IT is always pleasing to find that intelligent care can be brought to bear on the preservation of the rare and interesting animals which still inhabit parts of these British Islands, though it is not often that such care is actually exercised. Mr. Lyell (a nephew of the great geologist Sir Charles Lyell) in April 1914 introduced a Bill into the House of Commons which is called the Grey Seals (Protection) Bill. It came on for consideration before the Standing Committee, was ordered to be reported to the House without amendment, and has now passed into law.

The Great Grey Seal is a much bigger animal than the Common Seal, the two species being the only seals which can be properly called "British" at the present day, though occasionally the Harp Seal, or Greenland Seal, and the Bladder-nosed Seal are seen in British waters, and may emerge from those waters on to rocky shores or lonely sandbanks. The Great Grey Seal is called "Halichoerus grypus" by zoologists, whilst the Common Seal is known as "Phoca vitulina." The male of the former species grows to be as much as 10 feet in length, whilst that of the Common Seal rarely attains 5 feet. Both these seals breed on the British coast. The Common Seal frequents the north circumpolar region, being found on the northern coasts on both sides of the Atlantic, and also on both sides of the Pacific, and even makes its way down the coasts of France and Spain into the Mediterranean, where it is rare. A few years ago one appeared on the beach at Brighton! It may often be seen on the west coast of Scotland, of Ireland, Wales, and Cornwall, where it breeds in caves. Its hairy coat is silky, and has a yellowish-grey tint spotted with black and dark grey, most abundantly on the back.

The Great Grey Seal does not occur in the Pacific, but is limited to the northern shores on both sides of the Atlantic. Its coat is of a more uniform greyish-brown colour than that of the Common Seal, and when dried by exposure to the sun has a silvery-grey sheen. The Great Grey Seal is a good deal rarer on our coasts than is the Common Seal. It is now limited to the south, west, and north coasts of Ireland, to the great islands on the West of Scotland, the Orkneys, the Shetlands, and some spots on the east coast of Scotland. It is heard of as a rare visitor to the Lincolnshire "Wash," the coasts of Norfolk, Cornwall, and Wales. Some years ago (in 1883) I found a newly-born Grey Seal on the shore of Pentargon Cove, near Boscastle, North Cornwall. It appears that whilst (contrary to the statements of some writers) the Common Seal produces its young most usually in caves or rock-shelters, the Great Grey Seal chooses a remote sand island or deserted piece of open shore for its nursery. The Common Seal gives birth to its young—a single one or a pair—in June; the Great Grey Seal about the 1st of September. While the young in both species is clothed when born in a coat of long yellowish-white hair, this coat is shed in the case of the Common Seal within twenty-four hours of birth, exposing the short hair, forming a smooth, silky coat, as in the adult, and the young at once takes to the water and swims. On the other hand, the long yellowish-white coat of hair persists in the young of the Great Grey Seal for six or seven weeks, during which time it remains on shore, and refuses to enter the water. It is visited at sundown by the mother for the purpose of suckling it. According to Mr. Lyell, this renders the young of the Great Grey Seal peculiarly liable to attack by reckless destructive humanity, and he accordingly proposes legislation to render it a penal offence to destroy the young seals or the mothers during the nursing season. It is estimated that the total number of Great Grey Seals in Scottish waters has been reduced to less than 500, and that in English and Irish waters the total is even less.

It has often been desired by naturalists that a check should be put by the Legislature upon the wanton destruction of the common seal, as well as of the grey seal. It is certainly a regrettable result of the increased visitation of our remote rocky shores by holiday-makers, so-called "sportsmen" and thoughtless ruffians of all kinds, that the large, and perfectly harmless, grey seal is likely to be exterminated. In former times in these islands, as to-day in more northern regions, there was a regular "seal fishery," and vast numbers of seals were annually slaughtered for the sake of their skins and fat. The fur of both our native species, though differing vastly from the soft under-fur of the fur-seals, or OtariÆ, of the North Pacific—which belong to a different section of the seal group, having small external "ears," and hind feet which can be moved forward and used in walking—is yet largely used for making gloves and thick overcoats. To-day the number of British seals killed and brought to market is so small that no local fishery interests would suffer were all protected by the law during the spring and summer, when breeding and the rearing of the young is in progress. There is even less reason for objecting to the protection of the larger and rarer "Great Grey Seal," which, unless it had been placed under the shelter of an Act of Parliament, would in five or six years have ceased to be a denizen of the British Islands.

