the solid night.
The strange visitant gruffly saluted me; and, after making several
ineffectual efforts to urge his horse in at the door, dismounted and
followed me into the room, evidently enjoying the terror which his huge
presence excited. Announcing himself as the great Indian doctor, he
drew himself up before the fire, stretched his arms, clinched his fists,
struck his broad chest, and invited our attention to what he called
his "mortal frame." He demanded in succession all kinds of intoxicating
liquors; and on being assured that we had none to give him, he grew
angry, threatened to swallow my younger brother alive, and, seizing me
by the hair of my head as the angel did the prophet at Babylon,(1) led
me about from room to room. After an ineffectual search, in the course
of which he mistook a jug of oil for one of brandy, and, contrary to my
explanations and remonstrances, insisted upon swallowing a portion of
its contents, he released me, fell to crying and sobbing, and confessed
that he was so drunk already that his horse was ashamed of him. After
bemoaning and pitying himself to his satisfaction he wiped his eyes, and
sat down by the side of my grandmother, giving her to understand that he
was very much pleased with her appearance; adding that, if agreeable to
her, he should like the privilege of paying his addresses to her. While
vainly endeavoring to make the excellent old lady comprehend his very
flattering proposition, he was interrupted by the return of my father,
who, at once understanding the matter, turned him out of doors without
ceremony.

(1) See Ezekiel viii. 3.

On one occasion, a few years ago, on my return from the field at
evening, I was told that a foreigner had asked for lodgings during the
night, but that, influenced by his dark, repulsive appearance, my
mother had very reluctantly refused his request. I found her by no means
satisfied with her decision. "What if a son of mine was in a strange
land?" she inquired, self-reproachfully. Greatly to her relief, I
volunteered to go in pursuit of the wanderer, and, taking a cross-path
over the fields, soon overtook him. He had just been rejected at the
house of our nearest neighbor, and was standing in a state of dubious
perplexity in the street. He was an olive-complexioned, black-bearded
Italian, with an eye like a live coal, such a face as perchance looks
out on the traveller in the passes of the Abruzzi,(1)--one of those
bandit visages whi