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 ADELINE; 
 
 gsteries, ^omaiite, mxn geditres 
 
 JEWISH LIFE. 
 
 OSBOEN W. TEE>'EET HEIGHWAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " LEILA ADA, THE JEWISH CONVERT," 
 ETC. 
 
 ' Sketches indeed from that most passionate page, 
 A woman s heart, of feelings, thoughts, that make 
 The atmosphere in which her spirit moves ; 
 But like all other earthly elements, 
 
 O'ercast with clouds, now dark, now touched with Ught, 
 "With rainbows, sunshine, showers, moonlieht, stars. 
 Chasing each other's change. 1 fain would trace 
 Its brightness and its blackness ; and these lines 
 Are consecrate to annals such as those 
 That count the ptilses of the beating heart." 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
 YOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PARTKIDGE, OAKEY, & Co., PATEENOSTEK ROW; 
 
 AND 70, EDGWARE EOAD. 
 
 18o4.
 
 PARTRIDGE, OAKEY, AND CO., PRINTERS, PADDINGTON.
 
 ^Z3 
 J. I 
 
 TO 
 
 MY LOYELY AXD BELOYED SISTEE, 
 
 MAEGIJERITE LEYESON TREXEEY, 
 
 AS TO AX 
 
 girbenl Ka^zx of t^e zwixu Itfeis^ Hatioir, 
 
 IX THE 
 
 PERSON OF ''LEILA AKA ; " 
 
 -^ AS TO THE GOLDEX STAE OF iTT HOPES, THE SHAEER 
 OF MY JOYS A^'D SOEEOWS, 
 THE SOOTHEE OF MY HOUES OF LOXELETESS, 
 y A^^) MY MOST LETOTED FEtEXD, THESE 
 
 
 
 VOLITMES AEE IXSCELBED.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 EoussEAU says, nobody reads a Preface. Very 
 likely. Often they are most egotistical, unin- 
 teresting things ; and likely to be so, since they 
 are the Author's private and privileged comer. 
 Piron used to remark, that the introductory 
 speeches at the French Academy "^vere entirely 
 unnecessary, and that all Tvhich the new member 
 needed to say was, ^' Grand merci, ^nessieurs ;" 
 and the receivers to reply was, ''i/ n'y a pas de 
 quot." Most authors and readers might exchange 
 these courtesies, and the " Grand mercV^ of com- 
 placency be answered by the ^'Iln'y a pas de 
 quoi" of public ostentation. Yet there are a few 
 things I must say, and then leave them to their fate. 
 Happily, we are fallen on times when the novel 
 is taking its true position. People are convinced
 
 VI PEEFACE. 
 
 that it is the very highest effort — the Aaron's 
 rod in literature, which is rapidly swallowing all 
 the rest. And it is in the nature of humanity 
 to make it so. Men are taught by things rather 
 than reasons. ''Example is more powerful than 
 precept." Has an author a new thought or 
 feeling ? To give it full effect, he embodies it in 
 a character. History, essays, and even poetry 
 itself — lyrical poetry presents almost the only 
 exception — rhyme is felt to be rather an incum- 
 brance than otherwise — are fast merging into the 
 pages of fiction. 
 
 It has always been my conviction that, if 
 Christianity shall ever occupy its proper exalted 
 position — if its glorious ideality shall ever have 
 its full influence on mankind, it will be done by 
 works of imagination. I still think that in the 
 ministry of the pulpit, its wondrous beauty, its 
 lofty poetry, and its sublime philosophy, should 
 not be so lost sight of as they are — things of 
 which the Bible is so full. And yet more to be 
 deplored is it, when it is exhibited, as so often 
 it is, in hardly any other character than a dry, 
 wearying, and, it may be, stern sort of thing. 
 Very opposite is God's own picture of His service.
 
 PEEFACE. VU 
 
 "Well would it be if -^e did not receive our 
 notions of our Maker from men, rather than Him- 
 self. Habit holds over us a more than despotic 
 power. Passing the undisturbed crystal in the 
 fountain, we are content to drink from the dirty, 
 tumultuous brook. If we would allow to human 
 authorities only their proper influence ; and, 
 taking up the Bible, make what God says about 
 us and Himself chiefly our study, we should no 
 longer stand as in a low confined valley, but as 
 on a mighty mountain -top, where the whole 
 wide unmeasured future would be constantly 
 unfolding to our adoring eyes. 
 
 Were the feelings of Him through whom we 
 live but properly understood — were we not so ac- 
 customed to the cold, unattractive views of His 
 nature presented by preachers, who, being sinners 
 like ourselves, see everything in earth and heaven 
 only in the cloudy, misty Hght of their own feel- 
 ing — haply injured still by the bitterness produced 
 by blighted hopes, forsaken hearts, and unkind 
 persons ; so that their faith in any perfect goodness 
 becomes a thing to be imagined rather than felt — 
 were it not for this, instead of Christian life being 
 turned from as a condition full of hard restraints
 
 VIU PSEFACE. 
 
 and unpleasing feeling, we should understand it 
 as it is — the truth, the poetry of life; full of 
 brightness, and smiles, and rejoicing; breathing 
 only love, and peace, and happiness; possessing 
 all things, " life, death, things present, things to 
 come — all are yours," saith the Gospel. So, far 
 from declining it as an added weight, the wish 
 would be to begin the life of God as earnestly as 
 was in us. Our life is a very beautiful one, if we 
 will only accept it. But if we will come into 
 the world with one destiny — the soft low calm of 
 piety, and, refusing it, take up one of harshness 
 and sorrow, let not God be charged foolishly. 
 
 I do not, I cannot, think with the brilliant 
 L. E. L. ; that to expect mankind to improve is 
 vain. I must continue to indulge the most ex- 
 alted hopes of the human race — ^hopes not the 
 result of an objectless enthusiasm, but peacefully 
 based upon what I find in the word of God, and 
 upon the relations which man sustains with the 
 Deity. God never could mean. He never did 
 mean, that man's mighty energies should sink be- 
 neath the task of his mortal servitude — else it 
 implies an imperfection in the plan of his re- 
 demption, and makes some of the brightest passages
 
 PXEFACE. IX 
 
 in the Bible mystical and meaningless. Man 
 came out from God — his existence is sustained by- 
 God — to God he mil return. Sin erased the Di- 
 vine image from his soul, and spoiled his powers ; 
 but by the suffering of the Lord Jesus the whole 
 may be again attained. This is the simple truth 
 of our life. Let men understand it — let them 
 act upon it ; and, filled with bright exulting life, 
 they will start in an eager loving race along the 
 vast untravelled path of light which stretches 
 into the endless ages of the future, and we shall 
 take up a position in the scale of moral and intel- 
 lectual being, which only to think of now would 
 be deemed the wildest dream. 
 
 I have said so much in defence of the religious 
 feeling which, in some parts of the book, I have 
 somewhat freely used. Not so freely, I think, as 
 to make it intrusive. While I wished to amuse, 
 I wished also to elevate and sooth ; and there are 
 no means of doing this save those which flow, 
 either directly or indirectly, from the Eternal 
 Source of Good. 
 
 Not that I am going to talk of " modesty," 
 * ' courteous reader, " &c. This would be throwing 
 the said modesty and courteous reader away ; and,
 
 X PEEFACE. 
 
 in a day when botli are so much in request 
 and yet so scarce, it is a pity that any of either 
 should be wasted. Prefaces need reform quite 
 as much as the Income-tax. I therefore beg 
 to retrench all such expressions, as not meaning 
 so much as the paper they are printed on. The 
 reader comes to my book to be interested ; if he 
 is, it is well j if not, all I can say will make no 
 difference. 
 
 Though I shall never believe that a young 
 author is treated with anything like the mercy 
 he deserves — all his work performed amidst a 
 haunting sense of immaturity that often produces 
 heartlessness ; heartlessness at times amounting 
 to complete depression. His is not a ''far-looking 
 hope." Distrust of his abilities, timidity which 
 is not painful only because it is not anxious, hope 
 vague as the fear that subdues it, yet all mingling 
 with a gentle dream-like trust such as only the 
 young and inexperienced author can know, are 
 the feelings with which his book is presented to 
 the world. 
 
 I have exhibited the Cabbala as far as would 
 interest most readers — some may regret that it 
 is not proceeded with further — these, I think
 
 PEEFACE. XI 
 
 will be but very few. More general would haye 
 been the opinion, if I began its spiritualism, that 
 by its wildness, it spoiled the feeling produced by 
 the rest of the work. 
 
 INTor must it be supposed that Cabbalism is an 
 old thing, now passed away. Cabbalists are even 
 still a numerous class amongst the Jews. The 
 most eminent among them is Rabbi Joshua 
 Babsis, a member of the Beth-din. He professes 
 to have constant intercourse with invisible spirits, 
 and is regarded with immense veneration. JS'o 
 Jew would, on any account, offend him ; believ- 
 ing that his curse would be followed by instant 
 death. 
 
 That in modern Judaism there are numerous 
 things and ceremonies which, from their strange- 
 ness to Christianity, may have a ludicrous appear- 
 ance, is what most persons know ; but those who 
 come to this book expecting to find them pictured 
 in it, or any of their serious peculiarities turned 
 into a jest, will be disappointed. One of my 
 great objects was, to exhibit the liberality and 
 tenderness of feeling, and the cultivated intellect 
 — even in matters of general taste — which our 
 Jewish brethren possess ; in opposition to a very
 
 XU PREFACE. 
 
 prevalent belief — vide the Morning Herald — 
 which holds it *' impossible to elevate a Jew 
 to an Englishman " — that they are in this 
 way sadly deficient. And also — may I hazard 
 the expression ? — that I trusted to awaken 
 some practical interest on behalf of the high- 
 feeling women, who constitute so great a hope in 
 Judaism. 
 
 Amidst that sympathy which is now extended 
 to all classes and conditions of men, the Jews are 
 almost entirely overlooked. Yet no nation upon 
 earth is gifted with so much of that profound 
 feeling, that is the element of the Gospel ; and 
 which, rightly directed, shall advance human 
 nature to its perfection. Constancy, which no- 
 thing can overcome, disinterestedness, imagina- 
 tion, high intellect, enthusiasm, and a love which 
 " no waters can quench, nor floods drown," are 
 eminently the characteristics of this noble race. 
 
 That often they are immoral in their lives, and 
 that their disposition is generally a money-getting 
 one — though this is afterwards dispensed al- 
 most as liberally — is true. But what has made 
 them so? Money has, for seventeen hundred 
 years, been theii- only means of purchasing repose.
 
 PEEFACE. Xlll 
 
 And the nation Trhich tlirougli so many centuries 
 could receive such abject treatment as the Jewish 
 one, and yet maintain an intellectual and moral 
 character so high, must be a great one. 
 
 But ere long their captivity shall be turned ; 
 and the church of the Lord Jesus, exulting in the 
 union of both Jew and Gentile, under the peaceful 
 holy reign of the King of all the earth and heaven, 
 ehaU take up the lofty strain — 
 
 Break forth into jor ; 
 
 Sing together ye waste places of Jernsalem. 
 
 For the Lord hath redeemed His people ; 
 
 He hath redeemed Jerusalem. 
 
 The Lord hath made hare His holy arm ; 
 
 In the eyes of all the nations ; 
 
 And all the ends of the earth 
 
 Shall see the salvation of our God. 
 
 OSBOEN "W. TEENEET HEIGHWAY. 
 
 Chiswick, November 11, 1853.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL I. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE. 
 
 I. Eloise 1 
 
 n. Adeline 11 
 
 III. Exhibits some of Adeline's Feelings and Opinions 26 
 
 IV. The Feast of the Passover 42 
 
 "V. Eloise and Hermon 60 
 
 \'I. Of the Jewish Women, with a few et ceteras . . 68 
 
 Vn. Marj-'s Confirmation 91 
 
 Vni. Life in the Kitchen Ill 
 
 IX. Legends 12-5 
 
 X. Mysteries of the Cabbala 144 
 
 XI. Mysteries of the Cabbala continued . . . .151 
 
 XH. Tremblings of the Spirit 160 
 
 Xm. Baron Putowski 168 
 
 XIV. The Marriage 180 
 
 XV. The Ball 204 
 
 X\'I. Mr. Cohen's Private Synagogue. Its Furniture, 
 Decoration and Dedication. And a few other 
 
 matters 218 
 
 XVII. Mysteries of the Cabbala continued . . . .237
 
 XTI CONTENTS. 
 
 XVIII, Death of Ben Uzziel 244 
 
 XIX. Introduces a Great Man 251 
 
 XX. The Feast of Pentecost 272 
 
 XXI. Doings at the Jewish Seminary .... 294 
 
 XXII. Unexpected Events 318
 
 ADELINE; 
 
 OB, 
 
 3);5stuits, Samant^ ani Vitalities 
 
 OF 
 
 JEWISH LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ELOISE. 
 
 " Spirit of men, 
 Thou heart of our great enterprise, how much 
 I love these voices in thee I " 
 
 Ben" Jonson. 
 " Our coming 
 Is 90t for salutation ; we have business." 
 Idem. 
 
 OiiR story opens in the middle of Aav ; the time — 
 afternoon; the place — alai-ge, antiquated mansion, 
 on the banks of the Thames, in the environs of 
 London. The glass door of a verandah, overlook- 
 ing the water, was open, and on a divan before 
 it a lovely girl was seated. She was tall, even 
 above the ordinary height of women. Her figure 
 was slender, yet not spare; for it was sculptured in 
 the most j ust and beautiful proportions. Her hair
 
 2 ELOISE S riCTUEE, 
 
 was very dark, but without the insipidity of per- 
 fect bhickness : it fell in heavy, clustering masses 
 around shoulders chiseled with the beautiful slope 
 of a Greek statue. Her complexion was that of 
 the brunette — no dimness nor duskiness about it 
 — but softly shaded with a transparent olive. Her 
 ej'es were liquid, large, and dark ; languid, even 
 to bewitchingness it maj" be, when she indulged 
 in earnest thought, but brimful of life and fire : 
 tbeir brilliancy would, indeed, have been too fas- 
 cinating, for it would have oppressed the beholder, 
 had it not been for the cloud spread over them by 
 the magnificent lashes. Her rich dress, composed 
 of the choicest fabrics made by eastern skill ; her 
 patrician elegance of beauty and manner, at once 
 proclaimed her rank. 
 
 As she sat gazing in profound abstraction upon 
 the rising and falling waters, it could well be seen 
 that her thoughts were of a sombre and by no 
 means joleasing cast. And at times she rose to 
 her feet, and paced the silent apartment with a 
 restless, feverish step ; while ever and anon she 
 paused to look in the direction of the entrance, 
 her eyes flashing, her brows contracted, and her 
 whole countenance fixed in an expression of ma- 
 jestic indignation and scorn, which heightened 
 her beauty till she became almost terribly fasci- 
 nating. 
 
 At last her expectation was realised by a young 
 man entering the room. She drew herself up to
 
 AHJilVAL or BEX MEGAS. 3 
 
 her full height, and stood gazing upon him with a 
 smile of cutting, cold displeasure. 
 
 " You have come, Ben Megas," she said. 
 
 "Yes, dear Eloise. I ^\'ished to spend one 
 more hour " 
 
 "Enough," she returned, with an imperious 
 gesture. " Such words, Ben Megas, are idle now 
 
 — worse, for they insult me. 'We meet only as 
 two who have a worldly business to transact. 
 Hear me. You have come here, Ben Megas, in 
 milk-and-honey language, mingled haply with 
 some rare drops of love, to warn me of your per- 
 juries. Spare your pains. I know them." 
 
 "And likewise my reasons." 
 
 ^^ Reasons r^ she exclaimed, with a withering 
 sneer. "What else? We shall see, sir. When 
 fij-st you saw me, and addressed my heart in slow 
 and measured speech — and oh ! it was enshrined 
 in loveliness to lead captive any woman — I was 
 a pale, shrinking flower, the soul of all " 
 
 "That is most pure as well as beautiful," con- 
 tinued Ben Megas. " And so, Eloise, I leave you 
 
 — a thing which nothing but my high mission 
 and determination should have tempted me to do. 
 Heaven and yourself know I shall ever love you, 
 my dearest girl, as I shall no other thing of mor- 
 tal birth." 
 
 "A lie ! a base and sordid lie, I say. By Jacob's 
 God, I swear, I do condemn mine ears that hearken 
 to you. Listen, Ben Megas. I have been yours
 
 4 ELOISE UPBRAIDS BEN MEGAS, 
 
 in sweet and holy ties, in love that thne has knit 
 and strengthened — love, though not unAvooed, 
 nnwon by other men ; with nought to think or 
 live for but for you — you in whom I trusted with 
 a maiden's lofty pride, her hopes and fears. And 
 all for this, then ! Oh, fear me ! I have a gnaw- 
 ing j)ain here at my heart. It is not outraged 
 love alone, but falsehoods, mean, dishonourable, 
 and pledges unredeemed — and for no fault which 
 I have done — I writhe under. Do you hear me ? " 
 
 ''Your father wishes it, Eloi'se." 
 
 '' To you my faith was plighted by my father. 
 That faith I ratified by mine own vow. The oath 
 was registered in highest heaven. I am yours 1" 
 
 ''Eloise, be calm and hear me" 
 
 *^Calm! Soft lesson! while I see my young 
 faith crushed, broken, buried, — lone, remorseless, 
 without an epitaph except my tears. JS'ow out 
 upon my foolish eyes. I had thought since yes- 
 terday so much weak womanhood slumbered not 
 in me." 
 
 " Why don't you say all this to your father, 
 Eloise ? He advises it. I am to be a Cabbalist, 
 and as a good one, you know, I cannot marry. My 
 great object in this transitory state of my being is 
 a constant approach to the Eternal, and an union 
 with Him as near as possible to perfection; for 
 which reason I must avoid all earthly attach- 
 ments " 
 
 ''Kow don't — don't go on, Ben Megas, with
 
 A^'D S^'EEES AT CABBALISM. 5 
 
 cant so villanous," she said, with an expression 
 of impatience that implied she listened to it with 
 agony. ''If it were so, I might, perhaps, find 
 reasons to forgive you. But it is false. Your 
 
 Cabbalism is from first to last a pander to your 
 
 ugh ! the word chokes me. I know your holy 
 thinkings, together with your brood of sandalled 
 fiends, for whom my father, in his vile seekings, 
 wrongs and defrauds my mother. Ah, start ! your 
 delicacy is outraged, doubtless. Ambition is the 
 God you loye so. You expect a stronger power 
 amongst the people. Ha! ha! T\^hat next? 
 Heavenly ecstasies ! triumphant harmony of glo- 
 rious discords ! and all the offering you bring him 
 is your vile compliances with earthly wills, with 
 wicked and monstrous passions that you nurse and 
 cherish. Mysteries and secrets, purity and spiiits, 
 celestials and unearthliness. Excellent ! 
 
 'CI XP^'^^ csiiiojia KuWiaroy ^porolg 
 
 contains all your creed. Out, thou unholy thing !" 
 ''Eloise Aben Baruch forgets who she is, and 
 
 whence she came, to vent herself in such rebellious 
 
 wickedness." 
 
 " 2^0 fear. I remember it all too strongly. A 
 
 curse upon the day I saw the light of Jewish skies. 
 
 I spit in the face of my nation — upon a religion 
 
 which is a libel on purity and common sense. 
 
 Pride in being a rabbi's daughter ! — a Jewess ! 
 
 God ! the thought sickens me. A thing without 
 
 B 2
 
 b ELOISE DISOTVK^S nEE NATION. 
 
 a heart; no feeling beyond a parent's will; sunk 
 beneath my moral dignity, below my sex. Enough, 
 leave me ; for, having burst, why 1 shall be the 
 calmer." 
 
 ** What, fling curses on your people ! Hath, 
 then, the Prince of Evil such power with thee, 
 Elo'ise .'' Oh, shame ! shame ! shame !" 
 
 " Shame ! Dares thy corrupted tongue to cry 
 then shame on me ? Hence, away, I say ! or thy fine 
 ears may ring with sounds more deep and brazen- 
 tongued. I have no land, no home, no people. 
 Nation ! I disown it ! "Withered be all its glories 
 and its pride ! May Gentile voices cry foul shame 
 on it ! May its name be gall and wormwood in 
 the mouth of all its children ! Eierce now I hurl 
 my deep dishonour on it — my marred life's 
 purpose. A Jewess ! Off, vile denial of my 
 woman's pride ! Thus, then — now once again I 
 stand and breathe a full, untrammeled woman. 
 How now, Ben Megas ? Why stand' st thou gaz- 
 ing on me thus? Ay, 'tis Eloise — her face has 
 been familiar to thee long ere now, I trow." 
 
 " Perdition ! Is there no blush to tell of woman- 
 hood ?" 
 
 ''JN'ot such as thou wouldst have. Woman- 
 hood! Canst thou, who made me what I am, 
 find impudence to prate to me of womanhood !" 
 
 ''Elo'ise, this is useless. Let us forget the 
 past, and look with religious hope to the fu- 
 ture."
 
