tions. He was author also of an Essay on Architecture, published in 1835, which went through several editions. At his death probate was granted for £180,000 worth of personal property. Parallels have been instituted between Hope and Anastasius and Beckford and Vathek.

The hero of Hope's very original romance is, like Zeluco, a villain spoiled by early indulgence; he becomes a renegade to his faith, a mercenary, a robber, and an assassin; but the elements of his better nature show themselves at times. To avoid the consequences of an amour with a consul's daughter, he runs off to sea in a Venetian vessel, which is captured by pirates. The pirates are in turn taken by a Turkish frigate; and Anastasius, released, fights with the Turks in the war against the Arnaouts, and accompanies the Greek dragoman to Constantinople. Disgrace and beggary reduce him to various shifts and adventures. He follows a Jew quack-doctor selling nostrums; is thrown into the Bagnio, the state-prison; embraces the Turkish faith; revisits Greece; proceeds to Egypt; ranges over Arabia; and visits Malta, Sicily, and Italy. In the story of his innumerable intrigues, adventures, and disasters, every aspect of Greek and Turkish society is depicted; sarcasm, piquant allusion, pathos and passion, and descriptions of scenery being strangely intermingled. Epigram and rhetorical amplification occupy too much space; but the constantly shifting scene adds the variety of a book of travels to the fascination of a romance. The story-teller, gifted with keen insight into human weakness, describes his adventures without hypocrisy or reserve. If the picaresque elements are the most sprightly and entertaining, the most powerful passages are perhaps the pathetic-the scenes with Euphrosyne, whom Anastasius has basely dishonoured; his sensations on revisiting Greece and the tomb of Helena; his reflections on the dead Arnaout soldier whom he had slain; the horrors of the plague and famine; and the death of Alexis, in whom were centred the only remains of his love and hope.

Anastasius begins Life.

My family came originally from Epirus; my father settled at Chios. His parentage was neither exalted nor yet low. In his own opinion he could boast of purer blood than any of the Palæologi, the Cantacusenes, or the Comneni of the present day. These mongrel descendants,' he used to observe, of Greeks, Venetians, and Genoese, had only picked up the fine names of former ages when the real owners dropped off: he wore his own;' and Signor Sotiri saw no reason why he should not, when he went forth into public, toss his head, swing his jubbee like a pendulum, from side to side, and shuffle along in his papooshes, with all the airs of quality.

This worthy man combined in his single person the various characters of diplomatist, husbandman, merchant, manufacturer, and master of a privateer. To be more explicit he was drogueman to the French consul at Chios; in town he kept a silk loom at work; in the

country he had a plantation of agrumi; he exported his stuffs and fruits to the principal seaports in the Archipelago, and, in the first Russian war, he employed all his spare money in fitting out a small vessel to cruise against the enemy for so he chose to consider the Russians, in spite of all their amicable professions towards the Greeks. As a loyal subject of the Porte, and an old servant of the French Government, he felt no sort of wish to be delivered from the yoke of the Turks; and he looked upon those barbarians of the north, who cared no more for the patriarch of Constantinople than for the Pope of Rome, as little better than rank heretics, not worthy of being treated even like his silk-worms, which he got every year carefully exorcised before their spinning. time. I however remember, when a child, some buzz in the family about my father's partner in the privateer-an Ipsariote reis-having one day made a mistake, in capturing under the rocks of Jura a rich Turkish vessel, which he went and sold to the Russians themselves, then stationed at Paros. Signor Sotiri shook his head at this intelligence as if he did not approve of the transaction, and observed, 'The less that was said about it the better.' -I suppose therefore it was out of sheer humanity that he preferred receiving his share of the prize money, to the sterile and barbarous satisfaction of hanging his associate.

Much improved in his circumstances by this untoward accident, my father would now willingly have given up his interpretership. Besides rendering him more or less dependent, it was uncomfortable in as far as, being very deaf, he never heard what it was his business to repeat. But my mother liked the title of droguemaness. She had never heard of the necessity of a drogueman reporting speeches as he received them; and she reminded her husband how essential the protection of the French mission might be to some of his Greek speculations.

My mother was a native of Naxos, and esteemed a great heiress in her country. She possessed an estate of three hundred piastres a year clear, managed by a relation of her own, Marco Politi-very wealthy himself, primate of all the Greek villages of the island, and a very great rogue.

