“How I wish I could fly!” cried Robert, as he was gazing after his pigeons that were exercising themselves in a morning’s flight. “How fine it must be to soar to such a height, and to dash through the air with so swift a motion!”

“I doubt not,” said his father, “that the pigeons have great pleasure in it; but we have our pleasures, too; and it is idle to indulge longings for things quite out of our power.”

Robert. But do you think it impossible for men to learn to fly?

Father. I do—for I see they are not furnished by Nature with organs requisite for the purpose.

Rob. Might not artificial wings be contrived, such as DÆdalus is said to have used?

Fa. Possibly they might; but the difficulty would be to put them in motion.

Rob. Why could not a man move them, if they were fastened to his shoulders, as well as a bird?

Fa. Because he has got arms to move which the bird has not. The same organs which in quadrupeds are employed to move the fore-legs, and in man the arms, are used by birds in the motion of the wings. Nay, muscles or bundles of flesh, that move the wings, are proportionally much larger and stronger than those bestowed upon our arms; so that it is impossible, formed as we are, that we should use wings, were they made and fastened on with ever so much art.

Rob. But angels, and cupids, and such things are painted with wings; and I think they look very natural.

Fa. To you they may appear so; but an anatomist sees them at once to be monsters, which could not really exist.

Rob. God might have created winged men, however, if he had pleased.

Fa. No doubt; but they could not have had the same shape that men have now. They would have been different creatures, such as it was not in his plan to make. But you that long to fly—consider if you have made use of all the faculties already given you! You want to subdue the element of air—what can you do with that of water? Can you swim?

Rob. No, not yet.

Fa. Your companion, Johnson, I think, can swim very well?

Rob. Yes.

Fa. Reflect, then, on the difference betwixt him and you. A boat oversets with you both in a deep stream. You plump at once to the bottom, and infallibly lose your life. He rises like a cork, darts away with the greatest ease, and reaches the side in perfect safety. Both of you, pursued by a bull, come to the side of a river. He jumps in and crosses it. You are drowned if you attempt it, and tossed by the bull if you do not. What an advantage he has over you! Yet you are furnished with exactly the same bodily powers that he is. How is this?

Bob. Because he has been taught, and I have not.

Fa. True, but it is an easy thing to learn, and requires no other instruction than boys can give one another when they bathe together: so that I wonder anybody should neglect to acquire an art at once agreeable and useful. The Romans used to say, by way of proverb, of a blockhead, “He can neither read nor swim.” You may remember how Cesar was saved at Alexandria by throwing himself into the sea, and swimming with one hand, while he held up his commentaries with the other.

Rob. I should like very well to swim, and I have often tried, but I always pop under water, and that daunts me.

Fa. And it is that fear which prevents you from succeeding.

Rob. But is it as natural for man to swim as for other creatures? I have heard that the young of all other animals swim the first time they are thrown into the water.

Fa. They do—they are without fear. In our climate the water is generally cold, and is early made an object of terror. But in the hot countries, where bathing is one of the greatest pleasures, young children swim so early and well, that I should suppose they take to it almost naturally.

Rob. I am resolved to learn, and will ask Johnson to take me with him to the river.

Fa. Do; but let him find you a safe place to begin at. I don’t want you, however, to proceed so cautiously as Sir Nicholas Gimcrack did.

Rob. How was that?

Fa. He spread himself out on a large table, and placing before him a basin of water with a frog in it, he struck with his arms and legs as he observed the animal do.

Rob. And did that teach him?

Fa. Yes—to swim on dry land; but he never ventured himself in the water.

Rob. Shall I get corks or bladders?

Fa. No; learn to depend on your own powers. It is a good lesson in other things, as well as in swimming. Learning to swim with corks, is like learning to construe Latin with a translation on the other side. It saves some pains at first, but the business is not done half so effectually.