He died in the year 1640, at the age of 63; and was buried, with extraordinary pomp, in the church of St. James, at Antwerp, under the altar of his private chapel, which he had previously decorated with a very fine picture.

P.T.W.

* * * * *

The Public Journals.

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ADVENTURE WITH A SHARK.

(Abridged from Tom Cringle’s Log, in Blackwood’s Magazine.)

During the night we stood off and on under easy sail, and next morning, when the day broke, with a strong breeze and a fresh shower, we were about two miles of the Moro Castle, at the entrance of Santiago de Cuba.

The fresh green shores of this glorious island lay before us, fringed with white surf, as the everlasting ocean in its approach to it gradually changed its dark blue colour, as the water shoaled, into a bright, joyous green under the blazing sun, as if in sympathy with the genius of the fair land, before it tumbled at his feet its gently swelling billows, in shaking thunders on the reefs and rocky face of the coast, against which they were driven up in clouds, the incense of their sacrifice.  The undulating hills in the vicinity were all either cleared, and covered with the greenest verdure that imagination can picture, over which strayed large herds of cattle, or with forests of gigantic trees, from amongst which, every now and then, peeped out some palm-thatched mountain settlement, with its small thread of blue smoke floating up into the calm, clear morning air, while the blue hills in the distance rose higher and higher, and more and more blue, and dreamy, and indistinct, until their rugged summits could not be distinguished from the clouds through the glimmering hot haze of the tropics.

A very melancholy accident happened to a poor boy on board, of about fifteen years of age, who had already become a great favourite of mine from his modest, quiet deportment, as well as of all the gunroom-officers, although he had not been above a fortnight in the ship.  He had let himself down over the bows by the cable to bathe.  There were several of his comrades standing on the forecastle looking at him, and he asked one of them to go out on the spritsail-yard, and look round to see if there were any sharks in the neighbourhood; but all around was deep, clear, green water.  He kept hold of the cable, however, and seemed determined not to put himself in harm’s way, until a little, wicked urchin, who used to wait on the warrant-officers’ mess, a small meddling snipe of a creature, who got flogged in well behaved weeks only once, began to taunt my little mild favourite.

“Why, you chicken-heart, I’ll wager a thimbleful of grog, that such a tailor as you are in the water can’t for the life of you swim but to the buoy there.”

“Never you mind, Pepperbottom,” said the boy, giving the imp the name he had richly earned by repeated flagellations.  “Never you mind.  I am not ashamed to show my naked hide, you know.  But it is against orders in these seas to go overboard, unless with a sail underfoot; so I sha’n’t run the risk of being tatooed by the boatswain’s mate, like some one I could tell of.”