My brothers and sisters-and there came, one by one, just three of each-all contrived to take precedence of me at their birth, and consequently throughout the whole of their subsequent lives. The punctilio of the thing I should not have minded; but, among my countrymen, a foolish family pride exhausts people's fortunes in their lifetime in portioning their daughters: the elder sons ran away with what remained, and poor Anastasius brought up the rear with but an indifferent prospect. My kind parents, however, determined to make up for leaving me destitute at their death, by spoiling me as much as possible during their lives. . .

After all the rest of the brood had taken wing, I remained alone at home to solace my parents. Too fond of their favourite to damp my youthful spirits by fitting me for a profession, they kindly put off from day to day every species of instruction-probably till I should beg for it; which my discretion forbade. Unfortunately nature chose not, in the meantime, to be equally dilatory with my parents; and from an angel of an infant, I became by degrees a great lubberly boy, without any other accomplishment but that of flogging my top with the left hand, while with the right I despatched my sign of the cross-for in some things I understood the value of time. My parents, as may be supposed, were great

sticklers for punctuality in every sort of devout practice; mass-going, confession, Lent observance, &c. Of moral duties-less tangible in their nature-they had, poor souls! but a vague and confused notion; and the criminality of actions, in reference to one's neighbour, they taught me chiefly to estimate according to the greater or smaller risk connected with them of incurring the bastinado from the Turks. As to manual correction at the hands of my own father, it seemed so desirable a circumstance, from the ample amends my mother never failed to make her 'poor, dear, ill-used boy,' that my only regret on the subject arose from being able to obtain it so seldom.

These good people having contented themselves for a reasonable number of years with wistfully contemplating -the drogueman my active make and well-set limbs, and the droguemaness my dark eyes, ruddy cheeks, and raven locks-they at last began to ponder how they might turn these gifts to the best advantage. Both agreed that something should be done, but neither knew exactly what; and the one never proposed a profession which the other did not immediately object to,-till an old relation stepped in between, and recommended the church, as a never-failing resource to those who can think of no other. My cousin had set the example by making his own son a little caloyer at twelve. Prohibited by the Turks from the trade of a soldier, and by my parents from that of sailor, I myself saw nothing better, and agreed to the proposal. It now became necessary to give me a smattering of learning, and I was put under the tuition of a teacher of the Hellenic language, who assumed the title of Logiotatos, and only averred himself inferior to Demosthenes out of sheer modesty. My idleness got the better of my preceptor's learning and diligence. All the gold that flowed from the lips of his favourite St Chrysostom could not, to my taste, gild the bitter pill of his own tiresome comments; and even Homer, much as I liked fighting out of doors, found but an indifferent welcome in the study. The truth is, I had a dislike to reading in the abstract :but when away from my books I affected a great admiration for Achilles; called him in reference to Epirus, the land of my ancestors, my countryman,' and regretted that I was not born two thousand years ago, for no other purpose but to be his Patroclus. In my fits of heroism I swore to treat the Turks as he had done the Trojans, and for a time dreamt of nothing but putting to the sword the whole Seraglio-dwarfs, eunuchs, and all. These dreams my parents highly admired, but advised me not to disclose in common. Just rancour,' they said, 'gathers strength by being repressed.'-Upon this principle they cringed to the ground to every Moslemin they met.

The inclinations of the little future papas for the church militant began, meantime, to appear more prominently. I had collected a troop of ragamuffins of my own age, of whom I got myself dubbed captain; and, having purloined from my uncle, the painter, one of his most smirking Madonnas for a banner, took the field under the auspices of the Panagia, and set about robbing orchards, and laying under contribution the villagers, with all the devotion imaginable. So great was the terror which our crusades inspired, that the sufferers durst not even complain, except in a body. Whenever as chief of the band I became the marked object of animadversion, I kept out of the way till my father had paid the damage, and had moreover sued my

Thus early disposed and trained to the business of tithing, my father felt a little surprised when, on the eve of taking orders, I begged to be excused. For the first time in his life Signor Sotiri insisted on implicit obedience; but that first time came too late. I made it the last, by swearing that if he forced me to take the mitre, I would hide it under a turban. He yielded, and contented himself with quietly asking what I finally meant to do. 'Nothing,' was the answer of my heart: but the profession of doing nothing requires ample means. I therefore pretended a wish to learn trade. My father assented, and forthwith wrote to a Smyrna merchant of his acquaintance to receive me into his counting-house.

