ing's Straits, and the Chinese Sea; its fur possesses a beautiful softness, and this alone gives an importance to the fur-trade of Western America and Eastern Asia. The value once set upon these skins may be estimated from the fact, that twenty guineas were often given for a single fur.

Having now surveyed the otter in its dwelling-places by the sides of secluded waters, and observed its habits and capacities for domestication, we must conclude by reminding the reader that it is ranked by zoologists with the weasel family, and is thus related to the sables and martens; it is, therefore, a member of the mustellida, and is known in natural history by the term lutra, the common otter being styled Lutra vulgaris, whilst the other species are named according to their respective countries. The sea-otter is generally known as Lutra marina, or the seabeaver, on account of the softness of its fur.

THE SEAL.

We now come to the consideration of an animal possessing even more interesting peculiarities than the beaver or the otter. Our knowledge of the seal is very imperfect, for it resides not in our lakes and rivers, but hidden in the deep places of the sea, and, resting in its lonely caves, eludes the scrutiny of the most prying naturalist. The beaver may sometimes be detected constructing its dam and raising its domed house; but who shall dwell in the dark and sea-beaten cavern, where, on the stony ledges of rocks covered with slimy sea-weed, the seal has for ages dwelt? These animals are, it is true, caught in great numbers for their blubber and skins, but the rude men engaged in this fishery are not well fitted to observe the habits of the creatures they slay. The sportsman does sometimes approach sufficiently near to shoot one of these wary aquatics, which often dive at the sight of the rifle's flash, leaving the ball to skim harmlessly over the waves. But, notwithstanding all this seclusion and watchfulness, the seals are too numerous and singular not to excite the curiosity of men, who cannot have noticed for ages the peculiarities of the animal without being urged to a closer inspection of its habits. The wild fables of the North have also imparted a further interest to the seals; for in olden times men did undoubtedly mistake these tenants of the sea for mermaids and mermen, of which the bards sang, till men fancied the ocean waves covered the populous homes of a wonderful race, which, like the deities of Philistia, were half man and half fish. Often has the fisherman beheld, or, what to him was the same, fancied he beheld, the head of a mysterious being rising above the waters, whilst the

moonlight shone with a strange, ghost-like splendour over the sea. Then, whilst his bark rose and fell with the swelling waters, the startled man imagined he heard a wild strain of music which he, in his superstitious fears, ascribed to some strangely endowed creature of the waters. When he reaches home, how circumstantial are his accounts of the mermaid, what it said, and how it looked; what awful meanings appeared in its face, and the spiritlike solemnity of all attending circumstances! How unhesitating was the belief of the villagers in this report! Would they not have abhorred the infidel who should have dared to express a doubt respecting these said mermaids? Would not the patriarchs of the hamlet have warned their sons to shun such a man, as they valued the safety of their vessels and the mermaid's kind guidance over the dark waters in the stormy night? How often did these children of easy belief hear the mermaid's wailing cry amidst the long sigh of the tempest, or her musical melancholy song when the stillness of summer calmed the tumultuous sea!

Do we despise these ancestors of ours for this belief in the existence of mermaids? Then surely we do wrong; for the supposition was not unnatural, when all the circumstances connected with the seal are considered. The appearance of the creature, when its head rises above the sea at a distance, has deceived even modern observers into a belief that a man was swimming in the water. Now it can easily be supposed that simple-minded men should ascribe some singular properties to a creature which resembled man, and was yet an inhabitant of the sea. Nor were the

legends of strange voices proceeding from this animal altogether without foundation: the seal does really utter cries which sometimes sound like the lamentations of human beings. When these particulars are considered, it is not surprising that our forefathers had such numerous tales of the mermaid and her strange deeds: imagination soon did the rest, and supplied the creature with human speech and knowledge. As to the mermaid leading off human beings to her submarine home, and those graphic accounts of eye-witnesses which represent the mermaid as combing her hair as she gazed upon the glassy deep; they must be left in the region of romance; probably few of us who now laugh at these simple believers would have dissented from their creed had we lived in their times. We may readily believe this when we remember that, on a recent occasion, the surgeon of a ship reported that a man was in the water, and was surprised to find that the supposed man was a walrus with its head just raised above the waves.

There are numerous varieties of this extensive family, which are generally described under the term phocida; but some of the more interesting species only can be described.

The Common Seal (Phoca vitulina.)-The reader may ask,

What can the term vitulina mean as applied to such an animal? The voice resembles that of a calf, and suggested the name vitulina, or calf-animal, to which the family appellative Phoca is prefixed. It may be well to remind the reader that some of the seals are called earless, whilst others have these members more fully developed; the former being called the Phoca proper, and the latter Otaries, a word denoting eared. Our sailors and fishermen care little for such classical names, and apply to the animals the epithets sea-calves, sea-dogs, zany fish, and rann. The bellowing sounds uttered by the seals in their caverns have no doubt suggested the term calf; whilst the barking produced by them when irritated accounts for the use of the terms sea-dog, or sea-hound. If the body of the seal is examined, a beautiful adaptation for its peculiar mode of life will be evident. One of these instances is the power of closing the nostrils for a long time when under water, and so continuing respiration without inhaling fresh air. The animals can therefore remain more than twenty minutes under water, having taken at one inspiration a sufficient supply of air for such a period. Some seals have even been known to keep their heads submerged for an hour, without appearing in the least affected by such a singular suspension of the breathing process. What peculiar conformation enables these animals thus to exist without air is at present unknown, although the most eminent physiologists have directed their attention to this subject. Neither the labours of Cuvier, Lawrence, nor Hunter, have as yet fully elucidated these mysteries of the seal's life, which must therefore be left for the discoveries of future times.

