A TALE OF A SHARK.

It was on a beautiful summer's afternoon, where the blue Mediterranean ripples along the Ionian coast, and the sun beats down with a glow only known in an Eastern clime; not a breath of wind ruffled the sea, and the sails of our little yacht flapped listlessly against the mast, as we laid down beneath the awning, luxuriously reclined on Zante quilts, and smoking Tchiboukes, while one of the party amused us by reading the "Bride of Abydos;" the very stillness, broken only now and then by the splashing of some tiny wave against the side of our boat, had a soothing influence, and I looked down the clear blue depth, with a curious speculation, on the mysterious wonders of the ocean's secrets.

What piles of wealth lie buried there!--what strange monsters, never yet seen by the eye of man, inhabit its unfathomed depths, and sport in its coral groves! How many a dark tale could those waters tell, of the agonising death-shriek, as the bloody pirate flung his victims overboard, and watched their vain struggles for life, miserably prolonged in their efforts to swim, though they gazed hopelessly and helplessly on inevitable death. The wild scream of some hapless slave, as the sharks scrambled for his living body, while the fiendish crew gloat on the agony of a fellow-being, whose only crime is that God has made him black (alas! were men doomed to slavery for the blackness of their hearts, instead of their skins, how few would be free); the foundering ship; the man overboard; the body of some absent unknown friend sinking slowly down, and gradually lost to sight, as the gurgling bubbles rise to mark his grave, forgotten and lost when once those bubbles burst; these, and many a tale of the wild joy which the shipwrecked mariner feels when he spies a sail, and his throbbing heart and parched mouth hail his approaching deliverance from the raft, on which he had been tossed for many an anxious day and dismal night, crowded in quick succession on my imagination. But the ocean keeps its secrets too well, though fancy whispers them in the breeze, and sings them as the billows beat hoarsely against some iron-bound coast, or break with a dull and hollow sound on the rocky shore, or roll with a heaving rippling surge on the sandy beach.

Little did I dream, while wrapped up in my musings, that quickly as fall the grains of sand in an hourglass, the life of a fellow-creature was hastening to a close, and that the peaceful scene before me was so soon about to be the theatre of his tragic end!

We had noticed three soldiers swimming at some distance from the shore, their object being, as we afterwards ascertained, to accomplish the feat of swimming round a man-of-war steamer, lying between Vido and Corfu, and which had been performed by some officers of the garrison in the morning; they were about half a mile away from shore when suddenly the alarm was given that a shark was approaching. Never shall I forget the sight, as with straining nerves they turned and struck out for the shore, while the dreaded monster glided swiftly in their wake, with nothing but his fin above water. Boats pushed off from the shore,

manned by the first who rushed into them-a splash as the oars dropped into the water, and then the sharp quick strokes as they grated against the rowlocks, and they were off! The gruff voice of the old man-ofwar boatswain was heard, "Lower away the davits," and away went another boat with its sturdy crew to the rescue. We held our breath; now the boats near the men, and the long black fin has disappeared, and some think the shark has gone; but no, he has but dived to make the fatal dart, and a wild scream soon tells that one of the three is doomed. We saw him seized by the arm, the slate-coloured belly of the shark glistening for a few seconds in the sun, as he struggled with his victim, who went down before our eyes, frantically beating the water. Suddenly the poor fellow rose; again there was another struggle, a plunge, and all

was over.

The boats had now reached the remaining two soldiers, who more dead than alive were hauled out of the water, crimson with the life-blood of their comrade. One of them must have had a narrow escape, his breast being torn by the shark, when he brushed under him to sieze his victim.

One by one the crowd on shore dispersed, all apparently struck with the melancholy scene just witnessed; and our little yacht, as if anxious to leave the spot too, glided gracefully before the breeze, which just then sprung up, and carried us on to the ruins of Parga.