 SHE ADJTKLS BEN iLEGAS. 7 
 
 " Now hence, thou base deceiver ! hence, get 
 thee to thy dark room, where hide the filthy 
 secrets that day dares not pry into ! hence, and 
 begin thy dreams a'. 1 mumbled priestcraft But, 
 by eternal heaven, that has witnessed my outraged 
 trust and deep dishonour I and by the immortal 
 soul that is my hope and my inheritance, I swear, 
 that if it is my destiny that I now shall be flung 
 from thee shamefully, I'll never leave thee ; but, 
 midst thy hellish arts, my spmt on the cloudy 
 depths shall ride, flouting the smoky mists thou 
 gatherest round thee, flaming and flashing in thy 
 eyes like some dire, portentous comet, marring 
 thy life, thy hopes, and highest efforts ; and, 
 louder than any music thou shaft summon, or the 
 wild roar that swells upon the air from spirit 
 worlds, thine ears shall hear me shouting, * On, 
 on, Ben Megas I on to victoiy or destruction ! ' " 
 
 ''Eloise, what you mean I don't pretend to 
 unriddle. If you think to make me fear you, 
 you are far from the mark ; your threats fly from 
 me like rebounding shafts. Beware ! Else, as a 
 Cabbalist, I may exert a power that shall tame 
 even your high spirit, and check your eloquence.'* 
 
 " Dare you then threaten me, Joseph Ben 
 Megas r " she exclaimed, her whole form quiver- 
 ing with pent-up passion. "Have a care, lest, 
 like some long- compressed Tolcano, I burst and 
 overwhelm you. Ha ! ha ! ha ! How well and 
 bravely said. A Cabbalist ! "Wliy then, if thou'rt
 
 b SHE 'JHIIEATENS HIM 
 
 content, we'll brag and brag, and see which brags 
 the most. The vengeance of the Cabbala is a 
 game that two can play at. Go now, summon all 
 the ghosts that fill the past or wide hereafter. 
 Go ! Unsheathe your flashing sword ; shout over 
 me your war- cry ; call up your thunders from the 
 infernal deeps — I'll join the din, and make the 
 solid earth tremble and quake to hear my fierce 
 defiance, ^iij, 1 can threaten, too." 
 
 " I believe, Elo'ise, you've got the devil in you." 
 
 " I have. Hark you. I have loved you as a 
 woman loves but once; that love is changeless, 
 and beyond my power to control or stay it. You 
 found me a woman, spotless, trusting as an angel. 
 I am changed now. You leave me spoiled, crushed 
 — something more to be feared than a man, for I 
 have all his dauntless courage and determination, 
 with a recklessness of what happens to myself that 
 is far beyond him. Take care, I say, Joseph Ben 
 Megas. Eloise Aben Baruch and you shall meet 
 again : but it shall be either for marriage — to 
 bring you to her feet, the conqueror to the con- 
 quered — or with one stroke to bury both in dire 
 destruction. Go." 
 
 " Eloise, let me try to make you feel " 
 
 ''Go!" 
 
 *'Let me speak." 
 
 ''Go— I say." 
 
 "Then, fareweU— for ever." And he left the
 
 VriTJI A :.[r-TEKT to COilE. 9 
 
 Eloise watched him retreating through the 
 door : she drew her hand across her flashing eyes, 
 and then soliloquised aloud — 
 
 "Oh! for some death-cold ice, to cool these 
 temples that throb and burn so. My pulse beats 
 heavily — the wheels of time stand still — my 
 days will ne'er be done. Oh ! if I but dared to 
 end this life of blight and bitterness ! — to rend the 
 veil which shi^ouds me from the future ! Down ! 
 down! malicious fiend. I have lain and tossed 
 on my distempered bed, and prayed for day, and 
 day has come at last; and so it will again. 
 There is a heavenly hope which, born in early 
 days, lives on through endless years — heaven's 
 substitute on earth — which shines only through 
 clouds of sorrow, for then it shows the brightest 
 — like the quivering light of a clear sunbeam 
 glassing itself in the convulsive waters, when 
 they howl and dash in horrid warfare. Love 
 Divine ! the spiiit of all felicity, the base of 
 faith, the victor-king of death, the heart's evan- 
 gelist, the breath of dying souls ; how, combating 
 my anguish and despair, thou bringest me back 
 the thoughts of holier hours and purer feelings, 
 mingling with quick-winged ecstasies, brought 
 from celestial joys; yet softly shadowed by my 
 soul's dull feeling, that loves thee as flowers the 
 sun, that is their light and life. Be with me 
 still. When earth's tempests foam around me, 
 be thou my faith, my joy, my prayer, breathing
 
 10 eloise's soliloquy. 
 
 thine own divinity, raising my spirit to that 
 cloudless land from whence I came, and where 
 I yet again must be. Be to me as the perfume 
 in the amaranth's blossom — the type of God's 
 immortal flowers — and like me, His care." 
 
 And thus, with her hands clasped upon her 
 bosom, and eyes uplifted to heaven, she passed 
 away from the room.
 
 AX ENGLISH SPBIXG-DAT. VI 
 
 CHAPTEE IT. 
 
 ADEIJXE. 
 
 "Her lot is on yon! to be found un tired 
 Watching the stars out by the bed of pain ; 
 "With a pale cheek — and yet a brow inspired — 
 And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain ! 
 Meekly to bear with wrongs, to cheer decay ; 
 And oh ! to love through all thinss — therefore pray." 
 
 Mks. Hemaxs. 
 
 It was a mild, genial day — the thirteen-th of 
 ]D^J {yison). The sun shone brightly; and the 
 whole atmosphere, in spite of the slight haze 
 that faintly silvered the broad stream of the 
 Thames, and the distant hills in the environs of 
 London, was endued with that exhilarating fresh- 
 ness, which sheds a poetic charm of animation, 
 vividness, and youth, over an English spiing, un- 
 known in other European countries. 
 
 The parks and fashionable promenades were 
 thronged by persons, whom the loveliness of the 
 day had called forth. And highly picturesque and 
 varied was the scene composed by the multifarious 
 parties pushing and thrusting along, or gathered
 
 12 ISAAC COHEN. 
 
 in groups discussing the momentous events of the 
 times. Among the mass of persons that thus 
 swarmed like ants upon the chief passage to an 
 ant hill, in the great winding carriage road that 
 enters the city from the west — or rather going 
 along that part of it called Piccadilly — was a 
 young man, whose personal appearance pro- 
 claimed him beyond doubt to be a member of 
 the house of Israel. He was scarcely more than 
 twenty years of age ; and this might be seen by 
 the fresh bloom which glowed in his rich olive- 
 tinted cheek. His figure was light and graceful, 
 but yet his carriage had all the bold and mas- 
 culine ease of a thoroughly English youth. His 
 features were regularly fashioned, and bespoke 
 intellectual powers of the highest order, joined 
 to a frank, open-hearted disposition; and they 
 were lit up with a fitful, happy brilliance, by the 
 bright light which beamed out of his fine dark 
 eyes. "Whatever his purpose was, as he pushed 
 stoutly and thoughtfully through the opposing 
 throngs, he w^as not to be diverted from it by the 
 objurgations of some, whom he was compelled to 
 rather roughly elbow on his way. At last, having 
 passed along Fleet-street, and entered Cheapside, 
 he paused in front of an antique-looking house, 
 through the door of which he entered. 
 
 The aspect of the apartment, into which he 
 had thus introduced himself, was exceedingly 
 strange. It was a thorough curiosity-shop. It
 
 STEINBEE'j S SHOP. 13 
 
 presented a perfect study for those skilled in 
 "storied urns and animated busts," — a place 
 where 
 
 " Curias jam dimidias, humeroque minorem 
 Corvinum, et Galbam auriculis naroque carentem," 
 
 you might easily find I On the shelves and the 
 counter were numerous boxes and cases with glass 
 tops, in which were carefully arranged engraved 
 stones, ancient coins, and other articles of lertii in 
 wondrous variety.' The "passage through was' en- 
 cumbered by broken busts, bronze statues, and 
 bas-reliefs piled tier on tier. In a huge dark re- 
 cess at the end stood a quantity of jars and phials 
 of different shapes mixed with glass vessels, con- 
 taining strange serpents, and lizards, and horrible 
 deformities of various kinds preserved in spirits. 
 On the opposite side, and quite, invisible to any 
 one unacquainted with the place, stood a ponderous 
 iron safe, which seemed to tell a tale of well-stored 
 deeds and papers, and of other modes of business, 
 besides selling bronzes, jewellery, and medallions. 
 And the impression thus conveyed was correct. 
 A more knowing man than Solomon Steinberg 
 was, in his way, it would be difficult to find. He 
 had not gone through the world without study- 
 ing, if not the most approved, at any rate the 
 most successful, methods of raising the wind : 
 and he acted accordingly. It would be hard to 
 say, indeed, what all his avocations were. He 
 
 c
 
 14 OF SOLOMON stetxbeeg; 
 
 had well studied practical archaeology. Was a 
 dealer in coins, medals, gems, marbles, bronzes, 
 terracotta, and glass ; in busts, and rings, and 
 jewellery, and gold and silver bullion. He was a 
 money-changer and money-lender. He advanced 
 money upon mortgage, and discounted the post- 
 obit notes of profligate heirs in expectancy. In 
 short, there were few financial operations which 
 old Solomon Steinberg's enterprising genius did 
 not embrace. 
 
 Ey birth he was a German Jew, but early 
 placed himself under the efficient tutelage of Home, 
 where he soon became perfected in his art ; i. e. 
 the art of purchasing "uncertain commodities" 
 at the lowest, and selling them at the highest 
 possible price. "When you knew your man, it was 
 really diverting to have dealings with him ; if 
 you did not, it was likely to turn out rather an 
 expensive amusement. His passion for jewellery 
 knew no bounds : 
 
 " Tight girt with gems in massive mountings set, 
 Beneath their weight his tumid fingers sweat ;" 
 
 and few persons had shown greater enterprise in 
 the collecting of these and other curiosities than 
 himself. In his j^outh he possessed very little 
 money; but he did not, like other German young 
 men, squander it away in beer and cigars. He 
 undertook an expedition into Greece ; completely 
 sacked Attica, Acarnania, and JEtolia ; went on
 
 HIS DOIXGS AND DEALIN'GS. 15 
 
 through Turkey, and from thence into Egypt; 
 but did not buy Pompey's Pillar, nor Cleopatra's 
 Keedle, nor the Pyramids ; they were all a little 
 too large for his carpet-bag. However, he found 
 plenty of other things amongst the mummy pits 
 of Cairo, and the lamp-teeming earth of Syene, 
 Memphis, and Abu Simbel. He came back ; sold 
 his cuiiosities at a very satisfactory per-centage; 
 took a wife; planted a vineyard; eat the fruit, 
 and drank the wine thereof ; went abroad again ; 
 and came to England. Finding his dealings paid 
 him better here than, they did in Italy, he, after 
 proper consideration, consented to take up his 
 abode amongst us. 
 
 Our acquaintance with him commences when 
 he was a little over fifty years of age. He was 
 still as deeply steeped in business, and as plausible 
 in recommendiag his wares as ever; though all 
 his sales w^ere effected in a language singularly 
 compounded of German, Erench, Italian, and He- 
 braised-English. Go to his house at any hour of 
 the day, and there the snuffy, gruffy old fellow 
 was sure to be, either standing at the door, blink- 
 ing away through his great goggle- glasses, or 
 seated at a little shabby old table, fumbling over 
 his curiosities ; or else slowly creeping over, snuff- 
 box in hand, to the restaurant opposite to toddle 
 back again, after treating himself to sundry drops 
 of the comforter. 
 
 At the moment that the young man before-
 
 16 HOW HE WAS DRESSED. 
 
 mentioned entered his shop, he was, as usual, 
 seated at his little old table re-arranging his trea- 
 sures. His upper person was engulphed in a great 
 black coat and widely-lappeled waistcoat — both 
 a good deal more than too much of a fit for his 
 spare form ; whilst his nether man disported at 
 ease in a pair of trousers, full and flowing, and 
 hanging flappily about his thin shanks like the 
 loose sails of a frigate in a dead calm. Though 
 by no means a logician, Solomon Steinberg was 
 rich in proverbs, and one, which he always exempli- 
 fied in his costume, was, *' familiarity breeds con- 
 tempt;" for which reason there was always a species 
 of Scotch divorce subsisting between the waist- 
 coat and trousers aforesaid, and again between his 
 wrist and the cuffs of his coat, from the wide 
 sleeves of which were thrust a pair of dirty hands ; 
 — one or other of them was ever and anon raised 
 to re-adjust the short pipe from Avhich he was 
 pufiing volcano- like clouds of smoke that issued 
 in regular but uneasy jerks from beneath his thin 
 upper lip. At intervals he nodded his head im- 
 patiently ; and, without interrupting his employ- 
 ment, muttered between his teeth words that ac- 
 companied his intermittent puffs like the sullen 
 rumbling which follows the smoke of the cannon 
 on the afar-off battle-field. 
 
 The shadow of the young man darkening his 
 door startled him from his occupation ; he thought 
 it was some one coming to bargain.
 
 HE BEMOANS HIS ^GE. 17 
 
 *' Hal Isaac," he said, as his eyes dropped on 
 the new arrival. '' Peace be mit thee, my shon. 
 I didn't tink you'd be here so shoon." 
 
 *' But Adeline did. And it's not so very early 
 either. We are not going to walk fast, I assure 
 you; so we shall not get home much before 
 sunset." 
 
 ''Eccola! confound be these long feashts!" 
 muttered old Steinberg in a parenthesis to him- 
 self. '* Kone the bettersh mit dem all as I shee." 
 And then he began again aloud, — ''I ixhpect, 
 Mishter Cohen, the lovesh mit woman more than 
 of her shoul or Jehovah hash brought thee hither. 
 Yell, veil, all natural too; I undershtand it; 
 though I 've almosht done at dis present. Yesh, 
 sir, ber sur, old age ish fasht preparing me to 
 give up beesnisse and my life mit it." And at 
 this concession he grunted a little, like a tame 
 seal in a water-tub. " Yell, I knowsh Adeline 
 ish quite in eine dolors to see mit you," he pur- 
 sued hastily, as his glittering eye fixed on a well- 
 known customer entering the door. 
 
 Adeline Steinberg was born in England. She 
 presented to the imagination the most fascinating 
 combination of qualities which it would be pos- 
 sible to put together. She had reached her nine- 
 teenth year, and was in the full glory of her 
 womanhood. Of middle height, yet exquisitely 
 moulded, her appearance left nothing for the 
 heart to desii-e, or the fancy to create. Her clear 
 
 c 2
 
 18 ADELINE; HER CHAEACTER 
 
 and heavenly eye sparkled with living joy, and 
 her pure countenance was illumined by its light. 
 It is not often that one beholds a creature so 
 richly endowed with natural gifts, — one uniting 
 in her own person so much grace, sculpture, and 
 expression. She was a perfect specimen of that 
 spirituelle, majestic loveliness which, in many 
 instances, makes the Jewish woman the most 
 beautiful of any nation upon earth. Her manners 
 were the most simple and unaffected. Her tem- 
 per was always cheerful, always tranquil ; some 
 said provokingly so, for she was not ruf&ed when 
 she ought to be. This opinion was only the re- 
 sult of their more confined intellect being quite 
 unable to understand her character. Her repose 
 was neither stagnation nor want of feeling, for 
 hers was deep and powerful, but simply that of 
 true mental dignity. Her mind was of the very 
 first order, and cultivated with the strictest care. 
 Her head, and the way in which it was placed on 
 her shoulders was supremely classical; but then 
 the contour was more that of Juno than of 
 Psyche. Her large, dream-like eyes were '' darkly, 
 deeply, beautifully blue;" and the long, heavy 
 fringes that hung over them so shadowily gave a 
 Murillo-like softness to her cheek, especially 
 when she looked down. Her features were per- 
 fect, rather too piquant to be quite Grecian. Her 
 complexion would have been too bright and clear, 
 had not the coming and going of each feeling and
 
 AND HEE PUESUITS. 19 
 
 thought changed it almost as often as the rose- 
 clouds shadowing an Italian sky ; while her 
 smile was joyful as the first zephyr of summer, — 
 a thing of music, — 
 
 "As any fair lake that the hreeze is upon 
 When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun." 
 
 There was a nobleness, a queen-like dignity in 
 her air; yet there was nothing of the *' precicuse" 
 about her, — no enthusiasm after eJffect. She had 
 indeed no arena for display, and the wish for it 
 was never excited in her mind. To the greatest 
 strength of character, she united a thoroughly 
 feminine sweetness of disposition. She had 
 grappled with all sorts of books, — of history and 
 poetry, of philosophy and science, — and was fa- 
 miliar with courses of deep reflection. But her 
 cheerful calmness of disposition quite concealed 
 these more strenuous efforts of her mind. The 
 top of her father's house was occupied by a very 
 large room, which had grown old with the Tower 
 itself. It never could have been built with the 
 house. It must have fonned pai't of some vene- 
 rable ^N'orman mansion, which, while trying to 
 escape from the Great Eire, had lost its way, and 
 so had taken up its position there. It was sedu- 
 lously avoided by old Steinberg, who considered 
 its dark and mouldy-looking panels as decidedly 
 testifying that the ghosts had built it there for 
 their own private meetings, and therefore any
 
 20 HER SOLITAKY ROOM. 
 
 human intruder might reasonably expect that his 
 temerity would be visited by no very equivocal 
 signs of their displeasure. In the middle of the 
 room there was a great oaken table, contemporary 
 with the place itself, and near it a massive chair 
 of the same material. The window looked out 
 on a lovely savannah of house-tops and chimney- 
 pots, until at last the view was bounded by the 
 range of hills that stretch from HoUoway and 
 High gate to Harrow. 
 
 The only person who had, perhaps for many 
 scores of years, frequented this room, was Ade- 
 line. It was her delight to bring her books with 
 her up to this solitary chamber, and there, sur- 
 rounded by the deep loneliness and peace, ponder 
 over their contents, or plunge into the profundities 
 of reverie. Had she been requested to tell all her 
 reasons for preferring this musty apartment to her 
 own warm and comfortable parlour, she might 
 have found the answer a very difficult one to 
 make. One thing she would have said, the 
 charm of being quite alone. Youth feels a 
 strange yearning after solitude. "When the world's 
 breath first passes over the heart, and fades some 
 of life's fresh bloom from the spirit, — an inevitable 
 consequence, and a wise one, perhaps, though sad 
 for us all,- — it inspires a soft and tender pensiven ess, 
 the existence of which is cherished in the soul 
 with a sweet, but mournful, delight. I^o wonder 
 that she loved to spend so much time in that
 
 ADELINE S ilOTHER. 21 
 
 deserted chamber — it so exactly suited her rest- 
 ful, placid spirit. In our own memory we never 
 knew even a barrel-organ, or a hurdy-gurdy and 
 tambourine, commit a trespass upon its quiet; 
 the aspect of the house, colder than the proverbial 
 coldness of charity, was quite sufficient. Xo 
 peripatetic music ever wasted its charms on old 
 Steinberg. 
 
 "What Adeline read and thought she revolved 
 in herself and was content. She loved her father 
 devotedly, and mourned his low, grovelling nature, 
 and she wondered how he could be so. What 
 "was money valuable for, beyond being the means 
 of obtaining the comforts, and, if you like, the 
 elegancies of life ? Her father had already more 
 than thrice what Avould suffice for this ; yet he 
 was not content. She had never experienced 
 such a feeling ; neither could she understand it. 
 Her mother was of a higher and intellectual 
 nature; but the noble tone of her feelings had 
 been dreadfully depreciated by contact with the 
 sordid mind of her husband. Still she was a 
 woman of a superior class ; and to much loftiness 
 of spirit she united great moral and religious 
 sensibility. Eut the necessity she again and 
 again felt herself under of recording her protest 
 against Steinberg's practices, had induced an 
 excitability of feeling, and a sourness of temper, 
 which her daughter could not always feel called 
 upon to receive ; and, therefore, she was fain to
 
 22 WHY ADELINE LOVED ISAAC. 
 
 steal away iuto the neglected room oftener, per- 
 haps, than else she would have done. 
 
 Her profoundly tranquil disposition made her 
 seem quite incapable of being impassioned. And 
 so thought several of those who had solicited her 
 hand in marriage, but who had been graciously 
 refused. Their summary of her character was, 
 that she was a lovel}' girl ; very amiable, though 
 much too reserved and retiring ; too fond of her 
 books to be capable of much sentiment; of a 
 temper vexatiously placid ; sang and played beau- 
 tifully, and excelled in every feminine adornment; 
 in short, was a perfect lady, but absolutely un- 
 able to feel the meaning of the word love. They 
 did not know the world of affection that was pent 
 up in Adeline's loving heart, ready to lavish forth 
 its blessedness the moment a proper object pre- 
 sented itself. She was generous and uncalcula- 
 ting; pleased with the attentions of gentlemen, 
 and was ambitious to deserve them ; but it did 
 so happen, that, until the offer of marriage made 
 to her by Isaac Cohen, she had not received one 
 from a person of a character sufficiently elevated 
 and refined to produce a perfect sympathy be- 
 tween her and himself. And, in her intellectual 
 view of the married state, there was nothing in it 
 that could compensate for this. 
 
