race was represented by dark-eyed, pretty little Kiamelé, the sweetest and brightest memory of an otherwise bleak infancy.
Alongside the deeds of the Greeks, and the bloodshed of the Greek Revolution, I had from her "The Arabian Nights." She told them to me in her picturesque, dramatic way, becoming a horse when a horse had to come into the tale, and any other animal when that animal appeared; and she imitated them with so great an ingenuity that she suggested the very presence of the animal, with little tax on my imagination. She talked with a thick voice, when a fat man spoke, and a terribly funny piping voice when a thin one spoke. She draped herself exquisitely with her veil, when a princess came into the tale; and her face assumed the queerest look when the ev-*sahibs, or supernatural sprites, appeared. Had it not been for her and her "Arabian Nights," I should never have laughed, or known there was a funny side to life; for I had little enough occasion for laughter with my uncle. Even to this day, when I am amused, I laugh in the oriental way of my little Kiamelé.
After the death of my uncle, the course of my life was changed. I made the acquaintance of my own family, who now came to live on the island, in the same old house where he and I had lived. It took me a long time to adjust myself to the new life, so different from the old, and
