216 THE BIRD WATCHER 
up on the opposite sid rolled over upon it, cuffed it 
with one fore-foot, again with the other, flipped it, then, 
with his footy tail as he dived away, and returning, in 
a fresh burst of rompiness, waltzed round and round 
with it, embracing it one might almost say. At last, 
going off, he swam to a much steeper rock than any he 
had made believe to find so difficult, and, scrambling up 
it with uncouth ease, went quietly to sleep in the best 
possible humour. 
What intelligence all this shows! Much more, 
I think, than the sporting of two animals together. 
This seal was alone, saw the spar floating at a distance, 
and swam to it with the evident intention of amusing 
himself in this manner. That spar may be a piece of 
a shipwreck, may have floated out of the crash and 
confusion of human agony, hands may have grasped 
it, arms clung around it, to be washed off, stiffened in 
death. Now, in these silent dream-pools of the sea’s 
oblivion, it is played with by a happy animal. And 
of all those influences that cling about a thing life- 
touched, and tell their several tales to the clairvoyant, 
I would choose to feel and breathe this last. 
Later, another seal played with this same spar in 
much the same way; yet both of them seemed to be 
quite full-grown animals. Then I saw something 
which looked like a spirit of real humour, as well as 
fun. Three seals were lying on a slab of rock to- 
gether, and one of them, raising himself half up, 
began to scratch the one next him with his fore-foot. 
The scratched seal—a lady, I believe—took it in the 
