By Theodore A. Cutting The liveliest seal that father and I ever caught, and the only one that ever got away from us after we had housed it, was Nab. Although father has been catching seals for zoological gardens and circuses almost as long as I can remember, and knows all their tricks both in water and on land, yet Nab was too sharp for him. It was my vain attempt to recapture him that terminated in the most exciting experience I ever had with a seal. Our seal-shed, which stood at the edge of the rocks fifteen feet above the surf, held in Nab's day eight occupants, all nearly full-grown. The circus seals, which are caught and trained while young, had all been sold; and these we expected to place in the zoological gardens at Philadelphia and Cincinnati. Nab had not been in our possession long, however, before he demonstrated his exceptional abilities, and was straightway singled out to be trained, since a clever circus seal is usually worth twice as much as a mere menagerie animal. Father generally takes the training into his own hands and sends me out for the daily supply of fish; but I took such a liking to Nab that I spent every evening teaching him. He first drew attention to himself by his skill in stealing fish from the others. Although I always gave him the first mouthful, to keep him quiet, he would swallow it and be ready for the next before I could get a second fish from the sack. He would eye a shad in my hand as closely as he had once watched the young salmon darting about in the waters of Monterey Bay. And the instant I let go of it, intending to drop it into the open mouth of the next seal, Nab would snap it as it fell. He learned quickly the trick that all trained seals know--that of balancing a ball on the nose. But for a seal that is not much of a feat after the experience of keeping themselves constantly in poise amidst the rolling breakers and surging swells. I taught him to rise on his flippers and march, also to turn to right or left at the word. But his education had not proceeded very far when he picked up of his own account the trick that none of his predecessors had been able to acquire--how to escape from the little shed, where all a seal's splashing must be in a square tank, and to be free again in the boundless Pacific. There were two rooms in the seal-house, one at the back for the animals, and one in front for the boat, fish-lines and crates. The seal quarters had no outside door, the only exit being into the front room.