But owing to the mystery of the spout--whether it be water or whether it
be vapor--no absolute certainty can as yet be arrived at on this head.
Sure it is, nevertheless, that the Sperm Whale has no proper olfactories.
But what does he want of them? No roses, no violets, no Cologne-water
in the sea.
Furthermore, as his windpipe solely opens into the tube of his
spouting canal, and as that long canal--like the grand Erie Canal--
is furnished with a sort of locks (that open and shut)
for the downward retention of air or the upward exclusion of water,
therefore the whale has no voice; unless you insult him by saying,
that when he so strangely rumbles, he talks through his nose.
But then again, what has the whale to say? Seldom have I known
any profound being that had anything to say to this world,
unless forced to stammer out something by way of getting a living.
Oh! happy that the world is such an excellent listener!
Now, the spouting canal of the Sperm Whale, chiefly intended as it
is for the conveyance of air, and for several feet laid along,
horizontally, just beneath the upper surface of his head,
and a little to one side; this curious canal is very much
like a gas-pipe laid down in a city on one side of a street.
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