 "When Isaac came, as we have before described, 
 Adeline was enjoying her solitude in the forsaken 
 room. He bounded up the stairs, leaving three
 
 HEE FATOUrtlTE BOOEiS. 23 
 
 stops behind him at every leap, and the next 
 moment she had returned his chaste embrace. 
 As he entered she had dropped her book upon the 
 table. He picked up the elegantl}- bound volume, 
 and opened the titlepage. "An Alfieri, indeed !" 
 he exclaimed. " I am not at all surprised to find 
 snch a book-loving lady devouring whole volumes 
 of Italian ; but really I should have expected to 
 find a Tasso, not an Alfieri, in your hand." 
 
 "And why not:" she inquired gaily. "I 
 have read Tasso ; but I cannot prefer him. To 
 my mind, Alfieri is altogether congenial. "What 
 think you of the Inamorato and Furioso } The 
 Inamorato, if less poetic in execution, is perhaps 
 more amusing than the continuation of the story 
 by Ariosto. There is more of the fairy tale in it. 
 It is less known than the Furioso, but certainly 
 should be read before it. Ariosto is a love- 
 devoted poet — it is one reason that I like him so: 
 we may easily perceive it in reading his Satires ; 
 I allude to his afiectionate regrets at absence from 
 his endeared home. In the Furioso, too, there is 
 great variety ; gentleness and majesty mingled 
 with the most fascinating beauty. Then what a 
 fine scene is that for the painter, where the war- 
 horse, endowed with his 'intelletto umano,' is 
 chased by a flying hippogriff." 
 
 " 1 suppose, too," said Isaac, looking round him, 
 " a damsel discovered reading in this old chamber 
 ought to have a book of chivalry in her hand."
 
 24 Adeline's tastes 
 
 "Yes, indeed ! And that was, perhaps, part 
 of my feeling when I selected Alfieri, — though 
 not much I think. Alfieri presents me with a 
 world quite as fresh and fascinating as Tasso, 
 while it is far more real. As I read him I feel 
 that my understanding is enlarged, and that I am 
 becoming acquainted with the real feelings of 
 mankind. It seems to me very strange that poets, 
 painters, and sculptors, who should be of a kin- 
 dred spirit with those enthusiastic panegyrists of 
 love and chivalry, and of all that belongs to the 
 pure, the gentle, and the beautiful, should read 
 their works so little, or, at least, make so little 
 use of them— works that abound in magnificent 
 descriptions of scenery and incidents, so congenial 
 to the true poet's soul." .. 
 
 These observations were uttered in the most 
 modest and unpretending manner. Adeline had 
 not the most remote idea of ; talking criticism. 
 She simply expressed the partialities which re- 
 sulted from her own thinkings. 
 
 "Adeline, you are a poet," said Isaac. 
 
 " Oh, pray," she rej)lied, laying a taper finger 
 upon his lips, " don't tell me that; for, if I am, 
 to tell me of it would, I think, for ever banish 
 the inspiration. To assure you, sir, that I cannot 
 possess any poetry, let me prevail upon you to 
 quit this quiet seclusion, and accompany me 
 amongst the tumultuous matter-of-fact masses 
 that now throng Cheapside." And with a playful
 
 AXD RELIGIOUS 1EELIX&. 25 
 
 courtesy she placed her arm in his, and they pro- 
 ceeded together dowD the broad staircase. 
 
 Far from shrinking from the distinction of being 
 a devoted Jewess, Adeline would have gloried in 
 it as the most acceptable that could be applied to 
 her. She attended to all the prescribed forms of 
 her religion with scrupulous zeal. The dispersion 
 of her people, their melancholy degradation, oc- 
 cupied her thoughts by day and her dreams by 
 night. A careful student of prophecy, she fixed 
 her enraptured eye on the future glory promised 
 to Israel when the Messiah came unto Zion as she 
 expected, until the outbursts of her higher feel- 
 ing could not sometimes be restrained. But she 
 was only smiled at as a pretty enthusiast, for few 
 of those whom she visited could understand this 
 loftier tone of spirit. The Talmud and all its 
 foolish fripperies she looked upon with intense 
 disgust, while her father as cordially relished its 
 very palatable superstitions. But since she had 
 engaged her affections to Isaac Cohen, she in- 
 variably accompanied him to his father's house to 
 keep all the feasts and fasts appointed by the 
 Judaic ritual. In the bosom of this family she 
 found a feeling which accorded with her own. 
 The only thing which gave her any cause for 
 sorrow was, that all of them, except Isaac, gave 
 more or less credit to the inanities of the Talmud.
 
 26 CHKAPSIDE, 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 EXHIBITS SOME OF ADELINE'S FEELINGS AND OPINIONS. 
 
 To one long accustomed to the quiet and monotony 
 of a country life, it would be difficult to present a 
 spectacle more novel or striking than that of 
 Cheapside at mid-day. The impression which it 
 makes is that of a street where noise and turmoil, 
 and commotion have reached their climax. Car- 
 ried one step further, and ''chaos would come 
 again." 
 
 Here, too, you may see every style of beauty 
 and every variety of coiffure that has ever been 
 known. Some young men of genius have ring- 
 lets hanging down over their shoulders — they are 
 scented shockingly with tobacco and bergamot 
 pomatum — you might smell them across the 
 street ; some have toupees in the famous Louis 
 Philippe style ; some have straight locks, black, 
 wiry, greasy, and redundant; some are cropped 
 close, so that you could not get a tug at their hair 
 if it were ever so; some patronise the present 
 fashion — which he who would adopt must, in
 
 AXD PEOPLE SEEN THERE. 27 
 
 order to do so, part his hair on the left side quite 
 straight, place a basin upside down on his head, 
 cut his hair all round exactly by the rim, grease 
 it with grease, gum it with gum, till it is about 
 the consistence of a treacle plaster, iron it down 
 with a flat-iron perfectly smooth, and then, taking 
 the tongs, make one long row of curls quite 
 round the whole head — such curls as her majesty's 
 coachman wears beneath his gilt three-cornered 
 hat when he drives in state. 
 
 And as for the whiskers and beards, there is 
 no end to them. All young men cultivate whis- 
 ker and beard if they can by any possibility raise 
 them from the soil. They are pruned and trimmed 
 in all sorts of tastes, and each is considered by 
 its owner a perfect accomplishment of the true 
 sublime. So that a value almost incredible is 
 often placed upon them — not without reason, for 
 many of these magnificent groves of whisker 
 would fetch fully one-and-sixpence a pair in any 
 respectable barber's shop at the AVest End. 
 
 Fancy, if you can, these heads and these 
 whiskers and beards under all sorts of hats and 
 caps — gossamer hats, Paris hats, opera hats, ex- 
 quisite hats, and all-round-my-hats — jockey caps, 
 peaked cloth night-caps, Chinese caps, Albanian 
 caps, Kuzzilbash caps, Russian caps, and sixpenny 
 caps — fancy all this, and you have before you as 
 well as ptn can describe, the appearance of these 
 important sprigs.
 
 28 ST. Paul's cathedral, 
 
 *'It always makes me thoughtful," said Ade- 
 line, " when I enter these crowded streets. It 
 seems to me like commerce bewildered in pursuit 
 of gold. And as I look on the many anxious 
 faces I ask myself, where will all these busy hearts 
 be a hundred years to come ?" 
 
 "This is quite a relief," she said again, as they 
 stood in the shadow of the magnificent St. Paul's 
 Cathedral. "You wonder, perhaps — but this is 
 one of my friendly spots. How soon does that 
 which has yielded us the purest feelings of delight 
 and admiration become a loving scene !" 
 
 "How majestic! how beautiful it is!" said 
 Isaac. " So grand, yet simple. Let us walk 
 around it!" 
 
 "Its noble proportions often excite in me 
 strangely powerful emotions," said Adeline. "It 
 reminds me so of our own glorious temple. And, at 
 such times, my thoughts seem spell-bound, and I 
 feel — oh! a wondrous rapture — beyond what I 
 could express. After all, the Christians have no 
 building for their worship equal to ours which the 
 Roman leveled with the earth. I am inclined to 
 wish they had — I should often visit it. I love 
 the Christians, Isaac, very much indeed. I think 
 them an exceedingly lovely people. I am only 
 sorry that they mingle with their worship ad- 
 dresses to a man. Yet, who can wonder at it ! 
 Eoth we and they are in a position to excite pity. 
 They are sweetly fervent — it is saddened by a
 
 A>'D THE HOUSES AEOr>'D IT. 29 
 
 mistake. AYe worship only God — but to -worship 
 Him as He describes is impossible. Out of the 
 depths of His love may He pardon them and par- 
 don us! forgive us all! — for oh! how dreadful 
 is the cloud under which we all are living, 
 the mistakes we all commit. I am sad when I 
 think ; and sometimes it makes me go desponding 
 indeed." 
 
 *' You will get melancholy, Adeline. But any- 
 one at all capable of feeling rightly, it is enough 
 to make him blue. However we will, if you 
 please, quit that subject for the present, and 
 return to this church. If I could, I would sweep 
 away aU those dingy ranks of bricks, which sur- 
 round the edifice, and produce so ridiculous an 
 effect." 
 
 " AVho was it," said Adeline, ''that, in his ora- 
 cular criticism, pronounced this noble portico to 
 be an addition injurious to the general effect of 
 the building r He never could have formed such 
 an opinion while looking at it. If he did, he 
 must have been strangely destitute of all true 
 sentiment and refined taste." 
 
 " I should rather think his taste was too good 
 by half," remarked Isaac sententiously. 
 
 '*WeU, to return to this portico," resumed 
 Adeline. ''"With so flat a facade — the only 
 part of the building respecting which I am in- 
 clined to make a caiping criticism — I am obliged 
 to decide, that the portico is absolutely necessaiy. 
 
 \2
 
 30 Adeline's impressions 
 
 How the gates seem to invite the whole world to 
 enter them." 
 
 *< And why should we not see the interior. I 
 suppose Jews are admitted ; shall we go ? " 
 
 '' I was about to propose the same question." 
 
 They ascended the steps, and entered the build- 
 ing. "Oh, Isaac," said Adeline, in a subdued 
 exclamation, and a tear gemmed her long lashes, 
 " does not this remind you of long past days ? 
 But I am not sure I do right, when I allow the 
 sight of this lovely temple to so depress me. 
 Those days will come again. See there, where 
 the golden light flows in so solemnly. I could 
 almost fancy myself in the Temple of the Lord, 
 looking in the direction of the Holy of Holies." 
 
 '' Now let us look at these tombs. Don't you 
 think their arrangement admirable ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed. Do you observe that child.'' 
 How expressive are those hands ! and that coun- 
 tenanct ! so full of angel-hopes ! What devo- 
 tion ! it merits to be eternised. And there is the 
 genius of Time, with his eternal accompaniment 
 of a scythe. I never could agree with those who 
 regard this as a happy emblem. Indeed, were it 
 not for the associations, which habit teaches us to 
 connect with it, I think we should have much 
 difficulty in realising the allegory at all. Time 
 destroys all things, as far as earth is concerned ; 
 and ultimately will consume even that earth 
 itself. It is impossible for us to understand de-
 
 OF THE SCrXPTTEES AND ALLEGOBIES. 31 
 
 Btruction by the figure of cutting down. The 
 resemblance is only partial. It seems rather to 
 hint the necessary thought, than embody the 
 thought itself. I had far rather see him reclining 
 like that Death yonder, with torch flaming, but 
 reversed, and always on the point of being extin- 
 guished; or perhaps holding a lamp, with the 
 flame ever-flickering, ever-d}T.ng in the socket. 
 Something of the kind would, I think, be a far 
 more congenial emblem. En passant of that 
 figure designed to typify Death — how tender ! 
 how expressive ! what could be more so ? And 
 how sublime is the eff'ect of that Faith or Eeligion 
 — whichever she is intended to represent. After 
 all I have seen of sculpture, I must confess, that 
 no work of art ever so intensely aff'ected me. 
 There is so much of soul, as well as beauty in the 
 countenance — such a thrilling union of profound 
 peace with perfect loveliness. And look at that 
 closed door : so irrevocably closed ! so silent ! 
 and the dead are within, and the living are shut 
 out! it is like the entrance to eternity. What 
 an object!" 
 
 " And let us not pass over that Hope — as I 
 suppose she is. I think I never saw flesh better 
 represented in marble. And the conception is 
 so chaste. There are no silly afl'ectations — no 
 ofiiensive solemn simper — in short, no carica- 
 tured sentiment whatever." 
 
 '* In good metaphysics, Hope, like Truth, can-
 
 32 nmn a mystery, 
 
 not easily be symbolised," said Adeline. ''But 
 such representations are sufficiently justified by 
 their beauty and their brightness. The mind is 
 charmed, and the ordinary ideas of utility are 
 forgotten. The eye fills with loveliness, and the 
 spirit is content — enough that it is beautiful." 
 
 "Yet I am bold enough to suppose, that even 
 such unmanageable allegories as these appear to 
 be, might be made far more expressive, if the 
 great minds among us would study more pro- 
 foundly the laws of thought and feeling." 
 
 " Undoubtedly they might," replied Adeline, 
 '* but such an efi'ect is not worth thinking of 
 when compared with another, which would as 
 certainly follow — the loftier philosophy that 
 would pervade our literature. 'No study is so 
 ennobling ; but the progress which has yet been 
 made in it is not great. The mind is as much a 
 "mystery to us as it was to Plato." 
 
 " The powerful sympathy which we feel for 
 the mighty of the past, however elevating it 
 may be in many respects, is injurious to the 
 highest faculties of thought. It makes it diffi- 
 cult for the soul of the nation to turn itself to 
 those loftier contemplations, which Plato and his 
 disciples saw before them, yet obscured by a 
 golden mist, which only future generations could 
 dissolve. And this strong pervading feeling 
 would render it a heartless, perhaps an impos- 
 sible task, even to the sturdiest minds we have,
 
 BUT EVER TTNTOLDIXG. 33 
 
 who souglit to recover that zeal, and that fire of 
 conception, which belonged to those of old. Our 
 metaphysicians do nothing ; it will be done by 
 the poets if at all." 
 
 ''I understand you thus," said Adeline, ''that 
 you do not wish to see any of the admiration 
 bestowed on their works diminished, but only 
 that this passionate affection for the great crea- 
 tures of the past should inspire us with the same 
 masculine boldness of spirit, the same vivid 
 energy of thought, the same unconquerable de- 
 termination to understand the great truths, which 
 to a self-collected mind are ever unfolding in the 
 unmeasured future." 
 
 " True. If I get beyond my depth, I shall rely 
 upon you to fish me out. This admiration is the 
 source from which all elevated knowledge springs. 
 Our first conceptions are imperfect; but from hid- 
 den, urnlike deeps within the soul, a thousand 
 streams of thought come flowing, each one in- 
 vested with a purer brightness, and reflecting 
 shapes still more divine, till at last the creative 
 mind, led on by the same wonder blending with 
 its intelligence, bursts " 
 
 " Be intelligible, now." 
 
 'Til try. Bursts into higher life, and per- 
 ceives that its own burning spirit is the only muse 
 it must invoke for the inspiration of its genius. 
 It is thus that the human being ensouls all dead, 
 insensate things in that deep and delicate sense of
 
 34 TRUE USE OP THE PAST. 
 
 tlieir seeming life in which they sympathise and 
 smile before the eyes that 'love all they look 
 upon ;' and his own spirit animates the stone, 
 which breathes back again upon him a more ex- 
 alted, more divine inspiration." 
 
 ''Thus," said Adeline, ''no sooner does he 
 behold the forms of the past standing before him 
 in palpable representation, than his ideas soar to 
 a loftier height, and all the energies of his 
 awakened and upspringing spirit are roused in 
 conceptions for eternity." 
 
 "Yes," replied Isaac; "so should such exam- 
 ples be used." 
 
 " ' Ecquid in antiqtiam virtutem, animosque viriles, 
 Et Pater ^neas, et avunculus excitat Hector,' " 
 
 said Adeline. " But away with criticism. Let 
 us take one loving look at this magnificent dome. 
 It is the poetry of majesty, and the majesty of 
 poetry. The decorations are superb, yet chaste 
 and beautifully harmonious. And those columns 
 which support it, how lofty they are ! How ex- 
 quisite, too, are those bas-reliefs next the cir- 
 cular mosaics. Mighty as are these pillars — and 
 they are a feeling of the tremendous — they dis- 
 turb nothing by their immense magnitude. It is 
 a sublime whole ! — it is perfection ! The dove, 
 in its golden atmosphere of glory, seems to be 
 floating amongst them. Do you observe, also, 
 that altar, as I think it is called, with its pilasters
 
 BEAUTY AXD PIETT ESSENTIALLY TXITED. 6o 
 
 veined with gold in imitation of lapis lazuli. I 
 wonder that any one can succeed in persuading 
 himself that the taste which introduced such 
 adornment in this position is puerile. Yet so 
 some have said, I believe." 
 
 ''If you go into a church professing another 
 form of Christianity, Adeline — the Eoman Ca- 
 tholic, I mean — in front of that altar they place a 
 semicircle of burning lamps, or else great wax 
 candles, arranged in ti'inities, as they say. These 
 throw a pale, unsteady light upon an image of 
 the cross and a man upon it. Just fancy it here, 
 and away goes the poetry." 
 
 "For the lamps I could offer no objection. I 
 should prefer them," replied Adeline. *' Ton 
 remember the lamps which night and day were 
 kept burning in our own temple. Lamps burning 
 at midday might, on a first thought, be expected 
 to produce an unnatural effect; but a little re- 
 flection would, I think, induce me to change that 
 opinion. The light is a mystical and brilliant 
 adornment. It is not placed there with the low 
 intention of being useful. Like flowers, or the 
 soft, ever-breathing music of the fountain, every 
 feeling is absorbed in one — it is a thing that is 
 beautiful." 
 
 '' But, my sweet young poet, how if they use 
 them as helps to devotion ? and I have some fear 
 they do." 
 
 " Oh, if they really use them as things to affect
 
 36 ADELINE DENOUNCES THE TALMUD, 
 
 the imagination in religious exercises, sweep them 
 away, for snch an evil is an immense one. The 
 eyes gaze in admiration, the heart glows with a 
 solemn feeling of the beautiful, which we might 
 be too apt to mistake for an emotion of love to 
 Him who dwelleth in the light that no man can 
 approach unto. Yet I never like to speculate on 
 the superstitions which some among the Chris- 
 tians indulge. I think upon our own Talmud 
 and Cabbala, and my mouth is closed." 
 
 '' But you know, Adeline, that the Talmud is 
 ' the wall of defence to our holy law,' " said Isaac 
 ironically. 
 
 " "Would to God, then, that the wall were swept 
 level with the dust." 
 
 **Amen! And you would pray that prayer 
 over again, if you knew as much of the Talmud as 
 I do." 
 
 *' I am thankful that I do not. I know not 
 what account I could give for such worse than 
 wasted hours, nor what I could do to blot their 
 fearful register from the records of eternity. Its 
 impurities always disgusted me; its puerilities, 
 its worse than childish follies always offended me. 
 I used to be a strenuous advocate for educating our 
 people in the rabbinical writings. I imagined 
 that many as were the evils which must result 
 from th:s instruction, it was the best means of ele- 
 vating the cadence of their religion. I shall never 
 support that cause again. To educate them in
 
 A.ND THE WHOLE OF KABBiyiSM. 37 
 
 the opimons of our learned books — what is it but 
 to seal their degradation? — to weave the chains 
 of their bondage around them still tighter ? — to 
 sink them still lower in the depths of sorrow and 
 uncertainty ? It would perfect an instrument to 
 be used only as a means of strengthening our 
 rabbis in their usurpations ; it would complete a 
 superstitious dependence, which they could use as 
 best it pleased them. A priesthood like ours, 
 not teaching alone, but ruling — ruling with a rod 
 of iron, and pursuing those who differ from them 
 with an unrelenting, heartless bitterness — train- 
 ing the thinking part of the people to pitiable 
 hypocrisy, and the unthinking to gross credulity 
 — it is a spectacle which exasperates. Xo ! 
 Even if the very existence of our religion should 
 requii'e that the nation be instructed in the opinions 
 of oiu' rabbis, I still would oppose it to my latest 
 breath." 
 
 "I entirely agree with you, Adeline. But 
 really this is heresy, and had better be spoken 
 discreetly. Think now if the rabbis heard you 
 say so." 
 
