arm akimbo, right hand outstretched, he seems to scare the wits out of a
multitude of lions, tigers, hyenas, and bears, who, with sheathed claws,
and masked teeth, crouch at his feet, awestricken, and submissive.

Under this, is the concluding moral:

"IGNATIUS MOROK BEING CONVERTED, WILD BEASTS CROUCH BEFORE HIM."

Not far from this canvas are several parcels of halfpenny books,
likewise from the Friburg press, which relate by what an astounding
miracle Morok, the Idolater, acquired a supernatural power almost
divine, the moment he was converted--a power which the wildest animal
could not resist, and which was testified to every day by the lion
tamer's performances, "given less to display his courage than to show
his praise unto the Lord."

Through the trap-door which opens into the loft, reek up puffs of a
rank, sour, penetrating odor. From time to time are heard sonorous
growls and deep breathings, followed by a dull sound, as of great bodies
stretching themselves heavily along the floor.

A man is alone in this loft. It is Morok, the tamer of wild beasts,
surnamed the Prophet.

He is forty years old, of middle height, with lank limbs, and an
exceedingly spare frame; he is wrapped in a long, blood-red pelisse,
lined with black fur; his complexion, fair by nature is bronzed by the
wandering life he has led from childhood; his hair, of that dead yellow
peculiar to certain races of the Polar countries, falls straight
and stiff down his shoulders; and his thin, sharp, hooked nose, and
prominent cheek-bones, surmount a long beard, bleached almost to
whiteness. Peculiarly marking the physiognomy of this man is the wide
open eye, with its tawny pupil ever encircled by a rim of white.
This fixed, extraordinary look, exercises a real fascination over
animals--which, however, does not prevent the Prophet from also
employing, to tame them, the terrible arsenal around him.

Seated at a table, he has just opened the false bottom of a box, filled
with chaplets and other toys, for the use of the devout. Beneath this
false bottom, secured by a secret lock, are several sealed envelopes,
with no other address than a number, combined with a letter of the
alphabet. The Prophet takes one of these packets, conceals it in the
pocket of his pelisse, and, closing the secret fastening of the false
bottom, replaces the box upon a shelf.

This scene occurs about four o'clock in the afternoon, in the White
Falcon, the only hostelry i