“By Bacchus! an artistic combination to impress infants! But where, oh, where, lingereth the presiding siren? The combination seemeth to run itself! Come out! Thy caldron needs stirring!”
Then he gave another hearty laugh at his own wit and eloquence. The reverberations which indefinitely repeated themselves through the distant passages sounded like a multitudinous mocking chorus.
“Shades of Tophet! the acoustic properties are well provided!”
He gave another loud call for the sorceress in charge. The sound of his voice seemed split into a hundred fragments—a chaos of weird echoes upon all keys.
“Go on with your cackling! I welcome every demon that sails his bark upon the Cocytus!”
But as a female form of gigantic proportions slowly emerged from the background, his heart gave a leap.
Covering her dishevelled gray locks was a tall, pointed red turban; her mouth, partly open, showed two irregular rows of long, dark teeth, and her large stony eyes were fastened upon him with a freezing stare. Her features were ashy gray and unearthly.
But in spite of appearances, Leander gathered himself together, and with a chuckle exclaimed,—
“By the thirst of Bacchus! I adjudge this a strong and artistic stage-setting for a Greek tragedy!”
Then, striking an attitude, he began, in impassioned style, to recite some lines from one of the dramas of Sophocles.