 ''Well, the consequences would most likely be 
 rather serious. For it is quite to be supposed that 
 they would believe my wickedness entitled me to 
 be brought to trial before the session, and to be- 
 come the subject of a special prayer in the syna- 
 gogue : while, at the same time, they might 
 resolve that I was an unfit person to be allowed 
 
 E
 
 38 ADELINE INNOCENTLY BREAKS THE LAW, 
 
 intercourse with orthodox Jews again. So, in- 
 deed, would all my personal friends, except a few 
 tolerant ones." 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by a little 
 girl who came running up to them with a bright 
 smile upon her rosy mouth. Her large, blue eyes 
 peered into Adeline's with a dreamy earnestness 
 of expression, and an air of bashful, timid uncer- 
 tainty, as though inquiring if she might safely 
 make overtures for acquaintance. Adeline's deep 
 and affectionate nature, ever yearning towards the 
 pure and lovely, was immediately impressed ; and 
 she and the little one soon got on quite intimate 
 terms. Tor the soft melody of gentleness in Ade- 
 line's voice had, like the low music of an JEolian 
 harp, floated murmuringiy and beautifully over 
 the spirit of the child. 
 
 But the busy fleeting spirit of the little one 
 could no more be confined in one place than a 
 sunbeam or a summer breeze. In a short time she 
 began to exhibit various signs of restlessness. 
 
 " Indeed, dear, you must kiss me then, before 
 you go," said Adeline, as she folded her in her 
 arms. Then putting her down, she said fervently: 
 "May Heaven bless you, and make you happy 
 here, and fit you to live in the enjoyment of God 
 for ever ! " And with an airy innocent playful- 
 ness, the interesting little being bounded nimbly 
 away. 
 
 " Your blessing that sweet child, dear Adeline,"
 
 BY BLLSSING A GENTILE T>'rjLXT. 39 
 
 said Isaac, ''reminds me of a law, written in the 
 Talmud, with which, I apprehend, you are at 
 present unacquainted ; because, I think that it is 
 not likely you have ever read the part which it is 
 in. If so, if you do not already know it, it will 
 startle you, perhaps; although you may believe 
 yourself quite prepared to hear the worst passage 
 that can be quoted from that book. The com- 
 mand is that, instead of caressing that lovely babe 
 and praying for a blessing upon her, you shall 
 
 SEEK HEE LIEE." 
 
 "Isaac!" 
 
 "It is true. How do believers in that book 
 get beside such things ? They aver, most em- 
 phatically aver, that the Talmud is of equal au- 
 thority with the Bible. Indeed, we might as well 
 say right out, that what God says in the Bible, is 
 sixth-rate compared with what He says in the 
 Talmud. It is from this feeling that they have 
 prohibited the Bible — allowing only the rabbins 
 to read it — and enforced the study of the other." 
 
 " Oh, it is surpassingly horrible ! You have 
 frightened me. I cannot comprehend the thing. 
 I have scarcely force of mind sufficient to realise 
 that the command is there. And you are per- 
 fectly serious ? It is exacth', as you have said ? 
 Tell me more." 
 
 " I will show you the passage when we get 
 home. It alone is enough to brand rabbinical 
 Judaism with infamy and everlasting contempt. I
 
 40 ISAAC EXPOU]SDS THE LAW; 
 
 know it so well that I am able to repeat tlie whole 
 from memory — it is in the Hilohoth M'lakhim: 
 'Moses, our master, did not give the law as an 
 inheritance to any but Israel, as it is said, **the 
 inheritance of the congiTgation of Jacob," and to 
 those among the nations who might wish to be- 
 come proselytes. Moses, our master, has also 
 commanded us, by Divine appointment, to compel 
 all that come into the world to embrace the com- 
 mandments given to the children of ]N"oah. And 
 whosoever will not embrace them, is to be put 
 to death ! ' You know, perhaps, what people are 
 meant by the children of Noah ? " 
 
 ''They are those amongst the Gentiles, who 
 are, according to Jewish judgment, perfectly clear 
 from the charge of idolatry." 
 
 "Exactly. In the Gemara mankind are divided 
 into four classes — Israelites, Proselytes, Chil- 
 dren of Noah, and Idolaters. The last class 
 comprises all Christians; the third, those whom 
 you described. Eut this division can only be en- 
 tered during a jubilee ; consequently, no one can 
 be enrolled in it now. So then, to the believer in 
 the Talmud, there is no going aside. There is 
 God's word — he must slay the child." 
 
 "It is dreadful to think of. How fearful will 
 be the account of him who dared to write such a 
 command ; and more terrible still, to impute such a 
 devilish feeling to the God of love. There is one 
 ray of brightness breaking through the cloud,
 
 WHICH APPOINTS THE CHILD ^^-T0 DEATH. 41 
 
 which else would be blackness visible indeed — 
 the most superstitious Jew amongst us, would 
 sooner kill the person who told him to do it than 
 the child." 
 
 ''I know it." 
 
 ''"Which proves that gross as are the powers of 
 credulity possessed by some of our people, not one 
 of them can in his heart and soul believe that the 
 Talmud is divine, else they could never neglect 
 its commands in this and a thousand instances 
 beside. Let us go." 
 
 e2
 
 42 MR. COHEN S HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER ly. 
 
 THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVEK. 
 
 " Eulalie — a lovely and spiritual child, 
 As e'er on her image in lotiis-ciips smiled. 
 The morn's pensive shadows and day's sunny skies 
 Have i)ictured their beauty in her deep silent eyes ; 
 While Peace, brooding gentle on young angel wings, 
 Around her sweet brow a starry light liiugs." 
 
 OsBOEN W. T. Heighway. 
 
 The house of Isaac's father was situated in the 
 suburbs of Kensington, overlooking the parks and 
 Kensington Gardens. It was one of those sweet 
 sequestered spots which are to be found nowhere 
 in greater perfection than in the neighbourhood 
 of London. Around it meandered a walk paved 
 Avith gravel, smooth as a marble tablet ; and this 
 again was encircled by a gently undulating lawn, 
 plentifully interspersed with the choicest trees 
 and flowers. 
 
 Mr. Cohen was now a widower. He was an 
 earnest-hearted, even an enthusiastic Jew; but 
 his views were held as free from a fiery bigotry
 
 HIS FAMILY. 43 
 
 on the one hand, as they were from an undue 
 looseness on the other. He was a strict Talmud- 
 ist; as, indeed, was each member of his family, 
 except Isaac. These were, David Cohen, of the 
 same age as Isaac, and who, at the time of which 
 we are wiiting, was on the verge of marrying 
 Hermon, the youngest daughter of Dr. Aben Ba- 
 ruch, and the only sister of Eloise ; Mary Cohen, 
 aged eighteen ; Jacob and Joseph Cohen, aged 
 fourteen and eleven years respectively; and Eulalie 
 Cohen, aged six years. Besides these, there was 
 a young French lady — Miss Hallevi — whom he 
 had lately taken to reside with him ; the death of 
 her father, a near relative of his own, having left 
 her an orphan and unprotected. 
 
 It was already past four o'clock when Adeline 
 and Isaac drew up to the door, and consequently 
 there was no longer any space to idle over their 
 preparations for eating the passover ; for the usual 
 duties connected with the offering of the evening 
 sacrifice had to be performed, as weU as those 
 appointed for the feast. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Miss Adeline !" cried Eulalie, 
 bounding into her arms immediately she entered 
 the hall. '' I am so happy now you have come. 
 But where is it you have been staying so long ? 
 Isaac j)romised me he would bring 3 ou early." 
 
 "Well, you see, my love," said Adeline, kiss- 
 ing her, ''I think you can pardon that, for I shall 
 be with you a long time now."
 
 44 EULALIE S HOPES 
 
 "Yes, dear, so you will. And you know how 
 glad I am — how much I love you. Now, come 
 upstairs with me, if you please ; for I have some 
 things I greatly wish to show you, and especially 
 a sweet book that papa gave me yesterday, that I 
 want to ask you about. But I suppose I must 
 wait for you to undress first. I'll help you — do, 
 dear, let me." 
 
 '* I must be alone for a little while, my darling," 
 said Adeline, as she lovingly pressed the child's 
 forehead to her lips. And then she resumed, in a 
 slow and gentle tone, " I am going to worship 
 our God, the King of Israel, and to ask Him to 
 bless my dear Eulalie, and to restore us to our 
 own beautiful countrj'^, where you so wish to go." 
 
 ** Oh, it is delightful to think about it!" said 
 Eulalie, clasping her little hands rapturously. " I 
 dream about it often, and then I seem as if I am 
 there. "When shall we go there. Miss Adeline ? 
 "V^'hen will Messiah Ben-David come to deliver 
 us, and to be our King ? " And in a thoughtful 
 voice, and her large serious eyes fixed on Adeline's, 
 she repeated that verse so dearly cherished by her 
 people, " Beautiful for situation, the joy of the 
 whole earth is Mount Zion, the city of the great 
 King." 
 
 " The time is near, very near. We expect Him 
 soon ; indeed, almost every day we look for His 
 appearance," 
 
 ** Oh, I do hve Him so," said Eulalie, in a soft,
 
 AND EXPECTATIONS. 45 
 
 dreamy voice, and rather in communion vriih her- 
 self than Adeline. " I know He's coming. He 
 often speaks to me — in the night — and tells me I 
 shall see Him soon." And the young face was 
 illumined with holy joy. 
 
 Adeline's eyes filled with tears, and kissing her 
 fervently, she hurried away, with a promise that 
 she should not be absent long. 
 
 A striking characteristic of the Jewish people is 
 their intense feeling of nationality. Their pride, 
 their trust, their life is in the land of Palestine • 
 and it is their gloiy to conform, as far as they 
 can, in their houses, usages, and even clothing, to 
 what they would be if they were restored to their 
 inheritance. Consequently, many of those whose 
 means enable them to keep two kinds of costume 
 — the one Eastern, the other suited to the country 
 in which they live — change themselves when the 
 public business of the day is done. 
 
 The inner circle of a Jewish family is an intensely 
 interesting — an exceedingly lovely scene. But it 
 is a sacred one, too ; for in their positively private 
 apartments the Jews do not receive visitors, ex- 
 cept they belong to their own nation. And very 
 special, indeed, must be the friendship under which 
 a Gentile obtains admission to the interior of their 
 household. To the romantic this consideration 
 would, doubtless, heighten the deep delight which 
 all he sees is fitted to inspire. 
 
 J^OW; then, we must request the reader to ac-
 
 46 THE DRAWING-EOOM 
 
 company ns into the drawing-room in Mr. Cohen's 
 house that was emphatically his, and therefore the 
 room in which the passover was to be eaten — a 
 large apartment, furnished and decorated with all 
 the luxury which oriental taste could possibly 
 require ; and, except a piano and harp, almost 
 buried amongst the folds of damask, there Avas 
 little English about it. The w^alls Avere spanned 
 by a gently-arched ceiling, encrusted with purple 
 and gold, and flashing Avith little pale blue stars, 
 which appeared to give fond intimations that an 
 ethereal treasury of peace and repose was above. At 
 the entrance rich curtains of Damascus silk Avere 
 gathered in voluptuous folds between pilasters of 
 polishtid cedar, and the Avindows Avere concealed 
 by hangings of the same costly material. The 
 floor Avas coA'ered Avith a Persian carpet of great 
 beauty, that yielded with luscious softness to the 
 pressure of every foot. It was plentifully strewed 
 ■with billowy cushions ; and in the midst of it stood 
 a stainless marble fountain, filled with water bright 
 as crystal, and sparkling Avith little golden fishes. 
 In one of the corners a large alabaster basin stood 
 upon an exquisite carved mahogany pedestal : this 
 was used for Avashing the hands before eating — a 
 thing ncA^er omitted to be done. 
 
 Near this was the desk Avith the volumes of the 
 Talmud, and other works of the rabbins, by its 
 side. It was made of one piece of solid cedar, 
 and was about three feet in height, supported on
 
 AXD ITS ADOEXilEXTS. 47 
 
 a square dais, whicli raised it a few inches higher. 
 On this dais the cushion was laid, seated upon 
 which the various members of the family studied 
 the law. 
 
 The wall at the end was adorned by a large 
 painting, wrought by the hands of Adeline. It 
 was executed in most masterly style. There was 
 no paltry mannerism. All was modest and un- 
 presuraing, like the work of a lady, and that lady 
 a genius. 
 
 Of the subject of this picture we cannot expect 
 to convey any adequate idea. In the centre the 
 irreversible declaration of Jehovah, and the fond 
 pass-word of the house of Israel was written in 
 Hebrew characters, biit'^W'' ypiiS &c.— "Hear, 
 Israel! the Lord thy God is a Unity." The 
 colour of the letters was purple, suggested by the 
 curtains of the tabernacle ; and the whole sentence 
 "was surrounded by clouds and a golden glory, 
 — "a bewilderment and mist of brightness." 
 Amongst the upper folds of the clouds two sera- 
 phim reposed; their wings embracing and their 
 faces looking towards each other. On the left 
 and near the top, a dim and dreamy circle of pale 
 white rays shone indistinctly through the solemn 
 mists, immediately suggesting the bright and 
 beautiful heaven beyond. "While by a consum- 
 mately artistic blending of the light and shade, 
 the light of the whole picture seemed to flow from 
 thence.
 
 48 Adeline's deess. 
 
 Adeline had finislied her devotions and her 
 toilette rather earlier than any of the others. 
 And there she lay, gracefully reclining upon one 
 of the divans, while her fingers capriciously 
 played with the golden chain on her bosom. Upon 
 her beautifully rounded arms, jewels gleamed. 
 Her long rich tresses hung wavily around her 
 neck and waist, falling in a lustrous cataract 
 amongst the silken cushions that were scattered 
 around. The elegant white muslin turban em- 
 broidered with blue, and crimson, and golden 
 flowers, forming the most poetical head-dress that 
 the warmest imagination could create, imparted a 
 soft, fascinating dreaminess to her large mystic 
 eyes, illumined so brightly with the sunshine of 
 intellect. A tunic of light silk was covered with 
 a loose robe of pale blue crape floating airy as 
 the rainbow about her statuesque form. A chain 
 composed of six rows of pearls, jointed together 
 with brilliants, encircled her waist, and from 
 thence it depended to within a few inches of the 
 ground. Hound her loins a cashmere shawl, soft 
 and unsubstantial as a film, was negligently tied. 
 And a veil bright as her own crystal skies, and 
 spiritual as the sunbeam, enwreathed her in 
 shadowy folds from the languid forehead and 
 throbbing bosom to the rosy- slippered little feet, 
 that scarcely displayed themselves from amongst 
 the folds in the large flowing trousers. The 
 whole portrait bore a soft visionaiy hue, made up
 
 A BEAniFUL SCEXE. 49 
 
 of love and peace harmoniously serene. It was 
 the poetry of repose ; so profoundly calm that you 
 could almost hear the thi'ill of life which gushed 
 through her palpitating veins, varying her cheek 
 with every changing thought as often as the 
 zephyr-clouds shading a summer sky. 
 
 Picture to yourself one of Eve's fairest daugh- 
 ters, bright in her beauty as in Eden's fresh land. 
 
 To the lover of that flower-soft calm which 
 Eastern style always inspires, even into the coldest 
 bosom, the effect of the whole scene was very 
 beautiful. But to the Christian, who with an 
 enlarged soul and refined heart feels this character 
 of repose in its fullest degree, and is besides 
 moved by higher thoughts and nobler sensibilities, 
 it was touchingly, oppressively beautiful. The 
 maid of Israel, in her exile fondly surrounding 
 herself with the costume and associations of that 
 beloved land, about which her soul- deep mem- 
 ories had entwined themselves; and dreaming 
 away the heaven- calm moments in bright visions 
 of the glory which should again rest upon it ; in 
 strange yearnings, and strong dim emotions after 
 the joy which she saw in the cloudy future ; in 
 the exuberance of tender thoughts and sacred 
 shadowings such as impassioned natures love to 
 feel. 
 
 The next person that entered the room was 
 Mr. Cohen. He was stout and portly, clear- 
 headed and warm-hearted ; an average specimen 
 
 F
 
 50 MK. COHElSr. 
 
 of the strict, enlightened Jew. He was dressed 
 in the light and flowing drapery of the East, 
 wore his phylacteries between his eyes — ''Thy 
 law is ever before me" — and was covered with 
 his Talith or Veil, the ^' garment of fringes," 
 which was commanded to be worn in memory of 
 the deliverance from the bondage of Egypt. The 
 smaller Talith the Jewish male wears constantly. 
 
 Adeline rose from the divan as he came in. 
 She bowed herself slightly. Then erecting her- 
 self, she remained with her forehead lightly rest- 
 ing on the tips of the fingers of her right hand, 
 while, with her eyes bent downwards, she gave 
 the left to him. He took it, and as he did so, he 
 kissed her, and then extending his hand over her 
 head, he pronounced the blessing in Hebrew, 
 '' The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord 
 lift up the light of His countenance upon thee, 
 and give thee peace. The Lord bestow upon thee 
 riches and honour, and may thine eyes behold 
 the salvation of Judah and Israel." Adeline sat 
 down again. 
 
 It was now full sunset, and the rest of the family 
 began to assemble. David Cohen was a young 
 man of strong and vigorous mind, a noble spirit, 
 and a generous heart. His age has been told. 
 He was attached to the Talmud, and attended as 
 closely to its study as the best young Talmudist 
 among his people ; and he was moderately strict 
 in fulfilling the ceremonies which it enjoins.
 
 PORTEAIT or M.YRY. 51 
 
 Mary Cohen, after embracing Adeline, seated 
 herself on a divan by her side. Slie was the 
 beloved of her father, and of the whole family ; 
 indeed, who was it that knew her could avoid 
 loving her ? She had mingled with society a 
 little, and a gush of the world's breath had passed 
 over her ; but as yet it had faded none of the fresh 
 bloom of innocence from her spirit. Her manners 
 were gentle and elegant ; and her softness of dis- 
 position, her maidenly blushes, her child-like sim- 
 plicity, proved how little she dreamed of that 
 impassioned devotion, that noble heroism, which 
 now slumbered within her peaceful breast. Her 
 countenance was of the clear intellectual expres- 
 sion, with — for all her light-heartedness — a shade 
 of sadness about the mouth, which one so seldom 
 sees but in a picture; but which, when seen, 
 haunts the imagination and the memory, rather 
 than excites any very palpable feelings of admira- 
 tion — and then only in those who, like herself, 
 were of a calm and thoughtful turn. Yet though, 
 like Adeline, there was a touch of melancholy in 
 her disposition, her smile was a thing brimful of 
 happiness, clear, and very joyous. Her voice, 
 slightly modulated by the accent of her nation's 
 language, was rich in tenderness ; steeped in beau- 
 tiful pathos, like violets in dew, by '' the mossy 
 stone half-hidden to the eye." Eut every motion 
 was itself music, ere her voice was heard. Eveiy 
 fibre — face, frame, limbs — was eloquent, and told
 
 52 EULALIE : 
 
 tales of feeling and passion beyond the power of 
 mere airy words. In the thought^, flashed into 
 speech by every glance of the unclouded eye, in 
 the movements communicated by the gladness of 
 a heart untouched by sorrow, the motions, not 
 merely quickened by the spirit, but seemingly 
 themselves spiritualized, and that, too, into forms 
 and outlines of nature's perfect loveliness, that 
 needs no instructor but the soul-felt impulse from 
 which it springs, and the " innocent brightness of 
 the new-born day" of bliss in which it lives its 
 beautiful, and floating, and ethereal being — (oh ! 
 gentle and middle-aged reader, pardon this per- 
 haps too poetic style ; though ornate, yet unam- 
 bitious) — in all this who could excel those two of 
 Israel's loveliest daughters now sitting there with 
 inlacing arms and touching cheeks, the charm- 
 and- spell-bearing Mary Cohen and Adeline Stein- 
 berg ? 
 
