ntinual challenge and alarm. That this mysterious
hummingbird of ocean--which, had it but brilliancy of hue, might, from
its evanescent liveliness, be almost called its butterfly, yet whose
chirrup under the stern is ominous to mariners as to the peasant the
death-tick sounding from behind the chimney jamb--should have its
special haunt at the Encantadas, contributes, in the seaman's mind, not
a little to their dreary spell.

As day advances the dissonant din augments. With ear-splitting cries the
wild birds celebrate their matins. Each moment, flights push from the
tower, and join the aerial choir hovering overhead, while their places
below are supplied by darting myriads. But down through all this discord
of commotion, I hear clear, silver, bugle-like notes unbrokenly falling,
like oblique lines of swift-slanting rain in a cascading shower. I gaze
far up, and behold a snow-white angelic thing, with one long, lance-like
feather thrust out behind. It is the bright, inspiriting chanticleer of
ocean, the beauteous bird, from its bestirring whistle of musical
invocation, fitly styled the "Boatswain's Mate."

The winged, life-clouding Rodondo had its full counterpart in the finny
hosts which peopled the waters at its base. Below the water-line, the
rock seemed one honey-comb of grottoes, affording labyrinthine
lurking-places for swarms of fairy fish. All were strange; many
exceedingly beautiful; and would have well graced the costliest glass
globes in which gold-fish are kept for a show. Nothing was more striking
than the complete novelty of many individuals of this multitude. Here
hues were seen as yet unpainted, and figures which are unengraved.

To show the multitude, avidity, and nameless fearlessness and tameness
of these fish, let me say, that often, marking through clear spaces of
water--temporarily made so by the concentric dartings of the fish above
the surface--certain larger and less unwary wights, which swam slow and
deep; our anglers would cautiously essay to drop their lines down to
these last. But in vain; there was no passing the uppermost zone. No
sooner did the hook touch the sea, than a hundred infatuates contended
for the honor of capture. Poor fish of Rodondo! in your victimized
confidence, you are of the number of those who inconsiderately trust,
while they do not understand, human nature.

But the dawn is now fairly day. Band after band, the sea-fowl sail away
to forage the deep for their food. The