Meantime I found an employment for my leisure hours which put an end to all childish pastimes. Signor Sotiri, though, as before mentioned, a little hard of hearing, wanted not fluency of speech. His oratory had chiefly been exerted to render his patron dumb. He constantly represented to him how absolutely the dignity of his station forbade his having the least conversation with the natives; and how incumbent upon him it was, though born and bred in the Levant, to appear not to understand a single word of its idioms. By this device he kept all the speechifying to himself; and in truth, with the Turks in office, at all times more prone than strict politeness permits to compliment the representatives of Christian powers with the titles of 'infidel, yaoor, and Christian dog;' and at this particular juncture more than usually out of humour in consequence of the Russian war, this was often the only way to save the consular pride from some little rubs, otherwise unavoidable in the necessary intercourse with the local government. Hence Mr de M— not only never stirred from home without his interpreter by his side, but had him constantly at his elbow within doors, and made him the sole channel of his official transactions: a circumstance which my father perfectly knew how to turn to the best advantage.

I too, in my capacity as the drogueman's chief assistant and messenger, was in daily attendance at the consular mansion; which proved useful to me in one respect, as it gave me an opportunity of learning the French language,—and that with the greater fluency, from the circumstance of no one offering expressly to teach me. The old consul had, between his dignity with the Greeks and his punctilio with the Turks, but little society, and I therefore soon became by the sprightliness of my repartees a very great favourite. Mr de M-- not only encouraged me to take a part in conversation, but would even condescend to laugh most heartily both at my witticisms and my practical jokes, whenever neither himself, nor his servants, nor his relations, nor his friends, nor his protegés, were made to smart from their keenness, or involved in their consequences.

Jubbee, flowing gown: drogueman (Ar. tarjumān), interpreter, dragoman; agrumi, oranges and lemons; Ipsariote reis, shipmaster of the island of Ipsara; caloyer, friar; Logiotatos, most learned; Chrysostomos means 'golden-mouthed;' Moslemin, professor of Islam, true believer; papas, priest, pope; Panagia, 'all-holy,' the Virgin Mary; yaoor, giaour, infidel.

Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775-1818) – 'Monk Lewis'-was born in London, his father being deputy-secretary in the War Office, and owner of large estates in Jamaica. Mat was educated at Westminster and Christ Church College, Oxford, and, at Weimar in 1792-93, was introduced to Goethe. As a child he had pored over Glanvill on Witchcraft and other books of diablerie; in Germany romance and the drama were his favourite studies; and whilst resident at the Hague he composed in ten weeks his novel of Ambrosio, or the Monk (1795), which makes extravagant use of supernatural machinery, and in many passages frankly panders to lubricity. A prosecution was not unnaturally threatened on account of some of the luxurious scenes and more than risky descriptions; and to avert trouble Lewis pledged himself to recall the printed copies and recast the work-though how opposition could be silenced without stultifying the whole plot it is not easy to conceive. But throughout life he adhered to the same strain of marvellous and terrific composition-now clothing it in verse, now moulding it into a drama, and at other times contenting himself with the story form. His Tales of Terror (1799), Tales of Wonder (1801)-to which Scott and Southey contributed -Romantic Tales (1808), The Bravo of Venice and Feudal Tyrants (both translated from the German), and the tragedies Alphonso (1801), Adelgitha (1807), &c., appeal to a temporary taste nurtured on Mrs Radcliffe. The East Indian (1799) was a comedy, Timour the Tartar a melodrama, and One o'clock a ' musical romance.' Crazy Jane (1797), a once popular poem, was based on an encounter with an actual maniac, and The Captive, a Monodrama, exploited the ravings of a lunatic. In his first novel are found several of the poems, the loveditties, drinking-songs, or anecdotes in rhyme he had the knack of throwing off; and his ballads of 'Alonzo the Brave' and 'Durandarte' proved to his contemporaries as attractive as Ambrosio's own adventures. He brings in weird tales 'from the Danish' of the Erl King or Oak King, of the Fire King, and the Water King, translating the latter in verse; and he refers familiarly to the old romances of Amadis, Perceforest, Palmerin of England, and the Loves of Tristan and Queen Iseult. Flushed with the brilliant success of his romance, and fond of prominence and distinguished society, Lewis in 1796 procured a seat in Parliament for the borough of Hindon, as Beckford had done before him; but he never attempted to address the House, and sat for only six years. The theatres offered a more attractive arena for his talents; and his play of The Castle Spectre, produced in 1797, was applauded as enthusiastically as his romance.

