So I think. Yes: it would be very cruel, very cruel indeed, to do what some do, shoot at these poor things, and leave them floating about wounded till they die. But I suppose, if one gave them one's mind about such doings, and threatened to put the new Sea Fowl Act in force against them, and fine them, and show them up in the newspapers, they would say they meant no harm, and had never thought about its being cruel. Then they ought to think. They ought; and so ought you. Half the cruelty in the world, like half the misery, comes simply from people's not thinking; and boys are often very cruel from mere thoughtlessness. So when you are tempted to rob birds' nests, or to set the dogs on a moorhen, or pelt wrens in the hedge, think; and say--How should I like that to be done to me? I know: but what are all the birds doing? Look at the water, how it sparkles. It is alive with tiny fish, "fry," "brett" as we call them in the West, which the mackerel are driving up to the top. Poor little things! How hard on them! The big fish at them from below, and the birds at them from above. And what is that? Thousands of fish leaping out of the water, scrambling over each other's backs. What a curious soft rushing roaring noise they make! Aha! The eaters are going to be eaten in turn. Those are the mackerel themselves; and I suspect they see Mr. Whale, and are scrambling out of the way as fast as they can, lest he should swallow them down, a dozen at a time. Look out sharp for him now. I hope he will not come very near. No. The fish are going from us and past us. If he comes up, he will come up astern of us, so look back. There he is! That? I thought it was a boat. Yes. He does look very like a boat upside down. But that is only his head and shoulders. He will blow next. "Hoch!" Oh! What a jet of spray, like the Geysers! And the sun made a rainbow on the top of it. He is quite still now. Yes; he is taking a long breath or two. You need not hold my hand so tight. His head is from us; and when he goes down he will go right away. Oh, he is turning head over heels! There is his back fin again. And--Ah! was that not a slap! How the water boiled and foamed; and what a tail he had! And how the mackerel flew out of the water! Yes. You are a lucky boy to have seen that. I have not seen one of those gentlemen show his "flukes," as they call them, since I was a boy on the Cornish coast. Where is he gone? Hunting mackerel, away out at sea. But did you notice something odd about his tail, as you call it--though it is really none? It looked as if it was set on flat, and not upright, like a fish's. But why is it not a tail?