ird as flops over the sea. Beside, there be no other I knows
on as goes up to that height. Considerin' that thar wings be spread
nigh a dozen feet, if not all o' that, and that they don't look bigger
than barn-swallows, I reckon they must be mor'n a mile overhead o' us.
Don't you think so, Snowy?"

"Mile, Massa Brace! Ya, dey am two mile 'bove us at de berry lees. Dey
doan' 'peer to move an inch from dat same spot. Dar be no doubt dat
boaf o' 'em am sound 'sleep."

"Asleep!" echoed little William, in a tone that betokened a large
measure of astonishment. "You don't say, Snowball, that a bird can go
to sleep upon the wing?"

"Whoo! lilly Willy, dat all you know 'bout de birds in dis hya part ob
do worl'? Sleep on de wing! Sartin dey go 'sleep on de wing, an' some
time wif de wing fold close to dar body, an' de head tuck under 'im,--
don't dey, Mass' Brace?"

"I ain't sartin as to that," doubtingly answered the
ex-man-o'-war's-man. "I've heerd so: but it _do_ seem sort o'
unnat'ral."

"Whoo!" rejoined Snowball, with a slightly derisive inclination of the
head; "why for no seem nat'ral? De frigate hersef she sleep on de water
widout sails set,--not eben a stitch ob her canvas. Well, den: why no
dem frigate-birds in de air? What de water am to de ship de air am to
de birds. What hinder 'em to take dar nap up yonner, 'ceptin' when
dar's a gale ob wind? Ob coos dat u'd interrup' dar repose."

"Well, nigger," rejoined the sailor, in a tone that betokened no very
zealous partisanship for either side of the theory, "you may be right,
or you may be wrong. I ar'n't goin' to gi'e you the lie, one way or t'
other. All I know is, that I've seed frigates a-standing in the air, as
them be now, making way neyther to windart or leuart; f'r all that I
didn't believe they was asleep. I kud see thar forked tails openin' and
closin' jist like the blades o' a pair o' shears; and that inclined me
to think they war wide awake all the time. If they was asleep, how kud
they a-kep waggin' thar tails? Though a bird's tail be but feathers,
still it must ha' some feelin' in it."

"Law, Massa Ben!" retorted the negro, in a still more patronising tone,
as if pitying the poverty of the sailor's syllogism, "you no tink it
possible that one move in dar sleep? You nebber move you big toe, or
you foot, or some time de whole ob you leg? Beside," continued the
logician, passing to a fresh point of his argument, "how you s'pose de