While on a visit to Edinburgh in 1798 he met young Walter Scott, who had recently published his translations from Bürger, and who thirty years

afterwards told Allan Cunningham that he never felt such elation as when Lewis asked him to dine with him at his hotel! Lewis schooled the great poet on his incorrect verses, and proved himself, as Scott says, 'a martinet in the accuracy of rhymes and numbers.' Furthermore, he had always dukes and duchesses in his mouth, and was pathetically fond of any one that had a title; you would have sworn he had been a parvenu of yester day.' Yet Scott, though like Byron he admitted Lewis was at length tiresome, recognised his good qualities: 'He was one of the kindest and best creatures that ever lived. His father and mother lived separately. Mr Lewis allowed his son a handsome income, but reduced it by more than one-half when he found that he paid his mother a moiety of it. Mat restricted himself in all his expenses, and shared the diminished income with her as before. He did much good by stealth, and was a most generous creature.' The publication of his correspondence twenty years after his death proved that much good sense, discretion, and kind feeling had been too completely hidden by the exaggerated romance of his writings, by his lax morals and frivolous manners. The death of his father in 1812 made

him a man of independent fortune. He succeeded to plantations in the West Indies, besides a large fortune in money; and to better the condition of his slaves there, good-hearted, loquacious, clever little 'Mat' forsook the society of the Prince Regent and all his other great friends, and sailed for the West Indies in 1815. Of this and a subsequent voyage he wrote a narrative, the Journal of a West India Proprietor (1834), which Coleridge pronounced delightful; it is valuable still if only for its wealth of negro folklore, and is, perhaps, his best work.

Lewis returned to England in 1816, but after a visit to Byron and Shelley at Geneva, went on to Naples, and in 1817 sailed again for Jamaica, where he found that his attorney had grossly mismanaged his property. Having adjusted his affairs, the Monk' embarked on his homeward voyage; but the climate had impaired his health, and he died of yellow fever while the ship was passing through the Gulf of Florida (1818).

The main plot of the Monk is taken from the tale of the Santon or dervish Barsisa in Steele's Guardian, as that came from the Turkish Tales, translated from Petis de la Croix's version of Shaikh Zadah. Ambrosio, the hero, is abbot of the Capuchins at Madrid, and called from his reputed sanctity and his eloquent preaching the Man of Holiness. Severe in his saintly judg ments, full of religious pride, he thinks himself proof against all temptation; but tempted to his fall by a young and beautiful she-demon, he proceeds from crime to crime, his female Mephis topheles, Matilda, aiding him by her unexpected powers of sorcery, till, detected in a deed of murder, he is tried, tortured, and convicted by

the Inquisition. While trembling at the approaching auto da fé, his evil genius brings him a mysterious book, by help of which he may summon Lucifer. The Evil One appears with thunder and earthquake; and the wretched monk, having sold his hope of salvation to recover his liberty, is borne aloft and afar, only to be dashed to pieces on a rock. Lewis relieved a story which never shrinks from the supernatural machinery Mrs Radcliffe adopted only in semblance, by episodes and lovescenes, one of which-the Bleeding Nun-is told with exceptional narrative power, though it tends to embarrass the progress of the main tale. As a whole the story is ill put together, and shows neither skill in character-painting nor graces of style. Men and women alike melodramatic, almost Byronic, are completely subject to their passions; temptation and opportunity justify any fall from virtue; it is difficult to remember which character is at any moment talking or acting. Incredible conjunctures and manifest impossibilities constantly occur even when supernatural aid has not been invoked. Convent life is represented from the point of view not of an ultra-Protestant but a Voltairean freethinker; a truly pious Spanish lady had carefully to expurgate the Bible before submitting it to a pure-minded girl's reading. Vraisemblance is little regarded, and 'local colour' defied; the Monk' is no monk but a Franciscan friar, an abbot of Capuchins; and though the scene is Madrid, the characters address one another as 'signor' and 'signora,' and ejaculate scraps, not of Spanish, but of stage Italian. The famous scene at a robber's hut in a forest was evidently suggested by Smollett's Count Fathom. Besides his copious use of magic, incantations, and spirits to carry on his story, and his wanton gloating over scenes of luxury and license (hideously complicated by matricide and unconscious incest), Lewis resorted to an even more revolting category of horrors-loathsome images of mortal corruption and decay, the festering relics of death and the grave. But even when its startling defects and blemishes are fully admitted, the Monk remains in every way a marvellous production for a boy of twenty. The Bravo of Venice has enough and to spare of banditti, disguises, plots, and mysterious adventures, daggers and bowls, but nothing to match the best parts of the Monk, though the style is simpler. In none of his works does Lewis show any sense of humour.