 Then there was the precious little Eulalie — 
 there she is, full of life and gladness, constantly 
 thrilling over a tune shadowily, for her heart is 
 overflowing Avith music, and gliding hither and 
 thither with the airy, undulatory motion of tho- 
 roughly happy childhood, startling the eye as it 
 wanders now here now there around the room 
 with apparitions of unexpected beauty. She was 
 no more to be kept still in one place than the light 
 clouds in a summer sky, or the young leaves re- 
 joicing in the first breathings of spring. She was
 
 HES LOVELI^'ESS. 53 
 
 tall of her age ; of a thin, but not lean figure : 
 indeed, if we set aside the consideration of her 
 height, we could scarcely convey an idea of her 
 form better than by describing it as the perfection 
 of epigrammatic beauty. Her face was lit up 
 with all the witchery of innocence peculiar to 
 childhood. A hue of tender pensiveness it might 
 have — and its having it was an addition to its 
 fascination — but there was not a single shade of 
 sadness in its expression. She was doubtless a 
 beautiful, even lovely, little being. But pictured 
 beauty is a fading flower — so fading, that we 
 approach and delight ourselves in it with a trem- 
 bling fear. AYe think not of the gracefulness of 
 the stalk when it is crushed, flower and all ; but 
 feel only that there is an end or extinction of 
 something we had loved, and that all our future 
 delight must be dra'WTi from the depths of memory. 
 It was not so with Eulalie. Light came and went 
 across her dream-like features with the coming 
 and going of each feeling or thought ; yet f^dnt 
 was the change of hue ever visible — and then it 
 revealed itself only to kindred innocence. It was 
 the lovely countenance of a seraph enshrined in 
 mortal life — in the angelic-calm stillness of its 
 idealised beauty instinct with all the emotions of 
 the human heart, yet strangely full of a spiritual 
 fije that seldom lives on earth, and never but in 
 childhood. Idealised beauty ! Yes — for that 
 face, so full of purity, was overshadowed with a 
 
 p2
 
 54 CHILDREN, ANGEL-BLESSINGS. 
 
 radiance for which the name must be withheld 
 only because it seemed more divine, inspiring a 
 sacred love that overpowered while it mingled 
 with delight — an expression from immortality. 
 Surely that man's nature must be radically defec- 
 tive who does not feel his heart purified and exalted 
 by such an image. Her hair excepted, which, 
 not at all unusual amongst Jewish children, was 
 of a light golden hue, she was exceedingly like 
 her sister. There was the same whole-hearted 
 laugh, the same sunny smile, the same loving eyes 
 — eyes that amongst that mellow sunset overflowed 
 with an unconsciously alluring expression of in- 
 nocence and gladness, and that impassioned but 
 calmy brilliance which must have shone through 
 the lofty fringes of the large lamj)ing orbs of the 
 fond Juliet, when she watched for her Romeo 
 amidst the starry hours. Many a thoughtful stu- 
 dent, with book in hand, slowly pacing his early 
 morning walk on the flowery sods of Hyde Park 
 or Kensington Gardens, or in the shadow of their 
 arching trees, cheating himself into the belief that 
 he was taking a healtliful exercise, has met the 
 vision of those eyes, and that pure and guileless 
 face, and spoilt his reading for the morning. In 
 vain has he struggled to rid his mind of the hete- 
 rodox notion which, with horrid pertinacity, would 
 still creep in among his thoughts, that there might, 
 after all, be things in the world better worth living 
 aud striving for, blessings far more valuable, than
 
 ME. ELIHIJ, A>'D HIS OnXIONS. 65 
 
 out of musty old tomes, to get the reputation of a 
 scholar, or the degree of LL.D. 
 
 Of course, we must not omit to notice Elde 
 Yehudah Elihu, who generally honoured the feasts 
 at Mr. Cohen's with the light of his countenance. 
 He was a somewhat queer-looking piece of hu- 
 manity. His features and movements were all 
 indicative of a bustling, fussy individual; good- 
 hearted at the bottom, but of limited intellectual 
 powers. His little round head, resting on his no- 
 neck, was surmounted by an enormous stack of 
 stiff, stubby hair — it made one's eyes smart to 
 look at it, it was so sharp and scratchified. This 
 stack of hair he was in the habit of constantly 
 tussling and bristling up. In the intervals of 
 this employment he flashed a bandanna of fear- 
 ful dimensions ; occasionally mopping up his face 
 with breathless energy, and producing a suc- 
 cession of very happy imitations of the rejoicing 
 notes of the big trumpet in the big organ at 
 Exeter Hall. After this description we feel it to 
 be almost unnecessary for us to say that he was an 
 ultra Talmudist. He scarcely believed there was 
 any other book in the world, the Cabbala hardly 
 excepted; at any rate, he had quite concluded 
 that there was not another of a tone sufficiently 
 elevated to meet his refined tastes. Not even the 
 Bible? Dear, no; for in his own elegant com- 
 parison — though we think he picked it up, for 
 we have heard others use it — "The Bible is as 
 dish-water, the Talmud choice wine."
 
 56 DirrEEENCES of the Jewish yeae. 
 
 Pew require to be told that the Jews compute 
 theii' years by lunar months — from new moon to new 
 moon. Consequently, to make their time correspond 
 with solar time, it becomes necessary, twice in five 
 years, to add an extra month. This is called ")1K1, 
 Vau-Adar, and is placed between "l*lh^, Adar, 
 the sixth month, and ]D''X Nison, the seventh 
 month. The Jewish civil year, reckoning from 
 the creation of the world, commences with '♦I^D 
 Tishri, which falls about the middle of September, 
 or the beginning of October. But when com- 
 manding the observance of the passover, God 
 changed also the beginning of the year ; therefore, 
 the religious year commences with Nison. 
 
 The law enjoins that the feast of the passover 
 shall be kept seven days ; on the first and last no 
 servile work may be done. It is to commence on 
 the fourteenth of the first month at even, and end 
 at the same time on the twenty-first. But the 
 Jews in exile amongst us, set apart eight days to 
 its observance, beginning on the thirteenth at 
 even, and making the fourteenth a D^l^, Sahhath, 
 as well as the fifteenth and twenty- first. 
 
 All were assembled now. Every one's dress 
 was exceedingly rich, as well as beautiful. But 
 there was no false display ; all was sweetly har- 
 monious and chaste. All the associations of the 
 Jew — the gorgeous ceremonial of the temple wor- 
 ship — the magnificence of his own beloved land — 
 unite to foster the love he has for brilliant attire.
 
 THE ilEZUZAH. 57 
 
 Mr. Cohen rose, and taking a book of Je^vish 
 prayers in his hand, recited several from it, at the 
 same time walking slowly up and do^Yn the room. 
 The reason for this is taken from the thirty-fifth 
 Psalm, ''All my bones shall say. Lord, who is 
 like unto thee !" 
 
 The men stood; the women went upon their 
 knees, their forehead bent towards the earth, and 
 resting upon a cushion. It was an exquisitely 
 touching scene ; one that no heart, rightly tuned, 
 could witness without tears. With a voice, ten- 
 derly modulated to the various emotions excited, 
 Mr. Cohen feelingly expressed the thi'obbings of 
 Judah's heart. 
 
 The exercise finished, a servant entered, bearing 
 a large basin made of pure beaten gold. It was 
 half-filled with the blood of the lamb that had 
 been slain for the passover. She placed it on the 
 table, and a bunch of hyssop by its side. 
 
 " Every one is in the house, Hachelr " inquii^ed 
 Mr. Cohen. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 ''Then, bid them come to the Lord's passover." 
 
 The servants came, dressed in walking attire. 
 His family being thus collected round him, ^Ir. 
 Cohen read fi'om the Law the precept commanding 
 to make the HTITD, Mezuzah, or signs upon the 
 doorpost ; after which, accompanied by two of his 
 sons, he proceeded to affix the marks upon the 
 lintel and side-posts.
 
 58 THE PASSOVER EATEN. 
 
 *' This is the bread of poverty and affliction, 
 which oar fathers did eat in EgjqDt ; whoso 
 hungers, let him come, and eat ; whoso needs, let 
 him come, and eat the paschal lamb. This year 
 we are here, the next (God willing) we shall be 
 in the land of Canaan ; this year we are servants, 
 the next, if God will, we shall be fi-ee, children 
 of the family." 
 
 And then the lamb, seasoned with bitter and 
 nauseous herbs, was distributed amongst those 
 present, together with biscuit or "unleavened 
 bread." When all had eaten what they required, 
 the remainder was taken into another room, and 
 there consumed by fire ; for the Law alloAvs none 
 of it to be kept until the morning. 
 
 ' ' Of what, sir, is this service designed to put 
 us in remembrance ? " said Isaac. 
 
 Mr. Cohen took a book, and read in Hebrew an 
 account of the bondage in Egypt and the deliver- 
 ance therefrom; interspersed with comments, partly 
 taken from the book before him, partly extempo- 
 raneous. This done, all burst forth in chanting, in 
 their own majestic language, the 7^^7^, (from the 
 95th to the 100th Psalm,) constantly used in the 
 Sabbath service. Adeline accompanied with a 
 vivid symphony upon the piano. The effect of 
 the whole was of the true sublime. The fine bass 
 tones of Mr. Cohen, rising in force and expression 
 according as the tremendous imagery heightened in 
 majesty, mingled in harmonious grandeur with the
 
 DIMNESS AND GLOET. 59 
 
 clear silvery notes of the -vromen. All the family 
 possessed, in an eminent degree, that general gift 
 of their people, a rich melodious voice. But noTv, 
 inspired by such a time and such a theme, voices 
 and instruments gave forth their sounds as if 
 gifted with a spirit life, that, echoing to the soul's 
 expectant nature floated her above the darkling 
 mists of time, and unfolded an uncertain trembling 
 view of the eternity-, vrhich is her home.
 
 60 eloise's apartment. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 ELOISE AND HEEMON. 
 
 " I can't say that I am at all surprised, for I never 
 thought ranch of him." 
 
 Common-Place of Domestic Conversation, 
 
 The same afternoon, at the house of Dr. Aben 
 Baruch ; the same apartment, in which, we first 
 saw Elo'ise. 
 
 At full length on a couch, adorned Avith the 
 most gorgeous tapestry, and in the richest eastern 
 style, lay Elo'ise — once the pride, the day-spring 
 of her father's house — the hope of her mother's 
 heart. ]^ever in her beauty's most glorious pride 
 had she looked so calm, so great, so noble ; but it 
 was a fearful shade of fevered grief, instead of the 
 softness of the past. 
 
 Hermon was stooping over her. 
 
 *' Elo'ise, I pray, do speak to me — do smile 
 once more — what tears !" 
 
 ' ' Tears, Hermon ! Oh, no ! no, no ! My sad 
 heart calls no such rare drops to mtncss my 
 affliction. Each source is quenched. My soul is
 
 HEK DESrO.ND£>«'CY. 61 
 
 parched Eke a shadowless lake beneath a burning 
 sky. But I am well — and very sti'ong, Hermon, 
 albeit I smile not." 
 
 *'0h, sigh no more — forget all these rain di^eams; 
 be wise, be gay. Heavy clouds may be outspread 
 to-day, but suns of joy will shine to-morrow." 
 
 '* Yet not on me, Hermon." 
 
 "Why not? I do not see. Wherefore ' allow 
 your heart and soul to be so irrevocably fixed on 
 oyie? Gladness is not confined to one bower, to 
 one spirit, to one place. Her realm is boundless, 
 like eternity. Come, cheer you, sister ; it is only 
 action that befits great energies like yoiu^s. ^Tiy, 
 dear, seas are broad, and earth is wide ; you will 
 find friends to love you everywhere. One has 
 been untrue — well, heed him not — since he de- 
 serves no sorrow — the world has plenty more." 
 
 " Oh ! rayless and cheerless, Hermon, darkness 
 and storm — no light — none !" 
 
 '■'■ Eloise, it is not in vain that you have loved me 
 so, and been so kind. My heart is twined around 
 you. Your grief hurts me terribly. I cannot 
 have it so. Why, this toiture will end in mad- 
 ness." 
 
 ''Madness! oh, no! — not madness. It is not 
 grief, Hermon, that haunts me — but — but — no 
 matter. Be assured it is not grief. I do not feel 
 enough to grieve. I could believe my heart were 
 chiseled out of marble, but for the throbbing life 
 that bums and trembles in it." 
 
 G
 
 62 heemon's conscious care 
 
 "You who were so kind, so gentle, and who 
 loved so ?" 
 
 "Ay, Hermon. I, who once deemed woman- 
 hood my crown and glory, am hardened thus. 
 But it was not in my nature — earth has done it — 
 and tried the harshest mettle in my soul. You, 
 Hermon — you are and will be happy — your dreams 
 unspoiled — the still small voice of fondness never 
 silenced. Around you love will breathe its soft 
 and best enchantments — while I — oh ! stay with 
 me no more !" 
 
 " You are becoming such a mysteiy, dear Eloise. 
 Se — I never liked him — I hate him now. He 
 never was worthy to be your husband. Why do 
 you think about him so r" 
 
 " Oh ! Hermon, but when woman waits for man 
 to be fitted to receive her deep engrossing love — 
 her love so changeless and immeasurable — and to 
 understand it — she'll seldom love at all. I loved 
 Ben-Megas — too much, for it was idolatry. But 
 I could have borne to see my love crushed and 
 trampled in the common earth, and dust and ashes 
 heaped upon it — oh ! I could have borne that ! — 
 all of it ! — and still be proud." 
 
 " Eloise, if you knew how this troubles me. I 
 cannot think you feel right about it. ^ Set thy 
 hope in God,' is the command of Him who knew 
 what was in man. If I can love you even more 
 dearly than life itself — and I do, Eloise — how 
 much more He who made you and knows your
 
 A^D SISTERLY AFFECTIOX. 63 
 
 weakness; and who has no feeling but love for 
 yoTi ; and who sustains your being that you may 
 be happy in the enjoyment of His love for ever." 
 
 '' Oh, if there be a hope and promise — a home 
 where the spirit shall again be bathed in purity 
 and love, and lost in a cloud of immortal fragrance, 
 I yet again might be happy." 
 
 " Yes — and here, Eloise." 
 
 '' Oh, not on earth, I think, Hermon." 
 
 " Why not, Eloise ? Your love believed Ben- 
 Megas true — never mind — don't think about it 
 any more. But, you know — as you seem to like 
 him so — but, after all, I wouldn't recommend it — 
 Ben-Megas -wdll be compelled to marry you if 
 you cite him before the rabbis." 
 
 " I know it. But I have decided on other 
 means of avenging myself. I cannot stand up 
 
 and tell my Oh ! Hermon, it is not love but 
 
 passion ! I will be near him yet, and will either 
 marry him, or else desti'oy him." 
 
 " Cease such thoughts, Eloise. Come now, I 
 think you ought to feel a good deal better. Let 
 us go and eat the passover. Ben-Megas will be 
 there, of course. But you must not speak — nor 
 look — I never do. Show him how you disdain 
 him." 
 
 '' Disdain him, I never can. — I am ashamed of 
 it — that love's soft unner^^ing power should so en- 
 thral me. But I will not sit with him to eat that 
 feast of joy and love."
 
 64 ELOISE COMFORTED. 
 
 " Father is detennined. I wish you would." 
 
 " Detennined ! I owe him no allegiance now. 
 He has broken the bonds of union. I am wronged 
 at his command." 
 
 " Yes, dear. But don't arouse him. I dread 
 it. And you laiow whatever he does the rabbis 
 will second it. And then there's that horrid, hate- 
 ful cabbalism — I hate cabbalists — he may curse 
 you." 
 
 "And then you think I should die directly," 
 said Eloise. 
 
 "Well, one does not like to believe such hor- 
 rible things ; but you know every one says so. I 
 never like to provoke them, for I do believe they 
 are very hardened people, all of them.'' 
 
 " And so do I." 
 
 " Well now, make me happy, dearest ; join us 
 this evening, and I think it will do you good." 
 
 "It is useless, Hermon. I am determined 
 I will not go down. I will not hear prayers 
 mouthed by that white-washed sepulclu'e, Ben- 
 Megas." 
 
 " The will of God bo done. It is a great trouble 
 to me, Eloise ; for you are dearer to me than any 
 one." 
 
 *' Except Mr. Cohen, dear," said Eloise; and ^ 
 faint, mournful smile floated across her pale rose 
 features. 
 
 " Well, of course he is very dear to me," said 
 Hermon, blushing crimson. " But then that's a
 
 SHE EEFTJSES TO EIEP THE FEAST. 65 
 
 different sort of thing, sweet Eloise. I love you, 
 it seems, as dearly as I can love any one." 
 
 '' Thank you, my beloved sister," said Eloise, 
 with a grateful kiss; for Hermon's simple and 
 unaffected kindness had subdued her warring 
 spirit. 
 
 " 1^0 w, come down with me, Eloise." 
 
 " ^0, Hermon. That is what I cannot consent 
 to. ^Now, don't press me." 
 
 " Well, dear Eloise, if you won't come with 
 me — and I need not say I would go on my 
 knees if you would — I must leave you, for it 
 is quite time you see," and she pointed to the 
 setting sun. 
 
 "Yes, my sweet sister — go," said Eloise. 
 "You cannot feel as I do about it. Perhaps it is 
 better that you should not. Earewell." And 
 having kissed each other, Hermon left the room. 
 
 Eloise heard a step on the stairs. She knew 
 the sound instantly. Eor a moment her face 
 flushed, and her lips quivered ; but it was only 
 for a moment, and she resumed her cold, impene- 
 trable look. 
 
 Her father walked into the room. 
 
 " They tell me you refuse to keep the feast, 
 Eloise," he said. 
 
 " And they say truly," replied Eloise quietly. 
 
 "You hussy! Come do^vn and keep the 
 
 Pasach ! ^Tiat's aU these flim-flams about V 
 
 g2
 
 66 ELOISE ANATHEMATIZED. 
 
 '' IN'eed you ask ? Eut I prefer to be left alone ; 
 and also that you would preserve your oaths for a 
 fitter use and place." 
 
 " Oh ! woman, who since Eve hast ever been a 
 tenfold curse — branding with sin man's life's 
 best purpose — and from the evil harvest of thy 
 passions, scattering fruits that mar his highest 
 efforts. "What wast thou born for? Happy is 
 he whose spirit rises free above thy vile influ- 
 ence — whose holiest joy is that he lives without 
 thee." 
 
 So spake the cabbalist — and he said more — 
 and worse. 
 
 Eloise looked through the window — her face 
 was on fire with subdued indignation, mingling 
 with a look of contemptuous scorn. 
 
 ''A father's curse light on thy rebel head ; and 
 Heaven will hear it. Thou hast broken God's holy 
 law — see to it. Two days hence I take you 
 before the session. The seal is set. Repent, or 
 thy name will be numbered with those who have 
 disgraced their nation, and blotted out for ever." 
 
 Eloise had expected it. She knew it must 
 come; and now she did not blench beneath it. 
 She went to her mother. 
 
 Two days afterwards there was great confusion 
 and huriying in Rabbi Aben Baruch's house. 
 Servants ran up and down, and whispered to each 
 other, ^vith faces full of blank consternation The
 
 ELOISE DISirPEAES. 67 
 
 rabbi swore \ritli a fluency and fervency tbey had 
 never heard him snq3ass. Eloise had disapj^eared. 
 Where could she be gone ? Xo one could think — 
 no one knew. Yes, there was one in that house 
 knew — the mother of Eloise ; but she was silent 
 as the grave.
 
 68 benjamin's cogitations. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 OF THE JEWISH WOMEN, WITH A FEW ET CETEEA3. 
 
 Retijen we now to the house of Mr. Cohen, and 
 on the same evening. 
 
 As soon as the singing was done, the servants 
 rose to leave the room ; the family proceeded to 
 arrange themselves for conversation. Benjamin, 
 a man-servant, remained behind, as though there 
 was something he wanted to say. 
 
 ^' Well, Ben, I see there's something; what is 
 it ?" said Mr. Cohen. 
 
 " Why, sir, I jest wanted to ask you if it's true 
 about that sjmagogue bein' carried away from the 
 place Avhere it was built to another place. Our 
 people downstairs seem to believe it." 
 
 ''And don't you?" 
 
 " Well, I dun know what to do about it." 
 
 '' Perhaps if you ask David or Isaac, they'll tell 
 you what they think about it." 
 
 ^' Do you believe it, Mr. David?" 
 
 " Why not ?" asked David. '' To be sure I do ; 
 for I make it an invariable rule to believe every- 
 thing I read or hear. What is it to me if the
 
 FLIGHT OF A SYXAGOGrE. 69 
 
 angels can find nothing better to do than to be- 
 come synagogue-porters by night, in order that 
 they may have the pleasure of seeing how dread- 
 fully the people are surprised in the morning ? Or 
 what business have I to inquire how much their 
 backs were galled, or their wings sprained by the 
 carriage, or how many rests they had by the way ? 
 The result is ererything. In an age so material, 
 80 full of utilitarian philosophy as the present, 
 when each man, if he could, would tui-n all his 
 fellow-creatures into prize cabbages, I can scarcely 
 conceive of any position more honourable than to 
 stand forth as the champion of the Invisible world." 
 
 *' Then you think it's tme ?" 
 
 *' Haven't I said so ?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said Een, pensively. 
 ''It seems a little too tough, one would think." 
 
 *'!N'ot a bit of it," returned David. *'I myself 
 have a most pious and fervent faith in almost every 
 known kind of diablerie, necromancy, and witch- 
 craft. I ani ready to contend for the propriety of 
 believing in the Heloth-Shechi, BaiTosh, dreams, 
 omens, spaewives, cantrips, tatie-bogles, and the 
 squadrons of elfin chivalry ; in fairies, brownies, 
 kelpies, Boo-men, wraiths, spells, and Holloway's 
 pills ; in the divination of fortunes by means of 
 the sediment of a teacup, or the worsted clue 
 dropped into the haunted kiln ; in terrible phos- 
 phoric writings on the door, and the appalling 
 hideousness of turnip-lanterns stuck on the lonely
 
 70 bej^jamin's doubts satisfied. 
 
 churcliyard wall. Finally, to reach the sum and 
 * tottle of the whole' of my amiable weaknesses, I 
 believe in the vagaries of ' extravagant and erring 
 spirits' by moonlight." 
 
 "No, no, Eenjamin," said Mr. Cohen, ''you 
 must believe nothing of the kind. He knows 
 better than this." 
 
 " Then you don't think a word about the syna- 
 gogue is true ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I wonder you could be so 
 foolish as to suppose it possible." 
 