Owing to my having accidentally made the acquaintance of a young grey seal, as mentioned above, in North Cornwall, I feel a special interest in the legislative protection of this kind. I was at Boscastle at the end of August, and was delighted to see there on the morning after my arrival three or four of the common seal swimming in the little rock-bound harbour. I was told by native authorities that there was a cave in the rocks at the side of Pentargon Cove, a couple of miles distant (formerly inaccessible from the cliffs), where these seals breed, and that it had been the custom of some of the young men of the district to go round there in a boat when wind and tide served in the early spring and "raid" the cave. They could get in at low tide, and, armed with heavy cudgels, they would attack the seals which were congregated in the cavern to the number of thirty or forty. A single well-delivered blow on the nose was sufficient, I was assured, to kill a full-grown seal, and if fortunate the raiders might secure ten or a dozen seals, which were then sold for their skins and oil to Bristol dealers. The enterprise was dangerous on account of the rising tide and the struggles of the seals and their assailants among the slippery rocks and deep pools in the darkness of the cave. Cruel and savage as the adventure was, it yet had its justification on a commercial basis—similar to that claimed for other "fisheries" of the great beasts of the sea hunted by man for their oil and skins. The seals of this cave were undoubtedly the small common seal—the Phoca vitulina—and I gathered that little had been heard of late years of successful expeditions to these rocks. I was, however, told that a path had been cut and ropes fastened to iron stanchions in the face of the rocky cliffs of Pentargon Cove just before my visit to Boscastle, which rendered it now comparatively easy to descend the 150 feet of rock from the hill overlooking it and reach the shore of the curiously isolated and enclosed cove.

So, with two companions—my sisters—I set off the next morning for Pentargon Cove. We climbed down the face of the cliff by the aid of the much-needed ropes and found ourselves on the shore, the tide being low. We hoped that we should be able to get a view of the "seal-cave" and some of its inhabitants swimming in its neighbourhood. We were disappointed in this, and my companions hastened down to the water's edge, in order to get as near as possible to the rocky sides of the cove. I was about to follow them when I saw, lying in the open, on the pebbles above high-tide mark, what I took at first for a white fur cloak left there by some previous visitor. I walked up to it, when, to my extreme astonishment, it turned round and displayed to my incredulous gaze a pair of very large black eyes and a threatening array of teeth, from which a defiant hiss was aimed at me. It was a baby seal, covered all over with a splendid growth of white fur, three inches deep. He was twice as big as the fur-covered young of the common seal—more than two feet long—his black eyes were as big as pennies, and he was lying there on the upper beach, far from the water, in the full blaze of the sun, as dry and as "fluffy" as a well-dressed robe of Polar bear's skin. We were indeed well rewarded for our excursion in search of the seal's cave of Pentargon Cove! For this was a new-born pup of the Great Grey Seal, entirely unconnected with the inferior population of the inaccessible cave, laid here in the open by his mother at birth (as is the habit of her species), little suspecting that the long-secluded shore of Pentargon Cove had that year been rendered accessible to marauding land-beasts for the first time. Not knowing the peculiarities of the grey seal and the refusal of its young to enter the water until six weeks after birth, when it sheds its coat of long white hair, we cautiously rolled the little seal on to my outspread coat and carried him to the water's edge. After the hissing with which he had greeted my first approach he was not unfriendly or alarmed, and for my part I must say that I have never yet stumbled upon any free gift of Nature which excited my admiration and regard in an equal degree. His eyes were beautiful beyond compare. We placed him close to the water and expected him to wriggle into it and swim off, but, on the contrary, he wriggled in the opposite direction, and slowly made his way, by successive heaves, up the beach. He was not more than a day or two old, as was shown by the unshrunken condition of the umbilical cord. We did not like to leave him exposed to the attacks of vagrant boys, who might climb down into the cove, so we carried him on my coat to the shelter of some large rocks, a hundred yards along the shore. There, with much regret, we left him.