A Conjuration by the Wandering Jew. Raymond, in the Monk, is pursued by a spectre representing a bleeding nun, which appears at one o'clock in the morning, repeating a blood-curdling chant, and pressing her lips to his. Every succeeding visit inspires him with greater horror, and he becomes excessively ill. His servant, Theodore, meets with a stranger, ultimately ascertained to be the Wandering Jew, who tells him to bid his master wish for him when the clock strikes one; and Raymond tells what befell when the summons was obeyed.

He was a man of majestic presence; his countenance was strongly marked, and his eyes were large, black,

and sparkling; yet there was a something in his look which, the moment that I saw him, inspired me with a secret awe, not to say horror. He was dressed plainly, his hair was unpowdered, and a band of black velvet, which encircled his forehead, spread over his features an additional gloom. His countenance wore the marks of profound melancholy, his step was slow, and his manner grave, stately, and solemn. He saluted me with politeness, and having replied to the usual compli ments of introduction, he motioned to Theodore to quit the chamber. The page instantly withdrew. I know your business,' said he, without giving me time to speak. 'I have the power of releasing you from your nightly visitor; but this cannot be done before Sunday. On the hour when the Sabbath morning breaks, spirits of darkness have least influence over mortals. After Saturday, the nun shall visit you no more.' 'May I not inquire,' said I, 'by what means you are in possession of a secret which I have carefully concealed from the knowledge of every one?' 'How can I be ignorant of your distresses, when their cause at this moment stands before you?' I started. The stranger continued : 'Though to you only visible for one hour in the twentyfour, neither day nor night does she ever quit you; nor will she ever quit you till you have granted her request.' 'And what is that request?' 'That she must herself explain; it lies not in my knowledge. Wait with patience for the night of Saturday; all shall be then cleared up.' I dared not press him further. He soon after changed the conversation, and talked of various matters. He named people who had ceased to exist for many centuries, and yet with whom he appeared to have been personally acquainted. I could not mention a country, however distant, which he had not visited; nor could I sufficiently admire the extent and variety of his information. I remarked to him, that having travelled, seen, and known so much, must have given him infinite pleasure. He shook his head mournfully. 'No one,' he replied, 'is adequate to comprehending the misery of my lot! Fate obliges me to be constantly in movement; I am not permitted to pass more than a fortnight in the same place. I have no friend in the world, and, from the restlessness of my destiny, I never can acquire one. Fain would I lay down my miserable life, for I envy those who enjoy the quiet of the grave; but death eludes me, and flies from my embrace. In vain do I throw myself in the way of danger. I plunge into the ocean-the waves throw me back with abhorrence upon the shore; I rush into fire-the flames recoil at my approach; I oppose myself to the fury of bandittitheir swords become blunted, and break against my breast. The hungry tiger shudders at my approach, and the alligator flies from a monster more horrible than itself. God has set his seal upon me, and all his creatures respect this fatal mark.' He put his hand to the velvet which was bound round his forehead. There was in his eyes an expression of fury, despair, and malevolence, that struck horror to my very soul. An involuntary convulsion made me shudder. The stranger perceived it. Such is the curse imposed on me,' he continued ; 'I am doomed to inspire all who look on me with terror and detestation. You already feel the influence of the charm, and with every succeeding moment will feel it more. I will not add to your sufferings by my presence. Farewell till Saturday. As soon as the clock strikes twelve, expect me at your chamber.'

