THE HARBOR SEAL 



hind-flippers in the exuberancy of their 

 spirits. 



On the bars two seals often peck at each 

 other in a sportive manner like two chickens, 

 and rarely there is a momentary disturbance, 

 as if an old one were swearing at one of the 

 younger set for treading on his toes, but as 

 a rule the time spent on the bars seems to be 

 devoted to meditation and siestas. 



On a raw March day I once witnessed an 

 interesting seal exhibition, where a love of 

 sport only was manifested. On this day with 

 the ebb tide there was a procession of cakes 

 of winter-ice floating down to the sea inside 

 the bar of the Ipswich river. Some of the 

 cakes bore masses of sand and mud or of 

 thatch grass frozen into them and torn from 

 the marshes. The game on the part of a 

 couple of seals seemed to be to get on to the 

 larger cakes and have a boat-ride, tossing 

 about in the waves. The clambering up 

 proved often difficult, and if a seal failed at 

 one cake he would try to board another. One 

 seal floated contentedly down into the bay, 

 and he could be distinguished for a long dis- 

 tance, for his dark coat contrasted well with 

 the white ice. Seals have advanced far on 



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