A surgeon who accompanied one of the Dundee sealers relates how a juvenile Walrus, being captured, became in a few days quite at home, and a general favourite among the crew. It quickly formed a friendship with an Eskimo Dog which was on board. They ate out of the same dish, although “Jamie,” the Walrus, took good care always to secure the larger share. Whenever the Dog retired to his barrel to sleep, “Jamie” bundled his own fat carcass right on the top of him, and as doggie rebelled against such an unwieldly bedfellow it usually ended in “Jamie” having it all to himself. The latter ate blubber, beef, pork, and almost everything given him, but his favourite dish was pea-soup. Into this he would plunge his face, which procedure left him a most comical countenance. He seemed to know his name well, for even if fast asleep the instant any one cried out “Jamie!” he would rouse up, gaze anxiously about, grunt, grunting in reply. But the most remarkable trait in his character was an intense hatred of solitude. When alone on deck he appeared a picture of misery, grunting and endeavouring to make his way down “’tween deck” after the men; and on more than one occasion precipitated himself, to his peril, plump down the main hatchway, a height of about nine feet. If the cabin-door were open he at once waddled in, laid himself before the stove, and went to sleep; but if the cabin were empty he would not remain a moment. Nothing made him so angry as to shake a piece of paper in his face, or to run suddenly away after caressing him; he then followed with open mouth in a great passion. When a Whale had been killed, and the ship’s crew busy on deck, “Jamie” was in his glory in the very midst of the men covered with grease and oil. At these times he was a perfect nuisance, hindering the men in their duties by continually poking his head first between one seaman’s legs and then another’s, and so on, meantime running a chance of being cut down in the “flensing” operations. He evinced no particular attachment to any one individual on board, liking all equally from cabin-boy to captain. But he knew full well when he did anything wrong; for if a rope’s-end were shown him in a threatening manner, “Jamie” instantly would slink off, furtively casting a look over his shoulder to see if he were followed. After being on board four months he fell ill and died. The expression of this creature’s countenance during his sickness was indicative of a great desire for sympathy from any one who came near. He took his medicine to the last, and when his remains were committed to the deep, regret was felt by all on board. [Illustration: WALRUSES ON THE ICE.]