 " Well, I must say I had my doubts about it.'* 
 
 " To be sure you had." 
 
 " Thank you, sir; I shall go and upset their 
 faith downstairs, then." 
 
 " Yes, if they need it." 
 
 '' How could you talk so, David, dear?" said 
 Mary, smilingly, when Ben had left; ''he half 
 thought you were earnest." 
 
 " Science, Mary, a votary of science. Science 
 makes fools of more men than you could count in 
 a twelvemonth." 
 
 'No one is allowed to leave the house until the 
 morning, so Mr. Elihu of caurse remained amongst 
 the family. Miss Hallevi had not been in Eng- 
 land long enough to know much of the language, 
 and, being so young, she had not yet acquired 
 proficiency in Hebrew; therefore she engaged 
 herself in talldng to Adeline, who spoke Trench 
 with fluency. Mr. Cohen addressed himself espe-
 
 JEWISH SrFFEEI^^GS. 71 
 
 cially to Isaac and Mary. After some time thus 
 passed, he turned to the contemplative gentleman 
 who sat rejoicing in a glass of madeira, a handful 
 of raisins, and the title of Elder Elihu. 
 
 '' Have you heard, Mr. EHhu, what some of 
 our brethren in Poland are suffering ? " 
 
 '' An5i:hing fresh, then?" 
 
 *' Oh, very sad ! Some of the accounts are para- 
 lysing. Hundreds have been ejected from their 
 homes — never allowed to remain in too much 
 quiet — and left in the possession of nothing. Some 
 of them are literally stripped of all. We had a 
 letter here yesterday ; it was sent to Rabbi Aben 
 Baruch from a gentleman, who says that himself 
 and his wife, after having been dreadfully ill- 
 used, were turned into the fields in a state of 
 perfect nudity, and that this has occurred in 
 many other instances. Their sufferings I cannot 
 bear to think upon. The Eoman Catholics are 
 foremost in the persecution. The infatuated 
 people, headed by their priests, paraded the streets 
 
 of K with banners, on which a price was 
 
 enumerated for various animals, concluding with 
 such a sum for a hog, and, beneath this, such a 
 sum for a Jew. Unhappy Israel ! when will the 
 Most High deliver him out of his afflictions." 
 
 " If I had been there I would have hurled a 
 hog in their teeth, if I had died for it," said 
 Isaac. 
 
 ** Or hung a few red rags about it, and they
 
 72 AX IDOL PROCESSION- . 
 
 would have worshipped it for the Yii'gin Mary," 
 suggested David. 
 
 *' Excellent! And the necessary lamp could 
 be hung by the nose-ring." 
 
 " And the tail cut off for a wick." 
 
 '' Confound it ! I 've always said it," said 
 Mr. EHhu, *' These Christians, the cusses ! Upon 
 my soul! " 
 
 " Hush ! my brother," said Mr. Cohen; '' though 
 we must feel our sufferings deeply, it is no part 
 of a Jew's religion to call any people hard names. 
 And I always feel very warmly when such lan- 
 guage is applied to Christians. My respect for 
 the morality enforced by Christianity is un- 
 bounded. It is as perfect as that commanded by 
 our Holy Law. I am sorry our people don't un- 
 derstand the feelings of Christians better than 
 they do. Since I read the book they call the 
 l^ew Testament, I have known better how to 
 think, for I there found that true, ardent love to 
 God and man is the summary of their religion." 
 
 " I often think, dear papa, that it would form 
 a very interesting subject of conversation if you 
 would tell us something about the New Testa- 
 ment," said Mary. 
 
 " Well, perhaps I will. I shouldn't like you 
 to read it, because I think your mind is not suf- 
 ficiently fortified by fixed principles. The cha- 
 racter of Jesus is a very lovely one, and His 
 doctrine is very fascinating. He said so Himself.
 
 FASHIONABLE CHAILITY. 73 
 
 I can't recollect the precise words, but it was 
 substantially that whereas the law of Moses — 
 blessed be he! — was heavy, His law was easy 
 and light." 
 
 " How did you feel, dear, when you had read 
 it?" 
 
 '' I was a Jew when I begun ; and when I 
 finished, I was, if possible, more a Jew than ever. 
 Kow for our poor afflicted brethren. Efforts on 
 a large scale must be made. What can we do ? 
 And how can we do most ?" 
 
 " I thought on a ball," said David. " We could 
 easily get one up, and have it here." 
 
 " The only thought that had occuiTed to me 
 was to go round personally, and solicit contri- 
 butions. But I think what you Liy 's ';8-t. A 
 good sum might in tha v. .y '50 le^Iisod. i\ixC 
 many would come to it wno y\ ould otherwise give 
 much less, perhaps nothing. It will do. ^ow 
 when shall it be? !Xot before your marriage, 
 Davli?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear father," interposed Mary, '^ I 
 think that perhaps something better than a ball 
 of that kind may be devised. I have got quite 
 out of heart with such assemblies, where anybody 
 can come in exchange for his few shillings. A 
 very queer company is often collected ; and contact 
 with such people is not unpleasant merely, but 
 dangerous. But I almost feel I am doing wrong, 
 because I say so much to you. Yet it seems to 
 
 H
 
 74 STANDAUD OF JEWISH FAITH. 
 
 me that to think there is expediency in doing 
 good by such means, goes against our common 
 sense." 
 
 '^ Well," replied Mr. Cohen, '^ if you think you 
 ought not to consent to the thing, why, so be it. 
 But with the conditions proposed, I am glad to 
 avail myself of it. Our Holy Law imposes upon us 
 to do all the good we can, you know. When you 
 get a little older you won't think as you do 
 now." 
 
 " So, dear, you always teU me. But if you 
 will allow me to say it, I notice that many of the 
 persons who attend these unions are very deficient 
 in moral principle — some of them we know to be 
 openly wicked in no small degree. And yet there 
 is no way to make the thing more select, for fear 
 our people would talk of it as a scandal." 
 
 " Still, Mary, you must think also of the good 
 which will result from this. AVhile we on this even- 
 ing are peacefully collected in our home, oiu' persons 
 and property protected by the laws of the country 
 of our adoption — the smile of Jehovah be upon it ! 
 — many of our brethren wander hungry, shelter- 
 less, and almost naked. I wish I could make you 
 properly understand the principle that is the 
 standard of our faith — the rule by which God 
 judges us, and by which we examine ourselves. 
 Here it is — ' Every one of the children of men 
 has merits and sins. If his merits exceed his sins, 
 he is righteous ; if his sins exceed his merits, he
 
 JEWISH FEELIXG FOB. WOilAIf. 75 
 
 is wicked. If they be equal, he is a middling or 
 intennediate person.' " 
 
 " You see — a — beg pardon, sir, for interrupt- 
 ing," said Mr. Elihu, obsequiously ; " but I would 
 make a few humble rigmai'ks on this interesting 
 opportunity, ^omen are not allowed to know 
 — they can't, sir, as it were, be igspected to 
 know the ins and outs, so to sj)eak, of our Holy 
 Law." 
 
 *' It is true that our women are distressingly 
 ignorant in that respect," replied Mr. Cohen. 
 *' But I am much grieved about it. It is the cause 
 of much of the hardness of heart amongst us ; and 
 will have to be removed before we shall make any 
 good hand of our religion. I wish I could blot 
 out the passages that bar them from knowing it, 
 such as that accursed one in the Hilchoth Talmud 
 Torah, so often quoted, * Women, and slaves, and 
 children are not to study the law.' It disgusts 
 me. What is good for our teachers to know, must 
 be good for our women to know. Is not their 
 soul as valuable ? Are they not more able than 
 
 * Very likely it will be said of Mr. Elihu that he is 
 quite out of place, for he would never he tolerated in 
 society — and that of the best. I don't know that. We 
 Christians often have to endure bores and ninnies of the 
 first water. But I am sketching from Jewish hfe ; and 
 here that brotherhood, the strict Jew must acknowledge, 
 compels him often to submit to the inflictions of spirits 
 most ungenial.
 
 76 EFFECTS OF SUCH A DOCTRINE. 
 
 some men to understand it ?" And he laid a tre- 
 mendous emphasis on the word some. 
 
 ^'Mr, Ehhu," said Isaac, ''can you express 
 any sympathy with the feelings which our religion 
 inspires respecting woman ? Can you, well-pleased, 
 respond to any of those abominable sentences we 
 so often hear ; such as, ' Blessed art Thou, God ! 
 King of the universe, who hast not made me a 
 woman ! ' ' Blessed art Thou, Eternal ! who 
 in mercy hast not made me a paiiaker of woman's 
 nature, through whom sin entered the world.' 
 The first, you know, we regularly hear in the 
 public worship. God forgive me if the feeling 
 was sinful ! but when it has been uttered in the 
 synagogue, and I have tried to get a glimpse 
 through the gallery- screen to observe the effect of 
 it upon our pure^souled women present ; and have 
 s'een it in the languid eye, and flushed and down- 
 cast cheek, I have felt my heart good to knock 
 the -ia; ?.ii C".l of tlu chair: and I have despised 
 — from the very depths of my spirit have I 
 despised — the men and boys around me, for join- 
 ing so devoutly in the response. I find nothing 
 about this in the Bible — but the opposite. How 
 dare any one affirm that either on earth or for 
 the eternity before us, a woman's position is far 
 lower and more critical than a man's. It's abomi- 
 nable. It offends me, disgusts me, rouses my 
 whole nature when I see the effect of such a 
 doctrine upon our purest wives and daughters.
 
 BLBLE FEELLXG FOE W0MA3T. 77 
 
 To see them kneeling with their face on the earth, 
 when the higher and safer position of ns men, if 
 you please, permits us to stand. Enough. My 
 feeling chokes me." 
 
 " Kow collect youi' thoughts, Ike, and then start 
 afresh," said David, in a kind tone. " I like to 
 hear you." 
 
 " And I know you feel with me too. Though 
 what can one do ? It's a part of our religion ; so 
 all one says must end in mere vexation and waste 
 of words, after all. "Well, to resume. If woman 
 really occupies this lower position in the sight of 
 God, He must have been something worse than 
 unfortunate in choosrug her as the tj-pe of His 
 beloved people all over the Bible. Solomon's Song 
 is full of it; and expressions too, suggestive of 
 the highest typical purity and vital beauty. 'A 
 garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse.' * As a 
 lily among thorns is my love among the daughters.' 
 Eut, leading these, there is one verse in the Psalms 
 that blows the whole concern overboard ; ' That 
 our daughters may be as comer-stones, polished 
 after the similitude of a palace !' IS'ow this, it 
 seems to me, is quite a compliment to the ladies. 
 The comer-stone occupies the same place in a 
 building that the key- stone does in an arch ; the 
 whole edifice depends upon it. It biuds the walls 
 together. So then the daughters have a special 
 place, and a primary place, assigned them in His 
 spiritaal temple ; a place upon which the existence
 
 78 ISAAC DENOUNCES THE SIN, 
 
 of the whole depends. Then again to what our 
 rabbins say, woman herself presents a living lie. 
 If woman is morally worse than man, how are we 
 to account for the fact that she has a far more 
 exquisite sensitiveness to moral beauty ? And how 
 is it that we instinctively look into woman's breast 
 for purity ; and there, if she is a woman, we are 
 sure to find it ? Men balance motives and actions, 
 and by an exercise of deliberate judgment form an 
 estimate of character ; woman decides with an in- 
 tuitive consciousness, whether she may approach 
 and delight herself in it, or whether she must 
 shrink from it. 'Now no metaphysician would 
 desire more conclusive proof that she possesses a 
 finer moral sensibility. In fact it's clear to com- 
 mon sense." 
 
 ''Now, pull up a moment, and wipe your 
 forehead," said his brother David, soothingly. 
 " You'll be able to go on again after you've taken 
 a little rest." 
 
 " I'm afraid I've nearly done ; for I can't say 
 what I want. You know well enough what 
 mighty ideal views I've got of the sanctity and 
 amount of woman's moral influence. It is a theme 
 worthy ot the iiignest genius; and I never heai'd 
 that I was a great genius. Did you ever hear 
 anybody say that I was ?" 
 
 "I've heard an opinion expressed that you had 
 got far enough to be able to dress a common-place 
 truth in queer, not to say ragged, apparel — like
 
 AND DEFENDS HEE INFLUENCE, 79 
 
 a sumph at a masquerade in the cliaracter of a 
 
 " Thank you. Well, David, let us thank hea- 
 ven for according to us. the talents of mediocrity. 
 Earthy are we, and of the earth. Glimpses of 
 the sublime arc more rare to us than dashes of 
 sunshine on a bad November morning. Let us 
 then thankfully leave them to those to whom they 
 properly belong — the great geniuses and the don- 
 ke3-s ; while we are contented to live below, merry 
 and humble." 
 
 *'Eut you are come to a full stop." 
 
 " And your fault. You always turn the most 
 serious conversation into something ridiculous. 
 Well, I had got as far as to say that woman is a 
 fit theme for the highest genius." 
 
 ** You have repeated that dogma a dozen times. " 
 
 *' Only once. Let any one try to dcsciibe her 
 influence ; let him endeavour to bring into light 
 all those elements of good which to us, at present, 
 lie more than half buried in her character; let 
 him attempt to paint the little world which wo- 
 man creates around her, making it all one paradise, 
 herself the deity of the place, and to apply to his 
 picture all those syren touches — endless as fancy ! 
 — Avhich woman gives to the heart, and he will 
 find the task he has undertaken to be one far 
 beyond his power, and he will lain content him- 
 self with that emotion of admiration with which 
 the mere conception of excellence is formed, and
 
 80 WITH ARGUMENTS 
 
 that transport of sympathy and love which at- 
 tends it." 
 
 '* I say, Ike," said David, " I'm not given to 
 compliments, as you know ; but by the key of an 
 elephant's trunk, it seems to me that this homily 
 on woman is fit to print. You'll be paid half-a- 
 crown a line for it. But it wont do to think of 
 sending such heresy to the ' Yoice of Jacob ! ' 
 Any more to say before we compare notes ?" 
 
 *' More, indeed ! I've only been making a few 
 preliminary rhetorical flourishes. I haven't cut 
 into the marrow yet." 
 
 " Oh, patience ! Well, old proser, proceed." 
 
 ''And I suppose I may as well be serious as I 
 come on ; for there is abundantly more contained 
 in this principle than is felt on a first, or second, 
 or third impression. You know how I always 
 warm up " 
 
 '' You are hissing hot now." 
 
 " INo — how eager I always feel to get at truth ; 
 and it has often pleased you to have a fling at me 
 about it. Truth must be sought for with anxiety 
 — in all matters, however trivial ; in all directions, 
 however distant. Without this honest and good 
 temper of mind we can know nothing rightly. 
 !No pure passion, no combination of noble, self- 
 sufiicient delights can be understood, except by 
 purity of heart. The base, sin-stained feeling sees 
 itself in everything, and sets down blasphemies. 
 It writes down the holiest passion to an unholy
 
 OF TVHOSE TALTJE 81 
 
 cause ; it sees Lucifer in the humblest aspirations 
 to the Deity ; it finds its treas^ure of stinking flies 
 in every box of precious ointment; it knows God 
 Himself only as a lying, shuffling, unprincipled 
 Being. And the disposition of mind which is re- 
 quired, in order to accurate conclusions respecting 
 truth, is simply an earnest, loving, and unselfish 
 attention to our impressions of it, by which those 
 that are hollow, false, whitewashtd, or imbibed 
 from ignorant judges, may be distinguislicd from 
 those that are eternal. Yet this will not come up 
 to what I wish to express, unless it be accompa- 
 nied by a full perception of its being an emanation 
 fi'om and a manifestation of God ; since only when 
 we thus feel is its nature comprehended. The 
 character of mind thus formed is great, sound, 
 gigantic; yet ever learning, humble, astonished, 
 worshipping, because it finds all things with 
 'Holiness unto the Lord' written in eternal cha- 
 racters upon them. It is loving and pure, and 
 ready to see love and purity in all things. ZS'or 
 is its patient seai'ch to be deceived. All that is 
 submitted to it it grasps so tightly, that it crushes 
 it if it be hollow." 
 
 " Well," said David, '' all this is very excellent, 
 and carries conviction with it. But what has it 
 to do with what we were talking about — the 
 moral status of woman ?" 
 
 ''Give me time and you will see what I am 
 diiying at. Though I may as well say that if
 
 82 THE EEADER SHALL JUDGE. 
 
 you could see two jumps before you, you might 
 see what I intend ; for it is not so dark even now. 
 There is need, bitter need, to bring back to the 
 minds of men — ^but I do believe of the Jews espe- 
 cially — that to live is nothing, unless to live be to 
 know Him through whom we live : and that He 
 is not to be known by a selfish vain-glory, in the 
 foulness of wicked thoughts, or an ungrateful self- 
 dependence. Kor by marring His fairest works, 
 and denying the evidence of His influence upon 
 His creatures. If man would view all things in 
 their heavenly, God- ward tendency ; if he w^ould 
 reverently observe how they might lead his own 
 spirit and the spirits of every one else to those 
 immortal objects which diverge from the throne of 
 God for ever, there would no longer be only a few 
 stunted, distorted objects visible to the eyes of his 
 understanding. He would live as on a mountain- 
 top, where the impressions that flowed in upon 
 him fi'om all surrounding things, would cause him 
 vividly to feel that man is a being full of rejoicing 
 life, i^laced in the midst of a system ordained by 
 Divine wisdom and goodness, inhabiting a world 
 full of wonder and beauty, moving amongst crea- 
 tures, in which every part is a manifestation to 
 human understanding of the wisdom and love in 
 which it was made. We should thus start in an 
 eager, loving race. Not the jarring competition of 
 selfish interests, but the aspirations of noble hearts 
 — hearts lifted above the region of unlioly passion
 
 JTDAISil XOT EEPOSE. 83 
 
 — hearts filled with bright realisations of the 
 good to be attained in the ever- enlarging and un- 
 measured future — hearts of whom each one is 
 striving to accomplish most in the service of its 
 God, jet each rejoicing in what the other has 
 achieved. It is when the mind is thus glorified 
 that the admiration of beauty, and love, and wis- 
 dom attains to its utmost grandeiu' ; the intelli- 
 gence is exalted; science, poetry, piety, and life 
 become one, and we feel our connection with our 
 native skies. This is the source fi'om which the 
 highest delight of knowledge springs — a loving 
 admiration blending in an unpolluted holy mind 
 with the impressions received from outward 
 things, and the workings of the ever-brightening 
 intellect within — a spiiit which, may it exist 
 vivid and imalloyed in my bosom, until I turn my 
 weary eyes upon the last setting sun !" 
 
 " Amen," said David. " I thought of begging 
 permission to attempt a slight sentiment myself: 
 but I shall wait till you have done. Go on." 
 
 " What I have said, you may sing as my own 
 requiem. For my soul is dead. I long for a 
 stronger arm than my o\\ti to rest upon — Judaism 
 supplies it not. I strive ; and strive again ; but I 
 can no more gain a footing than if I were climbing 
 the ashes in the crater of Moimt Etna. 'SLj spirit 
 remains unsoothed still, unholy still. There, the 
 murder is out — let it pass — for if I think, I shall get 
 melancholy. Xow please to notice me while in
 
 84 ISAAC CAEEIES HIS POINT 
 
 some sense I sum up. Man's office is to glorify 
 God by a loving obedience, and by the happiness 
 to himself which results from that obedience. 
 The essence of moral beauty in all created beings 
 is the Divine stamp upon them. God has made 
 all things to lead to Himself. From which it is 
 evident that the source of moral beauty is the 
 immediate operation of the Mind SujDreme. That 
 where it exists in any measure it implies a con- 
 dition of the whole moral being in some degree 
 right and healthy : and that to the entire exhi- 
 bition of it there is necessary the perfection of the 
 whole God- like character. Out of which percep- 
 tion, then, we esteem those creatures most beautiful 
 whose functions are most loving, pure, and noble. 
 This is the standard of moral perfection b;- which 
 we test ourselves." 
 
 " You have proved j'our point, Isaac," said 
 David. ''You have shown, and well too, that, 
 compared with man, woman possesses in a supe- 
 rior degree the sympathetic faculty which leads 
 to the perception of moral beauty; and, there- 
 fore, it proves that her moral being — or, in 
 other words, her intuitive affection for the good, 
 the pure, and the beautiful, is naturally higher 
 than his." 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
 ''Then the expressions concerning her in our 
 service are irrational, cruel, and wicked." 
 
 *• Certainly."
 
