aily
load of fruit, and then into a narrow by-street, to the ground-floor
of a huge block of lodgings with a common staircase, swarming with
children, cats, and chickens; and was ushered by his host into a little
room, where the savoury smell of broiling fish revived Philammon's
heart.

'Judith! Judith! where lingerest thou? Marble of Pentelicus! foam-flake
of the wine dark main! lily of the Mareotic lake! You accursed black
Andromeda, if you don't bring the breakfast this moment, I'll cut you in
two!'

The inner door opened, and in bustled, trembling, her hands full of
dishes, a tall lithe negress, dressed in true negro fashion, in a
snow-white cotton shift, a scarlet cotton petticoat, and a bright yellow
turban of the same, making a light in that dark place which would have
served as a landmark a mile off. She put the dishes down, and the porter
majestically waved Philammon to a stool; while she retreated, and stood
humbly waiting on her lord and master, who did not deign to introduce
to his guest the black beauty which composed his whole seraglio.... But,
indeed, such an act of courtesy would have been needless; for the first
morsel of fish was hardly safe in poor Philammon's mouth, when the
regress rushed upon him, caught him by the head, and covered him with
rapturous kisses.

Up jumped the little man with a yell, brandishing a knife in one hand
and a leek in the other; while Philammon, scarcely less scandalised,
jumped up too, and shook himself free of the lady, who, finding it
impossible to vent her feelings further on his head, instantly changed
her tactics, and, wallowing on the floor, began frantically kissing his
feet.

'What is this? before my face! Up, shameless baggage, or thou diest the
death!' and the porter pulled her up upon her knees.

'It is the monk! the young man I told you of, who saved me from the Jews
the other night! What good angel sent him here that I might thank him?'
cried the poor creature, while the tears ran down her black shining
face.

'I am that good angel,' said the porter, with a look of intense
self-satisfaction. 'Rise, daughter of Erebus; thou art pardoned, being
but a female. What says the poet?--

'"Woman is passion's slave, while rightful lord O'er her and passion,
rules the nobler male."

Youth! to my arms! Truly say the philosophers, that the universe is
magical in itself, and by mysterious sympathies links like to like. The
prophetic instinct of thy future benefi