When wintry skies o’er the black ocean frown, And clouds hang low with ripen’d storms o’er-grown, Close in the shelter of some vaulted cave The soft-skinn’d prekes their porous bodies save. But forc’d by want, while rougher seas they dread, On their own feet, necessitous, are fed. But when returning spring serenes the skies, Nature the growing parts anew supplies. Again on breezy sands the roamers creep, Twine to the rocks, or paddle in the deep. Doubtless the God whose will commands the seas, Whom liquid worlds and wat’ry natives please, Has taught the fish by tedious wants opprest Life to preserve and be himself the feast. The fact is, that the larger predatory fishes regard an octopus as very acceptable food, and there is no better bait for many of them than a portion of one of its arms. Some of the cetacea also are very fond of them, and whalers have often reported that when a “fish” (as they call it) is struck it disgorges the contents of its stomach, amongst which they have noticed parts of the arms of cuttle-fishes which, judging from the size of their limbs, must have been very large specimens. The food of the sperm whale consists largely of the gregarious squids, and the presence in spermaceti of their undigested beaks is accepted as a test of its being genuine. That old fish-reptile, the Ichthyosaurus, also, preyed upon them; and portions of the horny rings of their suckers were discovered in its coprolites by Dean Buckland. Amongst the worst enemies of the octopus in British home-waters is the conger. They are both rock-dwellers, and if the voracious fish come upon his cephalopod neighbour unseen, he makes a meal of him, or, failing to drag him from his hold, bites off as much of one or two of his arms as he can conveniently obtain. The conger, therefore, is generally the author of the injury which the octopus has been unfairly accused of inflicting on itself.