 THEN SrGGESTS TO THE EABBrN'S 85 
 
 *' I believe it. Ladies ! what have you to say 
 to this r" 
 
 "Indeed, we are more thankful than can be 
 expressed, to be so kindly vindicated, " said Mary, 
 blushing deeply; "but it seems so serious to 
 decide against the opinions of the rabbins. Don't 
 you think that perhaps through the transgression 
 of Eve, women labour under religious disadvan- 
 tages which men do not : " 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Isaac, with a movement of 
 impatience ; "it sickens me. It is not true, dear, 
 and I won't have you believe it. If it had suited 
 my fancy to prove the lie which our rabbis per- 
 petrate, by such short and simple means, I should 
 at once have gone up to Eve and, taking the 
 Bible as my faith, have said that she was created 
 pure and holy as man himself — like him a mirror 
 of the Deity. So then I should have blown the 
 whole scheme to the devil — to whom it be- 
 longs — in a few words. God gave to woman a 
 depth, a supremacy of feeling, which man had 
 not, in order that by her softer, more yielding, 
 trusting nature, still conquering all outward as- 
 saults and ' to the end persisting, safe arrive,' 
 He might be more glorified than He could be by 
 the victory of His other and stronger creature. 
 And so He ever has been. Where is the sweet 
 and quenchless love which religion inculcates 
 exhibited as it is in woman's heart ? Piety seems 
 there in her native home. And more than this, 
 
 I
 
 86 A DESPEEATE EEMEDY. 
 
 you loiow very well you feel the reverse of what 
 the rabbis say. And it is true of woman every- 
 where. "Woman in every nation exhibits greater 
 instinctive purity of heart than man. Truth 
 cannot be self- contradictory : then I wish you to 
 tell me how you will reconcile the two voices. If 
 women are so bad, I wonder, in these days of 
 reform, they don't try to get a bill into Parliament 
 for the suppression of the female sex altogether — 
 as a thing not only quite useless and a great trouble, 
 but the cause of nearly all the sin in the world." 
 
 '^It is, indeed, very kind of you, dear Isaac," 
 replied Mary, smiling, and she turned upon her 
 brother a look of grateful, trusting love, which to 
 attempt to describe would be almost sacrilege. 
 " One thing, at least, is very cruel — the intro- 
 duction of those expressions into parts of the ser- 
 vice at which we are present. If they knew how 
 keenly we feel it — always. For time can never 
 reconcile us to them. And then the hearty 
 response, and the boys looking up upon us — in 
 blank wonder, I suppose, as to what the words 
 mean. It is very hard, and quite unnecessary." 
 
 ^' It is a piece of insolent wickedness, my dear 
 sister," said Isaac warmly; ''but it is like the 
 whole of Talmudic Judaism — all a glorious self- 
 righteousness from beginning to end. Everybody 
 thanks God that he is better than his neighbour; 
 and when he thinks he has done an extra good 
 thing, crows over him like a tui'key-cock upon a
 
 ONE CAUSE OF JEWISn liMMOEALIIT. 87 
 
 bam-door. I hate it. The sacrifices of the Mo- 
 saic law were commanded by God Himself; but 
 when abused by self-righteousness they became so 
 odious to Him, that He exclaimed : ' Bring no 
 more vain oblations, incense is an abomination 
 unto me.' " 
 
 " Isaac, my son," said Mr. Cohen in a kind and 
 earnest tone, "I told you it was my opinion you 
 had better have nothing to do with the Eible. 
 You cannot understand it. Its hidden meanings 
 can only be unsealed by our rabbins. Besides 
 you should have a care. ^What you are saying, if 
 canied to the chief rabbi, would compel him cither 
 to cite you before him, to answer for your lan- 
 guage, or to cut you off as an apostate." 
 
 "I am sorry, my deal' father, if what I said 
 grieved you, and I ask yom- forgiveness. But will 
 you not say that the degrading estimate which our 
 service teaches women to form of themselves, has 
 a fearfid effect upon the morals of our nation ? " 
 
 *' I entirely agree with you ; and I wished to 
 have said so at the first." 
 
 ''What would oui' almost worshipped Eabbi 
 Ben Israel say to that, I wonder r" said Isaac. 
 
 "Poor Ptabbi Ben Israel," said David laughing, 
 *' "Which is he like? — Balaam, or Balaam's 
 donkey." 
 
 " You reely — a — shouldn't speak so irreve- 
 rent, as it were," said Mr. Elihu reproachiully. 
 
 *' I think so too," said Mr. Cohen. '' Though I
 
 88 WOMAIS- SUPPOSED TO HAYE COMMON- SENSE. 
 
 have no sympathy with the feeling at which they 
 aimed, Mr. EHhu. There is my dear child Mary. 
 I have instructed her in the Law. I felt it to be 
 my duty. She is to be governed by it — she is to 
 expect to be judged by it. "Will any one say I 
 have done wrong. Is not she as well able to un- 
 derstand it as Eabbi Moses, Aben Baruch, or even 
 Ben Israel himself?" 
 
 " Quite right, sir, quite," was the obsequious 
 response, 
 
 " And now, my dear Mary, as I suppose Isaac 
 has done his say, I wish you to promise me, that 
 you will superintend the indoor- arrangements for 
 the ball. I myself will get the information to our 
 fiiends." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, papa; I will do anything you 
 tell me about it. When do you wish everything 
 to be ready ?" 
 
 "We must think. It will be as soon after 
 David's marriage as possible." 
 
 ''Miss Hallevi — pleasure of your attention, 
 ma'am — glass o' wine, ma'am?" said Mr. Elihu, 
 at the same time throwing his most benignant 
 regards on the lady in question. 
 
 " Thank you, monsieur. I veel zhrink allsh at 
 dish fairst. Je comprend Inglis vurry — vurry^ 
 Kttle. Yous bettairst to shpoke French." 
 
 " Mr. Elihu can't, my love," said Adeline, iu 
 Erench. ''Don't agitate yourself. I have no 
 doubt you will be able to make yourself under-
 
 ME. ELinr TEIES TO BE POLITE. 89 
 
 stood." Turning to !Mr. EliJhu, "You will be 
 kind enough to reHeve her all you can." 
 
 " ah ! — yes ! You must not mind me," said 
 Mr. EHhu with conscious condescension. '' I am 
 — a — nobody, so to speak. Always Hke to be 
 spe^JwHarly dilicate in my igttentions — a — as it 
 were, to ladies." 
 
 Miss Hallevi looked blank. She was evidently 
 not able to appreciate the gallant sentiments enun- 
 ciated. Adeline translated them for her. 
 
 "Ifill — all — all — I veesh I could spoke — 
 Je — Vou8 avez Men de la comjylaisance,''^ she said 
 quickly, with an air of great embarrassment. 
 
 '' Yiews shabby, ma'am: beyond, ma'am — a — ? 
 dull and pleasant larks, ma'am ? Exactly, miss — 
 yes, madeemoysel, at this time, so to speak. But 
 we have too as you — a — observed some pretty 
 birds — feathered songsters, for example, as the 
 poet says — and some places, miss, full of delicious 
 beauty and repose — a — such great poetry sur- 
 rounding them, miss." 
 
 *' Yes, yes, vara goot. I don't hioio — I cayiH 
 — Vo8 champs sont ires heaux, vos hois sont magni- 
 fipiesy And turning an intreating look upon 
 Adeline, she continued rapidly, ^'jjIus de honU que 
 de jugementP 
 
 " You are more than half right, dear, I believe," 
 said Adeline. " Mr. Elihu, you see ^liss Hallevi 
 cannot speak Enghsh, even so well as she un- 
 derstands it. So if you would converse with 
 
 i2
 
 90 A COMMON NUISANCE. 
 
 her, you really must make me interpreter between 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, thank you. Igspress, if you please, my 
 flattering — a — my interesting sense of the 
 honour I have, in speaking to your relative — or 
 beg pardon — your relative that is to be — Miss 
 Hallevi ; and my sweet and delightful hopes that 
 we shall have many of these instructive opportu- 
 nities of — a — imparting to each other, as it 
 were — a — our various ideas on all subjects." 
 
 Adeline translated this elegant concatenation of 
 compliments, as well as she could. Whereupon 
 Mr. Elihu was favom^ed with a gTacefal bend; 
 which he celebrated, by rapturously tossing off 
 a bumper of punch d la romaine. 
 
 The punch fairly swallowed — and the glass re- 
 filled — he returned to the attack. The endless 
 themes he enlarged upon to the great satisfaction 
 of himself, and the infinite annoyance of Miss 
 Hallevi, we really have neither the courage nor 
 the sti^ength to describe.
 
 DAY OF coyiTRArMioy. 91 
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 MARY'S COXFIRIIATION. 
 
 Xext day, Mary was confirmed in the Jewish 
 faith, by the chief rabbi. 
 
 The whole of the day, until evening, she spent 
 in fasting and prayer, mingled with many tears in 
 consequence of the solemnity of the service in 
 which she was about to engage. At evening she 
 took a light meal of unleavened bread, with fruits 
 and tea ; and then retired with Adeline to dress 
 herself for the ceremony. 
 
 Her attire was very elegant, but all of light 
 colours. Her frock was of white silk ; over which 
 she wore a robe of rich pink barege. 
 
 As the clock sti'uck six, Adeline led her into the 
 drawing-room, and placed her to sit on a divan. 
 The Talmud and catechisms were open upon the 
 table. The room was lit by numerous wax can- 
 dles, burning in exquisitely-fashioned candelabra. 
 Adeline sat by her side, until, the family having 
 assembled. Rabbi Aben Baruch came to begin the 
 service. Then, taking Mary's hand, she raised her 
 to her feet, and conducted her to the opposite end
 
 92 THE SEE VICE. 
 
 of the room, where Mr. Cohen and the rabbi were 
 seated. When they stood before Mr. Cohen, she 
 pulled Mary's veil over her face. The rest of 
 the family placed themselves in a circle round and 
 chanted a hymn selected from the Psalms : 
 
 '^The Lord reigneth; let the earth rejoice; let 
 the multitudes of isles be glad thereof. 
 
 *'And of Zion it shall be said, This and that 
 man was born in her : and the Highest Himself 
 shall establish her. 
 
 ^'For the Lord is our defence, and the Holy 
 One of Israel is our King. 
 
 " Then thou spakest in a vision to thy Holy 
 One and saidst, I have laid help upon One that is 
 mighty. I have exalted one chosen out of the 
 people. 
 
 ^' I have found David my servant ; with my 
 holy oil have I anointed him. 
 
 "Zion heard and was glad. Eejoice in the 
 Lord ye righteous, and give thanks at the remem- 
 brance of His holiness." 
 
 Mary removed her veil and presented her hand 
 to her father. He rose and kissed her. 
 
 "My dear child," he said, in a voice brimming 
 with tenderness, " in the distinguishing mercy of 
 the Almighty, He has made you a descendant of 
 Abraham, and constituted you, therefore, one of 
 His peculiar people. You have, moreover, in- 
 creased cause for gratitude to Him, because, though 
 our genealogies are lost, we can have no doubt
 
 THE SEETICE. 93 
 
 that the family of the Cohanim, to -which you be- 
 long, is lineally descended from Aaron. Are you 
 thankful to Him that you were bom a Jew and of 
 the family of the priesthood ?" 
 
 Mary repKed in Hebrew, ''My dear father, I 
 am indeed thankful." 
 
 "But, my dear child, your nation is scattered 
 to all comers of the earth ; your country is given 
 to strangers ; youi' brethren are everywhere spoken 
 against ; often made to endure much suffering for 
 their religion's sake. This may be your lot. In 
 the wisdom of the Most High you may be called 
 to those countries where oppression, poverty, and 
 misery are the results of your being a Jew ; where 
 one of your people is of less consideration than 
 the humblest animal in a Gentile household; where 
 his name is but another term for the vilest of the 
 human race: where to insult him, rob him, im- 
 prison him, even kill him, is thought a service to 
 Jehovah." 
 
 " My dear father, I would still be thankful." 
 
 ''Will you never shrink from a full avowal of 
 your religion? Or will you try to hide it, if 
 worldly occasion should offer an inducement r" 
 
 " My dear father, strengthened by my Almighty 
 Father, I never will." 
 
 "Will you love your brethren, wherever they 
 live ? Will you, according to your ability, help 
 their necessities — yea, beyond your ability, if need 
 so occur? Will you feel interested in all their
 
 94 TUE SEEVICE. 
 
 trials, and be diligent in distributing alms amongst 
 those of them who want it, whether at home or 
 abroad?" 
 
 " My dear father, to do this is my fixed pur- 
 pose." 
 
 ''But, while you give to them first, will you 
 also be merciful to any amongst the Gentiles whom 
 you find need your help ? Will you love the 
 whole human race ? Will you feel that you are 
 bound to be kind to them as younger brethren? 
 Will you pray for them earnestly, that the Messiah 
 may come to dispel the gloom with which we and 
 they are surrounded?" 
 
 *' My dear father, all this it shall be my delight 
 to do." 
 
 ''But, at the same time, you will keep yourself 
 separate from them in your house, your food, and 
 your clothing, as the Lord has commanded you ?" 
 
 " My dear father, I mil." 
 
 "Will you love the land which God gave to 
 your fathers ?" Wherever you may go, will your 
 heart turn towards it ?" 
 
 "My dear father, I do love it; and I will con- 
 tinue to love it above all others." 
 
 " Let this ring be the token of the pledge you 
 have made." He gave her a ring with the word 
 D'^ti^ll'' engraved upon it; that word which 
 is written so deeply in Israel's heart. " Wherever 
 you are, that shall be your remembrance." 
 
 " The Lord has given to us a perfect law. This
 
 THE SERVICE. 95 
 
 law we are to obey, or be no longer His people. 
 Will you keep it in every particular ? And will 
 you honour and reverence the holy rabbis who 
 teach it to us?" 
 
 " My dear father, I will." 
 
 " In so doing, you shall be blessed." 
 
 ''Yea, she shall be blessed for evermore," said 
 Rabbi Aben Baruch, rising and opening the Book 
 of the Law to read. 
 
 " These, Mary, are the conimandments given to 
 us by our Law-giver and oui' King." He read 
 selections from the six hundred and thirteen pre- 
 cepts, and then asked, — 
 
 "Do you, in heart and soul, assent to the ex- 
 cellence, and goodness, and wisdom of this law ?" 
 
 Mary replied, " Sir, I do." 
 
 "The daughters of Judah rejoice because of 
 Thy judgments, Lord," said Eabbi Aben Baruch. 
 
 Mr. Cohen handed him a girdle in which was a 
 piece of parchment ^\4th the 7i^liif'' ^^"2) wiitten 
 upon it. It was sun'ounded by a crown of silver 
 leaves and pomegranates. 
 
 " And now, my beloved child," said Mr. Cohen, 
 " you are going to make a solemn sacrifice of your- 
 self to Jehovah. Let it be done with joy — 
 
 :nDT r}2p;i ^nyBD nr^i^.b'r 
 
 "I will bind Thy law upon my heart," said
 
 96 SERVICE CONCLUDED. 
 
 Dr. Aben Eanich, as lie passed the girdle to 
 Adeline, who immediately fastened it upon Mary's 
 bosom. 
 
 The rabbi took a glass of water, and putting it 
 in Mary's hand said, *' As in water face answereth 
 to face, so let thine heart be pure, that God looking 
 into it may see His own image reflected with un- 
 injured brightness. Then thou shalt never be 
 moved, but find love, and rest, and peace for ever 
 and ever." 
 
 While Mary drank a portion of the water, Dr. 
 Aben BaruchandMr. Cohen each held a hand over 
 her head, and the doctor blessed her ; wliich con- 
 cluded the interesting service. 
 
 *'Miss — a — Miss Cohen," exclaimed Mr. Elihu, 
 in a voice of brilliant encouragement, a little while 
 afterwards ; and turning his lustrous rubicundity 
 of countenance full upon that lady. 
 
 *' Sir," said Mary, with a slight bend. 
 
 " Glass o' wine, miss ?" was the tender and in- 
 sinuating proposal. 
 
 ''No, thank you, sir." 
 
 ''Miss Shinebird? Do me the pleasure, miss, 
 to help you — a ■ ?" pursued Mr. Elihu. 
 
 "I can take no more, sir, thank you," replied 
 Adeline. 
 
 " I have been thinking, Miss — a — M — M —
 
 MR. ELinr BECOiLES ELOQUENT. 97 
 
 Miss Shinebird," resumed Mr. Eliliu, pensively, 
 "I've been thinking, miss, what a beautiful 
 thought is the ingscrutable wisdom of the prigsent 
 age. It seems to open such a wonderful pro- 
 spect for our cumsideration — our sweet medi- 
 tation — yes, ma'am. Dear me. ^liy, miss, if 
 they keep all on in the nigxt gineration to make us 
 as learned as they do in this, the whole of this 
 wonderful terrikackious earth will be one great 
 solid flame of light. Do you see — a — M — M — Miss 
 Shinebird ? M — Miss Cohen ? Do you take in the 
 magnificent scope of the idea r" And Mr. Elihu 
 laughed aloud with ineffable raptiu^e, and pro- 
 ceeded to settle himself down with more than his 
 usual ease and dignity. 
 
 Adeline tried to collect her thoughts to see what 
 she could reply to this ; but before the difficult 
 process was completed, Mr. Elihu, finding he had 
 got somebody to talk to, renewed the attack. 
 
 " I always seem sweetly drawn out of myself, as 
 it were — a — when I contemplate — when I take 
 in — when I cover with my whole MEfD that 
 igstromary tree, the tree of knowledge. "What 
 lots of different kinds of all the various fruits 
 which can be imagined, are all sweetly col- 
 lected there, miss? There's nice tender pears, 
 and cherries for the childi-en, and apples, and 
 speaches, and raspberries, and what not, for all 
 descriptions of the grown-up mental sconstitution, 
 — and delicious cooling strawberries for the dessert. 
 
 K
 
 98 HE ENLARGES ON THE WONDEES OF ASTEONOMT, 
 
 You observe the charming appropriation — a — 
 and beauty of the figure, Miss Sliinebird ? Often 
 and often, miss, when I've been lost to all, sweetly- 
 dissolved, as it were, in meditation upon it, and 
 I've been called to my meals, as might be, I've 
 been inclined to transpose the igspression of the 
 poet, and say, 
 
 ' Thinks I to myself, here's a dinner for me ! ' 
 
 And then there's igstronomy; that ovcrwHELMing 
 study, carrying us up among the stars — like going 
 up a ladder, miss. Just think a moment of that 
 great orb, the sun, the sole source of daylight, so 
 to speak, with its great round — a — a — something 
 or other — ughm — a — m — m — miss, what i — 
 is it, miss — a — ?" 
 
 " I understand you, sir, as speaking of the sun's 
 disc," said Adeline. 
 
 ''I — egzackly, miss — yes, miss — that's the 
 word, miss. To think of that wonderful globe strik- 
 ing a light every morning, and never missin' . And 
 then to think on the wonders of the mind to take 
 in and understand all this. What is your opinion 
 of the mind. Miss Shinebird ?" 
 
 Adeline suddenly remembered that there were 
 a few questions of some importance, which she 
 wished to put to Miss Hallevi ; so with a bend and 
 a courteous '^Excuse me, sir," she turned towards 
 her. But Mr. Elihu was not to be shaken off in 
 that way ; he waited till her solicitude was satis- 
 fied, and she had again composed herself.
 
 AXD SETS UP A NEW THEOEY OF ilE^D. 99 
 
 *' Miss Shinebird — pleasure of your attention, 
 miss ? I feel sweetly inclined to spend the time 
 with views to our mutual edification. My opinion 
 is that the real properties of mind are not un- 
 derstood. I think that its thoughts, and facul- 
 ties, and ideas, and what not, are all governed by 
 the same rules as the musical scale. So I think 
 that the only proper way to cultivate it is on the 
 princijDles of that scale." 
 
 " The musical scale, sir !" echoed Adeline, in 
 undisguised astonishment. 
 
 ^'Yes, miss, the musical scale — gamut," he 
 continued with a benignant smile, at having thus 
 made it i)lainer to her capacity. ''I think that 
 the mind may be played upon, like a piece of 
 music — a flute, for instance, miss — tee — ti — turn 
 — ti — tee — tum," and he fingered some ima- 
 ginary keys upon the table. '' Tuning the tender 
 thoughts, as Mr. Shakspere says; keying up 
 the ideas, miss, till they stretch like Inja-rubber 
 things. How touching ! how pleasing ! You 
 perceive. Miss — a — Miss Shinebird? Miss Hal — 
 Hal — levi ? This is why I read so much poetry ; 
 it seems to be getting my ideas into such grand 
 and musical order. I was — a — sweetly convinced 
 of this one morning last week. I was reading 
 a stray piece signed by Milton, the great comic 
 poet. You have read Milton, I believe, Miss — a 
 Shinebu'd ; and therefore I have no doubt that 
 you ai'e well acquainted with Satan?"
 
 100 ISAAC HALF-DISPOSED TO BE JEALOUS : 
 
 Adeline's smile approached to a downright 
 laugh. She couldn't help it. And she sat won- 
 dering what he could possibly mean. 
 
 ^'Oh, Adeline," said Mary, ''I am inclined to 
 suppose that, as Mr. Elihu refers to a quoted piece, 
 he means Satan's address to the sun." 
 
 *'Y — y — yes, ma'am. Igzackly— yes. Hope 
 Miss Shinebird didn't naistake me ?" 
 
 **I certainly did not understand what you 
 meant, sir. But now that I do, I am prepared to 
 say that I think the poetiy very fine." 
 