Nine days after the occurrence I have related, while strolling along the Castrades road, my ear was struck with the mournful strains of the dead march, betokening a military funeral, and presently it appeared in sight. I watched the procession, as with slow and measured tramp they marched past, preceded by the firing-party, and bearing their comrade to his last resting-place. His cap, sidebelt, and bayonet, were placed on the top of the coffin, which was carried by four soldiers; after them came a long train, four and four, while behind all marched the officer. Happening to have met the latter previously, I made a few casual inquiries, when I found that the funeral was that of the unfortunate young man whom I had seen taken by the shark in Corfu Bay. His body was afterwards recovered, but one of the arms and part of one of the legs had been bitten off by the voracious fish.

The muffled drums gave forth a hollow sound, while the appealing strains of music saddened my feelings, as I followed the procession to the Fort Raymond burial-ground, where the remains of the ill-fated young soldier now rest in peace. A grassy mound alone marks the spot where he is laid; but the traveller may see the tablet erected to his memory by his brother-soldiers at Trapano, in Cephalonia, where I observed it myself while passing through the island about two years ago. Requiescat in pace.

VELTHINAS; OR, THE ORDEAL OF SACRIFICE.

A BIOGRAPHY.

CHAPTER III.

THE play began; it was attended to in breathless silence. The manly figure of Angus, as he opened the first scene, was calculated to excite pleasure; his powerful and mellow voice to command deep attention. As he commenced, his calm and melancholy self-possession, and unconsciousness of the presence of others, was manifest to the spectators. With masterly skill he led the minds of his hearers from their own thoughts, rivetting their attention closely on the supernatural theme before them; and this he effected by the complete adoption on his part of a spiritual state of being, which was soon felt, and responded to by all. The tone of his voice, however the thoughts varied, was that of unchanging sadness; and in this his science was profoundly evinced, for so long as the audience sympathised, no other condition of mind could be equally favourable to the reception of sublime ideas.

After reasoning and meditating on past and future, paired together as aged night and a young luminary, his reflections transported him into the persistent shades. The feeling of those present followed-was with him in the half-conscious and not less penal realms of death. With thrilling voice, looking aside as if he beheld the waters, he proceeded, exclaiming,

"And thou dark river, deep Tartarian flood,―revealed to prophets of an early world-who, at their harps, record the hero's path-along the slimy margin of the stream,-in strains divine; now that I wander here, -I long not to encounter those of old,--the mighty dead, whom once I hoped to meet-in this drear shade. Here new emotions rise,-grim spectres such as find a monstrous birth—within the mind."

Such was the power exercised in the delivery of this passage, that a shudder ran through the audience, as if it had learned, almost for the first time, that the mind itself was hell.

While this feeling was strong, he passed from persons of old to those recently dear to him in the world:

"It is the mind's prerogative alone to see the shadows of departed forms;-not as along the sunny walk they move-dependants of the beam they cannot bear the eye's regard; to watch their airy shapesis but to exile from the dreary view-each feature; gone is the exalted smile, the hectic flush dissolved, the image fled.—Nor can the will recal them, for they come-as by their past volition, and retreat-the instant seen. Indulge not in delights-for ever lost to this reality!"

The speaker then approached his audience, and darting through them one of his wonderful glances, continued:

"Beware that conscience summon not these shades.-When thence they haunt the spirit's dwelling-place:-they come, in ghastly guise, with horrid frowns-and thoughtful looks!"

The individual on whom his eye fell shrank back appalled. He turned, and addressed another:

"Whichever way we turn-their stature mounts, nor slumber can disperse their hideous aspect from our troubled eyes."

What followed was the most effective piece of acting I had ever witnessed. The noble sufferer withdrew his mind entirely from the audience, and, raising his eyes above, looked like one of the spirits he

described:

"As conscious of affections lost in death,-they come alone, enshrouded in their gloom;-their eye-balls frozen, dark futurity."

Then remaining some moments still, his figure became like a statue. Those who witnessed the performance could no longer refrain from expressing their feelings aloud; and it was here that the actor showed his true greatness instead of being moved by the applause of an accomplished audience, his eyes passively closed, and then opened slowly upon the heavens; while thus concluding his soliloquy he disposed of the gods themselves as a portion of his world of shadows:

"Above, still stationed in the temperate skies,-the gods of old appear, but rather haunt-those azure plains than longer therein dwell;-there left to rest in monumental state-by Heaven, their power declined, their worship ceased. There highest Zeus, who once the thunder drove,—shakes with the storm."

