Again, there were the birds, many always on shore and marsh; but when the herring-fry passed up the bay the birds positively possessed it. There was a wilderness of glistening wings in the air, a restless bank of floating feathers on the sea--a mile of wings and glancing foam of life, with many a strange wild cry, giving the high notes to the deep bass of the waves. How often from the marsh, or somewhere, dreamland or ghostland, came the plaintive wail of the curlews; then the dotterels would run and flit about the sands; and, not least, the herons, measuring out their dominions with their lordly arch of wings in leisurely pride of sovereignty, passed grandly on their way; or, ever and anon, a thousand plover, as with one soul, would turn and glance in the sun far away. All this was a new revelation to many boys, whose sole ideas of birds had been sparrows, thrushes, perhaps, and ducks at so much a couple, and a duck-pond. In our enumeration, however, of fish and fowl we had almost forgotten "a portent of the wave," which was a nine hours' wonder with us. A stray seal, revisiting the familiar shore, and unaware of the change which had transformed his quiet haunts was encountered by one of our party as he cruised round Borth Head in his fishing-boat. We are glad to record that the _rencontre_ ended without bloodshed. It was a sportsman and a naturalist who had crossed the poor seal's path; but he remembered that he, too, was a stranger in the land, and he could not lift rifle against the Sea-worn face, sad as mortality, which leaned from the ledge of rock to look at him. So the monster passed on his way unharmed.