But on the following evening, as we sat down to dinner, I heard from some other visitors at the Wellington Inn, to whom, under pledge of secrecy, I had confided our discovery, that they had been to Pentargon Cove to visit our young friend, and found that he had been removed (probably by his mother) back to the exact spot where we had found him. They also stated that his presence there had become known in the village, and that the conviction had been expressed that "the boys" would certainly go and stone him to death! I had already reproached myself for going elsewhere that day instead of to Pentargon Cove to look after my young seal, and now I hastily left my dinner, procured in the village two men and a potato sack, and hurried to Pentargon Cove. As we approached the edge of the cliff the sun was setting, and the cove was very still and suffused with a red glow. Then a weird sound rent the air, like that made by one in the agonies of sea-sickness. It was the little seal calling for his mother! It is the habit of the females of this species to leave the shore during the day when they go in search of the fish on which they feed, and to return to their young in the evening, in order to suckle them. I could see, from above, my baby friend—a little white figure all alone in the deepening gloom of the great cliffs—raising his head and, by his cries, helplessly inviting his enemies to come and destroy him. In a few minutes we were down by his side, had placed him in the potato sack, and brought him to the upper air. On the way to the inn I purchased a large-sized baby's bottle with a fine indiarubber teat. We placed the little seal on straw in a large open packing-case in the stables, whilst the kitchen-maid warmed some milk and filled the feeding-bottle. Then I brought it to him, looking down on his broad, white-furred head, with its wonderful eyes, set so as to throw their appealing gaze upwards. I touched his nose with the milky indiarubber teat. With unerring precision his lips closed on it, his nostrils opened and shut in quick succession, and he had emptied the bottle. I gave him a quart of milk before leaving him and getting my own belated meal. He slept comfortably, but at four in the morning his cries rent the air, and threatened to wake every one in the hotel. I had to get up, descend to the kitchen, warm some more milk for him, and satisfy his hunger. He became fond of the bottle, and also of the friend who held it for him. I arranged to take him to the Zoological Gardens when, after three days, I left Boscastle. He travelled to London in the guard's van in a specially constructed cage, and was as beautiful and happy as ever when I handed him over to the superintendent at Regent's Park.

In those days (as it happened) there was little understanding or care at "the Gardens" as to the feeding of an exceptional young animal like my little seal. It is possible to treat cow's milk so as to render it suitable to a young carnivore, much as it is "humanized" for the feeding of human babies, and I was willing to pay for a canine foster-mother were such procurable. I had then to leave London in order to preside over one of the sections of the British Association's meeting at Southport, and intended to take complete charge of my baby seal upon my return. But in less than a week the neglectful guardians at Regent's Park had killed him with stale cow's milk. I believe such a foundling would have a better chance there to-day, but the rearing of young mammals away from their mother is, of course, a difficult and uncertain job.

I do not regret having taken the baby seal from Pentargon Cove, for I undoubtedly saved him from a violent death, whilst his mother would soon recover from the loss due to my action—a loss to which she and her fellow "grey seal-mothers" must be not unfrequently exposed from other causes. I do regret, however, that it did not occur to me until too late that it would have been a wonderful experience to lie quietly on the shore some few yards from the baby seal, as the sun set, and then to see and hear the great seal-mother—7 or 8 feet long—swim into the cove, raise her gigantic bulk on the shore, and heave herself across the pebbles to her eager child. To witness the embraces, caresses, and endearments of the great mysterious beast would have been a revelation such as a naturalist values beyond measure. And so I hope, with all my heart, that Mr. Lyell will succeed in his good work of protecting the Great Grey Seal.