How impossible is it for me to express the satisfaction which I felt at the success which the first portion of my drama had thus obtained! I could have rushed into the arms of Angus, and embraced him in acknowledgment of the sublime feeling which he had infused into his part. Not the least of his merits was the power to invoke a response of sentiment in the audience, an end which he attained to by addressing an individual on suitable occasions, as if no one else were present.

In the second part of the piece, Aculeus and Unice appeared as the tempters of Durante. The characteristic of Adora's acting was cheerfulness; the gaiety of one who loved wickedness for its own sake. When the sentiments which belonged to her part were those of virtue, she then only appeared to act. Thus did she suppress her own nature throughout, and thus fulfil my prediction of her success.

With what bewitching carelessness did she taunt Durante with the loss of her whom he had left on earth:

"She loved thee once, but death enjoys the power-to hide thy features from her; she recalls--thy figure only as the melting air,-grown less and less substantial; as a shade-that knoweth not its owner; and her thoughts-can scarce pursue it through its distant flight.

"Within her breast the blood its circle forms-to irrigate the garden of the heart,-which flourishes despite thy absence. Thus,-passion returns; but, ushered in with sighs,-remembers that it came not once in vain. Now bursts afresh the heaving fount of tears!"

Having thus said, she proceeded with increased fascination to offer herself as his companion in eternity.

Then arose the chorus of ancient spirits, and addressed the hero:

"In Hades neighbouring seat we dwell,
The mighty spirits of the past;
Long since we heard the prophets tell
That we must rise to power at last.

Slow is the course of change below,
The good by Heaven intended, slow;
Her courts of law know but delay,
And far off stands the judgment-day.
For time to her is as an hour;

All human wrongs are writ above,
Although the great enjoy the power,
Impartial is celestial love."

Durante listened with pleasure, but he was unwilling to rely on the support even of the illustrious. His dependence was on Nature's course, and the final success of truth:

"Truth, all-encircling robe of light,
That keepest guard on us by night;
Beneath thy azure folds I pause,
Can I mistaken deem my cause?
Upheld by thee I gain new force,

In watching nature's faithful course.

While suns and stars about me set and rise

Oh, mingle in my prayers, conduct them to the skies."

And then was Durante seen again on the rock, alone, having resisted the flattery of beauty and the homage of the intellectual. The fiend appears shortly, prepared to practise every new sort of temptation. He does not shrink from assuming the attributes of Divinity itself, or from offering to divide his power, while he laughs to scorn the claims and destiny of mortals. He points to the ocean:

"Observe-the vasty flood upon whose brink we stand;-beneath it are the volumes of the past.-The history-loving hero there obeys-oblivion's spell, there orators' dumb tongues-cleave to the roof on which their words were shaped-with such persuasion. There philosophy,tormentor of creation's law, atones-for its presumption on a silent bed, -like shells below the waters. By its side-the fine ideal of the sculptor drops-death's mantle o'er the faultless shapes of life-which slumber heavily. Then pause awhile,-reflect how vain a thing it is for manto covet mortal fame. The present hour-is All in All; it is the Universe."

And was it Evadne herself, or Thanatos, or both by turns, who still haunted me in the character of the fiend? The mystery became greater as the piece advanced. However, Durante, unpersuaded, increases more than ever in strength of purpose; admitting the baser truths of the fiend's address, he pursues:

"And yet I feel a firm support within.-Even now my spirit rises to the height of its own law, and, in a blaze of light,—this intellect expels surrounding gloom; and, braced by hope, still glories in its power."

Absorbed again in the vastness of his design, conscious of how much he had conquered, he began to contemplate that serenity of mind on which he had to depend hereafter:

"Calm power! the goaded spirit's right,

His outward beam, his inward light;
How few of men by thee are blessed-
How few the words to thee addressed!

Thou boast of philosophic pride;
Dear is the thought to thee allied;