216 A NATURALIST ON DESERT ISLANDS. 



about as much idea as a badly mounted tiger gives of the 

 lithe graceful form of the real animal in its jungle home. 

 The breast of a living specimen of Phaeton cethereus is a 

 vision of transcendental, virginal whiteness, and of purity 

 itself. The feathers, from the chin backwards to well 

 down past the breast, are arranged somewhat after the 

 fashion of a grebe's ; but they are white as driven snow, 

 silky and ghstening in the tropical sun with a hundred 

 reflections of brightly burnished silver. It is the sun- 

 god of these bright tropical seas ; the Helios sung by 

 Homer. 



One night, as we were coasting along the northern shore 

 of Trinidad, one flew on board and was partially stunned. 

 It was carefully brought down to the saloon, where we 

 were at dinner. In the strong electric light, which shed 

 its rays downwards over the table, it seemed like some 

 ethereal conception of a God of Purity. Not the least 

 of its charms were the beautiful deep coral-red of its bill 

 and the shining coal-black eye, large and somewhat 

 prominent. Never was bird more happily named — 

 Phaeton cethereus ; seldom is it thab a scientific name has 

 been so accurately descriptive and yet so poetical ; for one 

 must have seen this bird out on the broad Atlantic, miles 

 from any land, glittering like a white butterfly, high up 

 against the deep cerulean blue of the sky, to realize its 

 god-like nature. 



When we had sufficiently examined our unwilling 

 guest, our lady of the yacht kissed it on the top of its 

 snow}^ head ; and wdth this protective imprint, it was 

 returned, a happy creature, to its native element. Hard 

 would it have gone with anyone then, who had wrought 

 it any harm. 



Oftentimes, these birds have been attracted to our mast- 

 head lights. At night time, far out at sea, they glitter 

 for a second in the strong glare of the electric beam, and 

 then are swallowed up in the dark immensity of the 

 ocean ; while their wild haunting cries seem to speak to 

 us of the infinite wastes of water all aroimd. 



