its family-circle, but whose undefined form makes 
it grim-looking and unfortunate. You perceive that nature has 
