But no, not at all; he's not _that_ sort of whale!
He must breathe, he must blow, he must roar, till the gale
Is charged with the sound of his riot.

Leviathan loves the wild turmoil of strife,
And lashing the billows to him is true life;
Behold how he buffets and scourges them!
Chase him? The Captain (though also a Kaiser),
Might think that his course to avoid him were wiser,
Until sheer necessity urges them.

And yet whales _are_ beaten--by narwhals and men,
And other mere pigmies. 'Tis said, now and then,
E'en sword-fish can compass their ruin,
By stabbing together--in _Cassius's_ way
With _Cæsar_. Leviathan, dead, is a prey
To dog-fish, and sea-birds, or Bruin.

There he blows! There he goes! Would an amateur Whaler,
Like WILHELM, that fine blend of Statesman and Sailor,
Incline to the chase and the capture
Of such a huge, wandering, wallopping whale,
To whom "Troubling the waters" with blow-holes and tail
Seems a source of such riotous rapture?

* * * * *

DUST AND HASHES.

SIR,--When I first took my present house, I was advised to get a