IN THE SHETLANDS 229 
Now that is truth—simple, plain truth. So it is put 
into the mouth of Thor—a heathen god—who, of 
course, is brought up only to be knocked down, and 
what he says confuted. Only through some such 
machinery can poets now speak the truth. 
These seals differ greatly from one another, both in 
size, figure, markings, and colour of the fur, and 
especially, as a result of all, in beauty. Most of 
them look rough, swollen, dropsical creatures, but 
some are very pretty and elegant, and as these are 
smaller I suppose them to be the females. Often 
one may see a look and action in them that seems to 
speak of coquetry and being wooed. 
It is curious that the one seal that lies on its face 
is the only one out of the twelve that is turned 
towards the sea. The sea, however, in this case is 
only a narrow inlet between the rock on which it lies 
and the shore, the great expanse of it being entirely 
hidden by the rock itself, which rises perpendicularly, 
like a cliff, from the highest point of its upward 
slope. The seal, therefore, really looks shorewards, 
but across a narrow strip of sea. His eyes, I notice, 
seem never shut, and at frequent intervals he turns 
his head to one side or another. All the rest lie 
either sleeping or dozing, though, as said before, 
most of them from time to time raise their heads 
a little and give a lazy look before sinking back into 
slumber. Is the one seal a sentinel? It looks like 
it. But why, if this were their custom, should seals 
ever sleep singly? And this they often do. 
