One of the most interesting accounts of the breeding habits of the fur-seal is given by a Mr. Elliott, who spent a long time at their breeding stations, off the northern coasts of Alaska. He says: “It appears to be a well-understood principle among the able-bodied bulls that each one shall remain undisturbed on his ground, which is, usually, about ten feet square, provided he is strong enough to hold it against all comers; for the crowding in of fresh bulls often causes the removal of many of those who, though equally able-bodied, at first, have exhausted themselves by fighting earlier, and are driven, by the fresher animals, back farther and higher up on the rookery” (“rookeries” is the name given to these seal-breeding stations, though it does not appear to me to be a very good one). “Some of these bulls,” continues Mr. Elliott, “show wonderful strength and courage. I have marked one veteran who was among the first to take up his position, and that on the water-line, where, at least, fifty or sixty desperate battles were fought victoriously by him with nearly as many different seals, who coveted his position, and when the fighting season was over, I saw him covered with scars and gashes, an eye gouged out, but lording it bravely over his harem of fifteen or twenty cows, all huddled together on the same spot he had first chosen.” As to the fighting itself, Mr. Elliott says it “is mostly or entirely done with the mouth, the opponents seizing each other with the teeth, and clenching the jaws. Nothing but sheer strength can shake them loose, and that effort almost always leaves an ugly wound, the sharp canines tearing out deep gutters in the skin and blubber, or shredding the flippers into ribbon-strips. They usually approach each other with averted heads and a great many false passes, before either one or the other takes the initiative by gripping; their heads are darted out and back as quick as a flash; their hoarse roaring and shrill, piping whistle never ceases, whilst their fat bodies writhe and swell with exertion and rage, fur flying in air and blood streaming down—all combined make a picture fierce and savage enough, and, from its great novelty, exceedingly strange at first sight.” Sooner or later one of the two combatants proves stronger than the other, and when this becomes sufficiently apparent, the weaker of the two withdraws. Instead of pursuing him, as might have been expected, the victorious bull stays where he was, fans himself with one of his hind flippers, as though so much exertion had made him hot, and, with a satisfied chuckle, seems to rejoice in his victory.