Having said this, he departed, leaving me in astonishment at the mysterious turn of his manner and conversation. His assurances that I should soon be relieved from the apparition's visits produced a good effect upon my constitution. Theodore, whom I rather treated as an adopted child than a domestic, was surprised, at his return, to observe the amendment in my looks. He congratulated me on this symptom of returning health, and declared himself delighted at my having received so much benefit from my conference with the Great Mogul [so called; really the Wandering Jew]. Upon inquiry I found that the stranger had already passed eight days in Ratisbon. According to his own account, therefore, he was only to remain there six days longer. Saturday was still at a distance of three. Oh, with what impatience did I expect its arrival! In

MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.

From the Portrait by H. W. Pickersgill, R.A., in the National Portrait Gallery.

the interim, the bleeding nun continued her nocturnal visits; but hoping soon to be released from them altogether, the effects which they produced on me became less violent than before.

The wished-for night arrived. To avoid creating suspicion, I retired to bed at my usual hour; but as soon as my attendants had left me, I dressed myself again, and prepared for the stranger's reception. He entered my room upon the turn of midnight. A small chest was in his hand, which he placed near the stove. He saluted me without speaking; I returned the compliment, observing an equal silence. He then opened the chest. The first thing which he produced was a small wooden crucifix; he sank upon his knees, gazed upon it mournfully, and cast his eyes towards heaven. He seemed to be praying devoutly. At length he bowed his head respectfully, kissed the crucifix thrice, and quitted his kneeling posture. He next drew from the chest a covered goblet; with the liquor which it contained, and which appeared to be blood, he sprinkled the floor; and then dipping in it one end of the crucifix, he described a circle in the middle of the room. Round

about this he placed various reliques, skulls, thighbones, &c. I observed that he disposed them all in the form of crosses. Lastly, he took out a large Bible, and beckoned me to follow him into the circle. I obeyed.

'Be cautious not to utter a syllable!' whispered the stranger: 'step not out of the circle, and as you love yourself, dare not to look upon my face.' Holding the crucifix in one hand, the Bible in the other, he seemed to read with profound attention. The clock struck one; as usual, I heard the spectre's steps upon the staircase, but I was not seized with the accustomed shivering. I waited her approach with confidence. She entered the room, drew near the circle, and stopped. The stranger muttered some words, to me unintelligible. Then raising his head from the book, and extending the crucifix towards the ghost, he pronounced in a voice distinct and solemn: Beatrice! Beatrice! Beatrice!' 'What wouldst thou?' replied the apparition in a hollow faltering tone. What disturbs thy sleep? Why dost thou afflict and torture this youth? How can rest be restored to thy unquiet spirit?' 'I dare not tell; I must not tell. Fain would I repose in my grave, but stern commands force me to prolong my punishment!' 'Knowest thou this blood? Knowest thou in whose veins it flowed? Beatrice! Beatrice! in his name I charge thee to answer me.' I dare not disobey my taskers.' 'Darest thou disobey me?' He spoke in a commanding tone, and drew the sable band from his forehead. In spite of his injunction to the contrary, curiosity would not suffer me to keep my eyes off his face: I raised them, and beheld a burning cross impressed upon his brow. For the horror with which this object inspired me I cannot account, but I never felt its equal. My senses left me for some moments; a mysterious dread overcame my courage; and had not the exorciser caught my hand, I should have fallen out of the circle. When I recovered myself, I perceived that the burning cross had produced an effect no less violent upon the spectre. Her countenance expressed reverence and horror, and her visionary limbs were shaken by fear. 'Yes,' she said at length, 'I tremble at that mark! I respect it! I obey you! Know, then, that my bones lie still unburied-they rot in the obscurity of Lindenberg-hole. None but this youth has the right of consigning them to the grave. His own lips have made over to me his body and his soul; never will I give back his promise; never shall he know a night devoid of terror unless he engages to collect my mouldering bones, and deposit them in the family vault of his Andalusian castle. Then let thirty masses be said for the repose of my spirit, and I trouble this world no more. Now let me depart; those flames

are scorching.'

He let the hand drop slowly which held the crucifix, and which till then he had pointed towards her. The apparition bowed her head, and her form melted into air.

A Welcome from his Negroes.

As soon as the carriage entered my gates, the uproar and confusion which ensued sets all description at defiance. The works were instantly all abandoned: everything that had life came flocking to the house from all quarters; and not only the men, and the women, and the children, but, by a bland assimilation,' the hogs, and the dogs, and the geese, and the fowls, and the turkeys, all came hurrying along by instinct, to see what could possibly be the matter, and seemed to be afraid of