Nay, should these favorites forsake the main,
Neptune would grieve his melancholy reign.
The calmest, stillest seas, when left by them,
Would awful frown, and all unjoyous seem.
But when the darling frisks his wanton play,
The waters smile, and every wave looks gay."
THE GRAMPUS.
This inhabitant of the deep is from twenty to twenty-five feet in length, and seems to cherish a mortal spite against the whale. It possesses the strong affection for its young common to this order. One of the poems of Waller is founded upon the following incident: A grampus in England, with her cub, once got into an arm of the sea, where, by the desertion of the tide, they were enclosed on every side. The men on shore saw their situation, and ran down upon them with such weapons as they could at the moment collect. The poor animals were soon wounded in several places, so that all the immediately surrounding water was stained with their blood. They made many efforts to escape; and the old one, by superior strength, forced itself over the shallow, into a deep of the ocean. But though in safety herself, she would not leave her young one in the hands of assassins. She therefore again rushed in, and seemed resolved, since she could not prevent, at least to share, the fate of her offspring: the tide coming in, however, conveyed them both off in triumph.
THE PORPOISE.
This creature is familiar to every one who has been at sea, or who has frequented the bays and harbors along our coast. It may often be seen in troops gambolling in the water, and seeming like a drove of black hogs, with their backs above the waves. It is imagined by the sailors that they are the most sportive just before a storm. The following method is adopted for taking them on the banks of the St. Lawrence: When the fishing season arrives, the people collect together a great number of sallow twigs, or slender branches of other trees, and stick them pretty firmly into the sand-banks of the river, which at low water are left dry; this is done on the side towards the river, forming a long line of twigs at moderate distances, which at the upper end is connected with the shore, an opening being left at the lower end, that they may enter. As the tide rises, it covers the twigs, so as to keep them out of sight: the porpoise, in quest of his prey, gets within the line; when those who placed the snare rush out in numbers, properly armed, and, while in this defenceless state, they overpower him with ease.