the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;'
Worse and worse; more blunders than words, and such a jumble!
Whales _spout_, but never whistle; dolphins' backs are silver; and
porpoises never roll, but tumble.
'It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,
And like a cradled creature lies,' and squalls,
He should have added; but to avoid brawls
With the poet's friends I'll quote no more; but _entre nous_,
Those who write correctly about the sea are exceeding few.
Young DANA with us, and MARRYAT over the water,[1]
Are all the writers that I know of, who appear to have brought a
Discerning eye to bear on that peculiar state of existence,
An ocean life, which looks so romantic at a distance.
To succeed where every body else fails, would be an uncommon glory,
While to fail would be no disgrace; so I am resolved to try my
hand upon a sea-story.
In naming sea-authors, I omitted COOPER, CHAMIER, SUE, and many others,
Because they appear to have gone to sea without asking leave of
their mothers:
For those good ladies never could have consented that their boys
should dwell on
An element that Nature never fitted them to excel on.
Their descriptions are so fine, and their tars so exceedingly flowery,
They appear to have gathered their ideas from some naval spectacle
at the 'Bowery;'
And in fact I have serious doubts whether either of them ever saw
blue water,
Or ever had the felicity of saluting the 'gunner's daughter.'

[1] I HAVE unintentionally omitted to name FALCONER, who
deserves the highest honors among nautical writers.

It was on board of the packet ----, from feelings deferential
To private griefs, I omit all facts that are non-essential:
To Havre we were bound, and passengers there were four of us,
Three men and a lady--not an individual more of us.
The month was July, the weather warm and hazy,
The sea smooth as glass, the winds asleep or lazy.
Dull times of course, for the sea, though favorable to the mind's
expansion,
Yet keeps the body confined to a very few feet of stanchion.
Our employments were nought save eating, drinking and sleeping,
Excepting the lady, who a diary was keeping.
She was a very pleasant person though fat, and a long way past forty,
Which will of course pre