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[From "The Last Days of Pompeii."] A fire burned in the far recess of the cave; and over it was a small caldron; on a tall and thin column of iron stood a rude lamp; over that part of the wall, at the base of which burned the fire, hung in many rows, as if to dry, a profusion of herbs and weeds. A fox, couched before the fire, gazed upon the strangers with its bright and red eye—its hair bristling—and a low growl stealing from between its teeth; in the center of the cave was an earthen statue, which had three heads of singular and fantastic cast. A low tripod stood before this.

But it was not these appendages ... of the cave that thrilled the blood of those who gazed fearfully therein—it was the face of its inmate. Before the fire, with the light shining full upon her features, sat a woman of considerable age. Her countenance betrayed the remains of a regular, but high and aquiline order of feature; with stony eyes turned upon them—with a look that met and fascinated theirs—they beheld in that fearful countenance the very image of a corpse!

It is a dead thing.

Nay—it stirs—it is a ghost!

Oh, away—away! It is the witch of Vesuvius!

Who are ye? And what do ye here?

We are storm-beaten wanderers from the neigh- boring city; we crave shelter and the comfort of your hearth.

Come to the fire if ye will! I never welcome living thing—save the owl, the fox, the toad, and the viper—so I cannot welcome ye; but come to the fire without welcome—why stand upon form?