SEALS OUT OF WATER.

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mistaking them for any other; all trace in such specimens of the dark patch across the loins by which the species is recognised as the harp seal, or saddle-back seal, is lost. The distinguished anatomist we have quoted had a capital opportunity of observing the motions of the Greenland seal in confinement, and he has ably pointed out the difference of the gait of the saddle-back when compared with others. He states that this seal very often uses its fore-limbs, placing them on the ground in a semigrasping manner, and by an alternate use of them drags its body along. The hind legs, meantime, are either trailed behind slightly apart, or with opposed plantar surfaces slightly raised and shut stiffly behind. On uneven ground, or in attempting to climb, a peculiar lateral wriggling movement is made, and at such times, besides alternate palmar action, the body and the hind legs describe a sinuous semispiral or wave-track. And he goes on to state that it was not until he had well thought over this pawcreeping movement of the northern seal that he fully appreciated an incident related by Mr. Charles Davidson, which that gentleman had been witness to in one of his Arctic voyages.

"At more than a mile distance from their ship a solitary seal was noticed lying dozing near an "escape

hole" on the ice. An Esquimaux thereupon, in his seal-skin garment and hood, formed quite like the head of the animal he was in pursuit of, and with lance and rope coil, slowly crawled towards the creature. For a while it apparently took little notice of him, but at last showed indications of being on the alert. The man by this time was still far off, but the moment he observed the seal watching him, he advanced perfectly sealfashion, and whilst it steadily gazed, evidently mistaking him for one of its own species, as he at times imitated to very life every phocine movement, he approached within a very short distance. Then suddenly starting up he sent his lance whirling into the creature's vitals ere it could scramble in safety to the blow-hole."

CHAPTER IV.

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

As the cold of this inhospitable region crept insensibly upon us an incident occurred, simple enough in itself but suggestive of sentiment.

Among the involuntary captives brought away from Old England by our schooner, were a few flies. As for their own special convenience and comfort they had selected our cabin for a home while the craft was lying in port, neglecting to heed the warning when our other visitors left us, they were forced to endure the consequences of their heedless devotion to pleasure. Now English flies were not born to flutter among icebergs, and their delicate frames yielded only to the change of climate. We, on first leaving home, had no manner of interest in the crea tures; insensibly drawn to the very few survivors associated with a summer land, their presence in our cabin was more welcome than tolerated, but when the

family dwindled down to one specimen only, a thorough solicitude was manifested for it, and every conceivable means was adopted to save its life. The choicest delicacies we placed before it, but it needed no further help; it could select for itself, and did. Grown sickly with the change of clime, and grown feeble by exposure to the cold, it could no longer venture on a journey to the table, its feeble wings refused their office. Then was the true nature of our hardy men most surely seen; their susceptible natures hidden beneath a rough exterior came brightly out; it was only a fly, but even a fly excited their sympathy, and the fly was welcome. As its powers flagged they lifted it tenderly to the topmost pane of glass in our cabin window to catch the warmest rays of the sun.

Alas! the inexorable laws of climate could not be stayed on account of the fly, and in spite of every attention and care, the poor thing grew feebler and feebler day by day. No longer able to support itself on the pane, it descended lower, yet lower, on the cabin window, till it finally rested on the lowest sill, and before long its watchful attendants were called upon to witness the end of their little friend.

It had rolled over from weakness and lay upon its back, and after many a spasmodic kick it died.

The pity for the living fly was continued to its remains. Nature had composed its limbs in placid repose, and a suitable site being found in which to deposit the dust, it was suitably interred. There was as much propriety in the mourners as is displayed by needy relatives when some rich man dies.

Why should strong men have natures like this? There are pepole who account for such displays of gentleness on patriotic grounds. The fly was their fellow-country mortal! Others that it was on pure ethnological principles easily settled. Was it not the last of its race? Could it have been for its individuality that it was esteemed precious, as a rare coin is hoarded, or a musty tome? Did they believe in metempsychosis, and regard the fly with awe, hoping, in doing their duty by it, they were honouring their grandmother!

After all, it was only a fly. It is sometimes said at the decease of a little one, "It was only a child." But what does the mother think? It was only a fly; and what did the fly think? If the fly thought about it at all, had it noted the gradual disappearance of its companions? Had it no forebodings of its coming fate, no regrets for the past? Had it no consciousness of the kindness of those on board the schooner? Could it understand the solicitude shown for it in the selec