Not only have these animals the means of closing the nostrils, but also of shutting the aperture of the ears, when deep beneath the sea. This is probably necessary to prevent the injuries which might be produced from the pressure of the water on the delicate organs of hearing. When we consider the unpleasant sensation produced in our ears by a descent for a few feet in a diving-bell, we may calculate the results of the ocean-pressure on such a delicate structure at the depth of many furlongs. The seal, therefore, requires a protection from such injuries; and it has, accordingly, received the power of closing the opening through which the sea would act upon the auditory structure. But the seal has an acute sense of hearing, and can readily distinguish sounds even when far beneath the sea; in proof of which we may allude to the fascination which music exercises over these animals. The sound of a flute or horn has often brought a whole shoal to the surface, where they have remained till the attractive strains ceased. Why the power of hearing is so acute in the seal is a question not easily answered; for we do not see the necessity of so quick a sense for creatures existing in the waters, where sight appears much more essential than hearing. The seal, however, passes

much of its time on land, basking in the warmth of the sun; and in such circumstances it is evident that a quick ear contributes to the security of the animal. How often does it thus avoid the watchful bear, which waits to pounce upon the phoca when it rises through its hole in the ice! Frequently, too, is the hunter baffled, when, slowly drawing near, with rifle ready, he sees in consternation the whole herd take the alarm, and shuffle off to the sea.

The eye of the seal is also admirably fitted for the double office of seeing both in air and water; the former power being required when it is resting on the land, the latter when swimming in the sea. It was quite necessary that such an animal should have this twofold capacity of vision; but those only who know the different effects produced by light when transmitted through water, or passed through the atmosphere, will be able to see the illustration which the eye of the seal offers of the allperfect Wisdom which has constructed both the small and great of this visible universe.

These animals are not strangers to our island, and were formerly very numerous on parts of the coast where at present few are found. The visitor to the Isle of Wight might once have beheld them sporting along its beach in those days when London sent its tens, instead of its hundreds, to that island. But from this home they have been driven by the unwelcome rush of steamboats, and the multitudes of smaller keels which now disturb those waters. For the seal, though not an enemy to man, seems to love the solitary bay and unfrequented headland, where its shoals may move in safety without fear of evil from hooks or guns. They are still numerous in many parts of the coast, where they cannot be said to enjoy much of a solitude. We find them in the mouths of our large northern rivers, especially in the Tees, whence the busy traffic of men has not yet scared them. The heaving waters of the Land's End also furnish several choice abodes for the species, which the sailor may often see peering above the long waves, as if observing the motions and trim of his ship. About eighty years ago, the Cornish men must have had many a chance of remarking the habits of the seal without the trouble of a journey to Zoological Gardens, which now are the only places where our busy citizens can pay their respects to this representative of the mermaid. Mr. Borlase, who was so long and zealously engaged in the study of Cornish history and antiquities, did not neglect the phenomena of the living world exhibited on the shores of his native county, but often turned from the examination of Druidical monuments to study, like another Gilbert White, the habits of a bird or the peculiarities of a fish. Mr. Borlase thus briefly records the results of his observations on the seals.

"The seals are seen in the greatest plenty on the shores of

Cornwall in the months of May, June, and July. They are of different sizes; some as large as a cow, and from that downwards to a small calf. They feed on most sorts of fish which they can master, and are seen searching for their prey near the shore, where the fish, wraws, and polacks resort. They are very swift in their proper depth of water, dive like a shot, and in a trice rise at fifty yards distance, so that weaker fishes cannot avoid their tyranny, except in shallow water. A person of the parish of Sennan saw, not long since, a seal in pursuit of a mullet (that strong and swift fish); the seal turned it to and fro in deep water, as a greyhound does a hare; the mullet at last found it had no way to escape but by running into shoal water; the seal pursued; and the former, to get more surely out of danger, threw itself on its side, by which means it darted into shoaler water than it could swim in with the depth of its paunch and fins, and so escaped. The seal brings forth her young about the beginning of autumn; our fishermen have seen two sucking their dam at the same time, as she stood in the sea in a perpendicular position. Their head in swimming is always above water, more so than that of a dog. They sleep on rocks surrounded by the sea, or on the less accessible parts of cliffs left dry by the ebb of the tide; and if disturbed by any thing, take care to tumble over the rocks into the sea. They are extremely watchful, and never sleep long without moving, seldom longer than a minute; then raise their heads, and if they hear or see nothing more than ordinary, lie down again, and so on, raising their heads a little, and reclining them alternately in about a minute's time."

Many naturalists who are condemned to observe the great world of nature from a distance, would give many hours' labour for the opportunity of noting that singular spectacle, which Borlase describes, of the old seal floating upright in the sea whilst giving suck to two young ones at the same time. What a story of mermaids would such a fact once have afforded! Such a view does not, however, very often occur even to the fisherman, whose occupation brings him into close acquaintance with many a curious vision of marine life; for the seal is not very anxious to introduce her young to the notice of man, of whose friendly reception she appears to have strong doubts.

The hollows along the Welsh coast afford numerous lodgingplaces to these singular animals, which are often seen there basking on the rocks during the warm weather, keeping, nevertheless, a close look-out for the approach of human beings. But it is on the northern coast of Scotland, where the swell of the ocean has worn vast caverns in the high cliffs, that the seal-swarms are found. There, in those deep recesses, may be heard at times the bellowings and barkings of hundreds of seals, keeping guard over their young, and sending their strange sounds over the silent sea. The traveller, unaccustomed to such voices from the rocks, is

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