SECOND JOURNEY. 



119 



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 fiies 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 goat- 

 sucker, 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 remarkable, that having once heard it you will never 

 forget it. When night reigns over these immeasurable 

 wilds, whilst lying in your hammock, 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 Mobe for her 

 poor children, before she was turned into stone. Sup- 

 pose yourself in hopeless sorrow, begin with a high loud 

 note, and pronounce, " ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha," each 

 note lower and lower, till the last is scarcely heard, 

 pausing a moment or two betwixt every note, and you 



