his day, he had murdered, not
killed, shoals of Tiger Sharks.

Yet this is all wrong. As well hate a seraph, as a shark. Both were
made by the same hand. And that sharks are lovable, witness their
domestic endearments. No Fury so ferocious, as not to have some
amiable side. In the wild wilderness, a leopard-mother caresses her
cub, as Hagar did Ishmael; or a queen of France the dauphin. We know
not what we do when we hate. And I have the word of my gentlemanly
friend Stanhope, for it; that he who declared he loved a good hater
was but a respectable sort of Hottentot, at best. No very genteel
epithet this, though coming from the genteelest of men. But when the
digger of dictionaries said that saying of his, he was assuredly not
much of a Christian. However, it is hard for one given up to
constitutional hypos like him; to be filled with the milk and
meekness of the gospels. Yet, with deference, I deny that my old
uncle Johnson really believed in the sentiment ascribed to him. Love
a hater, indeed! Who smacks his lips over gall? Now hate is a
thankless thing. So, let us only hate hatred; and once give love
play, we will fall in love with a unicorn. Ah! the easiest way is the
best; and to hate, a man must work hard. Love is a delight; but hate
a torment. And haters are thumbscrews, Scotch boots, and Spanish
inquisitions to themselves. In five words--would they were a Siamese
diphthong--he who hates is a fool.

For several days our Chamois was followed by two of these aforesaid
Tiger Sharks. A brace of confidential inseparables, jogging along in
our wake, side by side, like a couple of highwaymen, biding their
time till you come to the cross-roads. But giving it up at last, for
a bootless errand, they dropped farther and farther astern, until
completely out of sight. Much to the Skyeman's chagrin; who long
stood in the stern, lance poised for a dart.

But of all sharks, save me from the ghastly White Shark. For though
we should hate naught, yet some dislikes are spontaneous; and
disliking is not hating. And never yet could I bring myself to be
loving, or even sociable, with a White Shark. He is not the sort of
creature to enlist young affections.

This ghost of a fish is not often encountered, and shows plainer by
night than by day. Timon-like, he always swims by himself; gliding
along just under the surface, revealing a long, vague shape, of a
milky hue; with glimpses now and then of his bottomless white pit of
teeth