 ''Jest so. Jest so. And that descrij)tion of 
 Eeferelle, and so forth; there's a grand imagina- 
 tion in that idea." 
 
 ''What's Eeferelle, sir?" said Adeline. 
 
 "It's a Greek word, I believe, and means head 
 gate-keeper." 
 
 Adeline did not know what to say ; and so she 
 said, "Indeed." 
 
 " Yes, Miss— I—" 
 
 "Mr. E — li — ^hu!" said Isaac, with a huge 
 aspiration, as at this juncture he entered the 
 room. " What are you saying to Miss Steinberg? 
 I positively will be jealous indeed." 
 
 "He! — he! — he!" grinned Mr. Elihu, with 
 intense satisfaction. " You needn't, I'm sure — 
 need he. Miss — a — Miss Shinebird? Only makr 
 ing myself agreeable, was I? The — a — idea, 
 now — as if I'd do such a thing, for example-^- 
 get the affections which had been given to an-
 
 BVT DAYH) EE-AS3TJfiES Hlil. 101 
 
 other, so to speak." And !Mr. Elihu disposed 
 himself afresh in his seat, with an air of injured 
 innocence, and virtuous decision. 
 
 "0, you needn't be under any apprehension 
 there, Ike, I believe;" said David. " I hear that 
 Mr. Ehhu has been making his eye at Miss 
 Moses." 
 
 " Thei/ falling iu love together," said Isaac. 
 '* Mr. EKhu, is it so ? If it is, I'm sure I con- 
 gratulate you on your choice. Whj, she is fitted 
 to become the wife of a prince." 
 
 '' Eeely— I— I— dear 1—wh— what's to be 
 done — Mr. — Mr. David? — I feel — peculiarly de- 
 licate — yes — i — it's a mistake — a Hbel — I assure 
 you. My attentions, sir, to that dear — I mean 
 excellent young woman, have been chiefly, sir — 
 all, sir, of a religious character, as it were. A — h ! 
 Y — e — 8 ! Miss — a — my dear Miss Cohen, you are 
 
 aware of her obstinate attachment to Oh 
 
 dear! — wh — what's his name, miss? I — I'm so 
 strangely excited." 
 
 " I presume I understand what you mean. 
 It is her preference for " 
 
 " Yes, miss ; igzackly, miss. Jest so. Her in- 
 fatuated preference for — a — Jehudah Hakkodesh." 
 
 " Oh ! well, if there's a prior engagement, of 
 course you couldn't expect to be accepted," said 
 David. 
 
 " Oh ! i — i— it's incorrect. I mean his writings 
 — a — yes, jest so, so to speak." 
 
 K 2
 
 102 ''CONFUSION^ WORSE CONFOUNDED." 
 
 '' Oh, she likes his letters better than yours ? 
 Well, sir, you can't complain if she believes his 
 character to be more congenial to her own than 
 yours is." 
 
 '^ Eecly, sir — c — can't you help me — a — Miss 
 Shinebird? — that innocent young lady — no — I 
 mean myself — oh, my ! — I'm — a — it's the author, 
 sir — yes — as it were." 
 
 " An author, is he, too ?" 
 
 ''Y — e — s. Bless me. Mr. — a — Mr. Cohen, 
 it's Eabbi Jehudah Hakkodesh, that selected the 
 books of the Mishna, sir — yes, sir." 
 
 ''Selected the Mishna for her, did he? But 
 why didn't you try to cut him by giving her the 
 whole Talmud, Cabbala, the Targums, Aben Ezra, 
 and all ?" 
 
 " It looks more comfortable here than out of 
 doors, Adeline," said Isaac. '' The evening is 
 excessively foggy." 
 
 *' And after so fine a day — and so many fine 
 days. I'm rather surprised." 
 
 ''Yet the weather has been very variable of 
 late," said David. 
 
 " Very," chimed in Mr. Elihu, " and trying, 
 too, I believe, I hear that a comet of a new and 
 peculiar construction, and a — delightfully alarm- 
 ing character, has passed over North America, 
 accompanied by a powerful smell of brimstone, 
 that completely suffocated all the Hons in the 
 Persian Gulf. We — I and Miss Shinebird, sir —
 
 DEFECTS IX SCHOOL TEAIXIXG. 103 
 
 have been trying to sweetly edify each other upon 
 the wonders of the human mind. What's your 
 opinion of the human mind, sir :" 
 
 '' I've no opinion at all about it, ^Ir. Elihu. 
 It's a wonderful thing — far above the compre- 
 hension of a mere mortal man like myself." 
 
 " Well, now, I seem to think I can comprehend 
 it in some faint measui-e, sir, as it were. I do, 
 indeed, sir — Mi-. Isaac — a — Mr. David. I think 
 our mind, igspecially our infant mind, isn't cor- 
 rectly understood. In our schools, discipline isn't 
 elicited on a large scale. In ti'aining the faculties 
 of English and Greek — the foreign and such like 
 — the best means are not consistently and lovingly 
 instructed upon. I have no doubt, Mr. Isaac, that 
 it is youi' fiill opinion, that in rearing the talents 
 — the genius, for instance — of our httle ones, we 
 should be more or less attentive to the cultivation 
 of the mind. And the consequence of the present 
 system is, sir, that our children don't like school 
 — play truant sometimes, smoke cigars to make 
 themselves sick, and oblige their dear mammas to 
 keep them at home, and so forth. And when 
 they are there, they are always, as it were, play- 
 ing and laughing, so that the attention of the 
 other scholars is taken off their delightful con- 
 templations, and in wondering astonishment they 
 are led to exclaim with the poet : — 
 
 ' Two mulls make one spin, 
 Two chuckles make one grin,' "
 
 104 MR. ELinU TRIES HIS ORGANS OF TUNE J 
 
 ''Yes, sir." 
 
 " I feel in a lovely frame," he pursued tenderly. 
 '* Miss — a — Miss Shinebird, do me the pleasure 
 — a — of a tune — ^please. Sing 
 
 ' The cedars wave on Lebanon, 
 But Judah's statelier maids are gone.' 
 
 And sing it to Meshullam." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, sir," said Adeline, at the same 
 time rising. ^' Mary, dear, do you know if Meshul- 
 lam is amongst your music ?" 
 
 ''I don't think I ever heard the name before," 
 replied Mary. '* I am quite sure we haven't got 
 it ; at least, not in that name. Still, if Mr. Ehhu 
 will kindly sound a few notes, you may find that 
 you know it well enough, perhaps, to play it. 
 Can you give us an idea, sir, what it is ?" 
 
 ''Well, I think that the key-note must be — a 
 — upper G, miss. Let me see," beating time 
 with the dexter forefinger upon his sinister palm. 
 " Doh-ray-me-fol-de-dol-i-o — ugh ! — ugh ! — a — 
 ahem ! hem ! Try again. La-la-la-la-le — um — 
 haw — ho-o-o. That's D flat, isn't it ? Ughm-m- 
 m. Slight cold. So hard you see to catch — them 
 semi-tones — dee-di-dum. Dear me ! my voice 
 seems quite gone, miss. So sweet as I generally 
 sing, too. Ce-e-dars — state-ly — ma-a-aids — are 
 — g-o-o-one. That's the key ! Tol- ol-de-rol — ■ 
 that's it, Miss — a — Shinebird. That's the note, 
 M-M-Miss Cohen. Hum-um-dum. JSTo, not that.
 
 AXD, AFTEE A FEV,' FAILURES, SUCCEEDS. 105 
 
 He-he-hi-ho. That's it! that's it! Do you catch 
 it— a— 1-1-ladies?" 
 
 ** I think, my dear, I know now what tune it 
 is, Mr. Eiihu means," said Mary. And she pro- 
 ceeded to ring several changes upon the piano. 
 
 '' Yes, Miss — a — Miss Shi — Miss Cohen; that's 
 it! that's the tune !" screamed Mr. Elihu raptu- 
 rously. " Tum-de-um-de-ti-i-i-i-i. That's it ! " 
 
 With an intonation clear, pure, and brilliant, 
 Adeline sang the piece desired ; which, though 
 written by a man who possessed a head without a 
 heart, has some touches full of pathos ; and any 
 one who stood near Adeline, as she sang with 
 mournful tenderness the following verses, might 
 have seen the large tears tremble on her long 
 silken lashes. 
 
 " More blest each pine that shades those plains 
 
 Than Israel's scattered race ; 
 For taking root, it there remains 
 
 In solitary grace. 
 It will not leave its place of birth, 
 
 It cannot live in other earth. 
 
 ?' But we must wander witheringly, 
 In other lands to die, 
 And where our fathers' ashes be 
 
 Our own can never lie. 
 Our Temple hath not left a stone, 
 And mockerj' sits on Salem's throne." 
 
 All her auditors possessed to the full the home- 
 loving, patriotic, Jewish heart ; and the vivid feel-
 
 106 TEELING OF ADELINE S YOICE. 
 
 ing which inspired her voice chained their faculties 
 like a syren spell. 
 
 '' Do, Miss Steinberg, have mercy upon us, and 
 strike up something a little more hvely," said 
 David, when she had finished. ''Here's Isaac 
 crying like a waterspout in a thunder- shower." 
 
 "Even if I were," said Isaac, ''you had no 
 business to notice it. If I chose to say it, I could 
 tell them I noticed a very suspicious quivering 
 about your own upper lip." 
 
 *' David likes the ' Com' e bello,' dear," said 
 Mary. ''But I don't know if you would prefer 
 it now." 
 
 " Oh, that I think is too light," replied Adeline. 
 " It has too much of the aria di agilita to concord 
 with Avhat we have been singing. The ' Crudel 
 Perche ' will do better. And there is a chaste and 
 lofty grandeur in Mozart's music which makes me 
 always prefer it to Donizetti's. Will you take 
 your harp?" 
 
 "Adeline," said Isaac, "I know you will for- 
 give me what I am about to do — beg you to sing 
 one of your own compositions. And I would 
 choose ' The Hebrew Maiden's Dying Hymn.' " 
 
 " Is this just ? " said Adeline, and for a moment 
 the blood rushed a beautiful crimson into her face 
 and neck. 
 
 " What ?" inquired Isaac. 
 
 " To expose me." 
 
 ' ' Nonsense — expose ! Didn' t you know, David,
 
 ISAAC TELLS TALES. 107 
 
 and everybody else, that Miss Steinberg wrote 
 poetry?" 
 
 ''I myself certainly had no knowledge of it," 
 replied David. 
 
 " Then I'm sure you must have guessed she 
 did; and that comes to nearly the same thing. 
 More than that, she writes music also : she com- 
 posed the music for this very piece which I have 
 now asked her to sing." 
 
 " Oh, do give it us," said Mary entreatingly, 
 ""We shall all feel it to be an inexpressible 
 favour." 
 
 ''And you know, Adeline," said Isaac, ''you 
 needn't fear our powers of dissection. You know 
 very well you possess the finest abilities of any 
 one in the room." 
 
 " Thank you. That is a thing upon which I 
 have an opinion, too," she said smilingly. " There 
 is no need that I should tell you how much I dis- 
 like all false humility. I have no feeling of that 
 kind. Had it been my choice to publish it, I 
 should have cared nothing if it had been the most 
 despicable effort imaginable. But I do say that I 
 have a right to demur, because I never, of my 
 own free wiU, allowed even you to know that I 
 made such attempts. You discovered it by acci- 
 dent. Having made that protest, I have the 
 deepest pleasure in consenting to your desire, so 
 kindly expressed." 
 
 And, accompanied by Mary on the harp, Adeline 
 sang —
 
 108 Adeline's song. 
 
 THE HEBREW MAIDEN'S DYING HYMN. 
 
 My God, my father's God! I lift mine eye 
 
 To the high forest-shades, the mountains old ; 
 Where oft the lute's low thrill of melody, 
 And the wild fountain music uncontrolled, 
 Hath hymned Thy majesty 
 With Spirit utterance fraught. The tomb was riven ; 
 With the triumphant strains came blending thoughts of 
 heaven. 
 
 But ye have kindled with a wilder voice, oh, hills ! 
 
 Ay, sounds of harsher, deeper, sterner tone, 
 Have wakened the haunted solitude that fills 
 
 Your echoing depths ; this silvery sward hath known 
 Other life streams than its own. 
 Stout hearts have fell ; the cold thick shadow cast 
 By Death's untiring wing hath o'er these valleys past. 
 
 'Tis gone — from the calm ether's pure expanse. 
 No more we see Thine awful presence shine ; 
 Kindling our altar with a mystic glance 
 Of light unfathomed, shadowless, divine ; 
 
 Thine unsealed mercy's shrine. 
 No more Thy conquering banner o'er us waves ; 
 The war-horse and the spearman sleep in those urn-like 
 caves. 
 
 Here Love, unsleeping Love, hath loosed its springs ; 
 
 The love of woman, struggling with its doom ; 
 Saddest, most tearful, of all earthly things ; 
 
 Girt, like the o'ersweeping Phantom of the tomb, 
 In Death's mysterious gloom. 
 Y^et nerved by gushing faith, its woes have sown 
 The hopes upspringing clear whence round men Peace 
 hath grown.
 
 ADELINTl's SONG. 109 
 
 And many a blighted one I whose yearaing tear, 
 
 Distilled like dew upon the violet's head, 
 In its lone weeping o'er the unconscious bier, 
 
 Where, hushed in dark repose, its soul lay spread, 
 Felt mystery, doubt, and dread 
 Dissolve around the free heart's burial sod; 
 For all was pure — a consecration unto God. 
 
 But that bright day is changed: the mountain height, 
 Whence Hope soared dove-hke midst a ciTstal sky. 
 Is veiled in haunting shadow — still too light — 
 Making it all one death's guK; the mingling cry 
 Of love and agony 
 Comes darkly gushing from grey rock and cave ; 
 And heavy sighs o'ersweep the sounding torrent wave. 
 
 God hath looked on thee, Love 1 Lift up thy head, 
 Heart-stricken one ! thy Lord hath heard thy cry. 
 Hope to the nations I Life to the spirits dead I 
 Joys from the fount of immortality 1 
 
 Heaven to the illumined eye ! 
 Calmly I lift my earth-song's fading breath ; 
 And then triumphal sink in love's rejoicing death ! 
 
 "How are your servants going on, ^Stlr. Isaac? 
 Trying to live by the rules of the Holy Law ? " 
 inquired !Mr. Elihu. 
 
 " They are very good and attentive, sir, I be- 
 lieve," replied Isaac. ''But, no doubt, there is 
 plenty of room for improvement." 
 
 "Keely — a — M — Mr. Cohen, I seem to feel 
 peculiarly desirous to speak affectionately to them. 
 I do, indeed, sir." 
 
 L
 
 110 ME. E. GETS ANXIOUS FOE THE SEEVANTS. 
 
 *' We should be very glad if you would be kind 
 enough, to go down amongst them, I am sure. 
 And I incline to think, they wouldn't greatly ob- 
 ject to listen to you. Indeed, they might be 
 pleased." 
 
 In the full consciousness of being called upon 
 to pronounce his oracles ex cathedra^ Mr. Elihu 
 proceeded to shamble downstairs; in which act 
 we must leave him for the present.
 
 tnE FEAST AS COXTIXrED BELOW STATRS. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 LIFE IN" THE KITCHEN. 
 
 On such occasions as the feasts, when the require-, 
 ments of their rehgion demand a complete cessa-. 
 tion from all physical exertion, except that of the 
 sternest necessity, it was very usual for Mr. Cohen's 
 servants to assemble together in the same room, and 
 occupy the time either in reading or conversation ; 
 or sometimes they spent it in devotional exer- 
 cises; Benjamin, the man-servant, or Dinah, the 
 cook, conducting the service. Tery plentifully was 
 it interspersed with singing various anthems ; Ben 
 roaring out the words with all his might — then 
 Mr. Cohen could hear him : for it was his high 
 ambition to maintain that reputation for peculiar 
 sanctity which he had succeeded in gaining from 
 the family, 
 
 Dinah was the mainspring which regulated 
 the movements of this little second circle at Mr. 
 Cohen's. She was a gentle, single-hearted person, 
 with a motherly solicitude for the welfare, spiritual 
 and teniporal, of all with whom she came in con- 
 tact. And all her peaceful counsels were irresist-
 
 112 DINAH, AND HER OPINIONS. 
 
 iblv seconded by the placid light which looked 
 out from a pair of loving dark eyes. 
 
 Like many of the unlearned members of her 
 nation, Dinah was excessively superstitious ; and 
 Judaism surrounded her with things and beliefs 
 in every way calculated to strengthen her confi- 
 dence in the supernatural. Dr. Faustus and the 
 renowned Cornelius Agrippa were trifling taxes on 
 her powers of credulity. In her opinion their ex- 
 ploits, and the beings whom they saw, were well 
 enough in their way, but not sufficiently practical. 
 Viewed in the light of her belief, the miracles of 
 ApoUonius of Tyana, as related by Philostratus, 
 were the most common-place performances. She 
 thought even the Arabian Mghts probable. JN'o- 
 thing that might possibly be imagined as happen- 
 ing either in the celestial or terrestrial world, could 
 be so unlikely as to prevent Dinah from utter- 
 ing the saving clause, '' You don't know — it might 
 be true." Most fervently did she believe in that 
 miraculous unguent, which, when applied to the 
 eye, has the virtue of disclosing the whole secrets of 
 the Invisible "World ; and she thirsted for a know- 
 ledge of the Cabbala, that, by becoming a practical 
 magician, she might supply herself with a pot of 
 it. Dinah had also been favoured with an intro- 
 duction to several ghosts. And highly interesting 
 were her nervous delineations of their personal ap- 
 pearance, and of the remarks which followed their 
 presentation to each other. Beside these, there
 
 DINAHS CABBALISTIC E00:M:. 113 
 
 were many others whom she had only seen : they 
 wouldn't speak. Probably, these belonged to the 
 upper classes of spirits, and considered Dinah's 
 position in society as placing her entirely beneath 
 their notice. 
 
 And Dinah was a bit of a Cabbalist. A brother, 
 younger than herself, used to come regularly to 
 teach her. And truly awful were the mysterious 
 things they did, and the experiments they per- 
 formed. And then the smell — to say nothing of 
 the noise — they kicked up sometimes, when the 
 way was clear. Thames water was a perfume 
 to it. 
 
 A small closet, formerly used as a receptacle for 
 lumber, at the back of the kitchen, and joining 
 the wine-cellar, Dinah had fitted up as the ope- 
 rating room. The servants looked upon it with a 
 kind of holy awe. Xot for worlds would they 
 have ventured one step within the door. A ru- 
 mour was current, that once, after a bottle or so 
 of fortifying port, Ben had ventured to raise the 
 handle, and cautiously poke his head just ai'ound 
 the post ; but what he heard, and — we mention it 
 with regret — what he saw, produced an extempore 
 fainting fit, and a vitiated appetite, which could take 
 nothing stronger than beefsteaks and Burgundy 
 for a week. For just at the end, where the floor 
 shot down precipitously into a deserted ice- well, 
 with sides covered with phantom hair, floating 
 and sighing amongst the gloomy winds, and to 
 
 l2
 
 114 benjamin's awful yision. 
 
 which no bottom had ever been found — there we 
 say, where the sides were broken, and the chasm 
 was no one knows how deep, was a hideons caldron 
 poolj covered with patches of black and hissing 
 foam that whirling in slow and gurgling eddies 
 tumbled over the horrid crags into some infernal 
 den below; and, on the quivering marge of this 
 spectre lake, a white female figure flitted back- 
 wards and forwards, wringing its hands in agony, 
 and crying with piteous wail ; when suddenly the 
 Headless Fiend emerged from the depths of the 
 seething waters, his wife at his side, all bejewelled 
 and glittering with a thousand prismatic stalactites, 
 her face black as night with shifting shadows, 
 through which broke at times, struggling Hke 
 drowned star-light, a few fitful gleams of her fiery 
 eyes, "seen but by glimpses." Ben could look no 
 more. For, lo ! a thrill of horror pervaded his 
 being, a film gathered upon his eyes, and the 
 whole scene evaporated in a whiiiwiad of smoke 
 and infernal mist. 'No wonder that he took to 
 his bed that night at half past eleven punctually, 
 in order that he might be drenched in slumber 
 before the sonorous tolling of the midnight; at 
 which mystic hour all who are acquainted with 
 the laws of demon-land assure us, the infernal 
 gates are thrown open wide, the princes of dark- 
 ness sally forth in search of victims, and the miser 
 returns to earth, to sigh and gibber over his trea- 
 sure of buried gold.
 
 DIXAh's MYSTERIOrS APPARATUS. 115 
 
 Dinah had often laughed at their fears, and in- 
 vited them to visit her seance ; with an assurance 
 that it should not involve them in unpleasant 
 results at any future period of their being. They 
 could trust her ; but not her brother. They feared 
 to commit themselves to the power of a man who 
 might, after all, have connection with some wicked 
 agency, and who might take advantage of their cre- 
 dulity by reporting them to the Powers of Evil. 
 Dinah assured them he had nothing to do with 
 supernatural arts ; and even if he had, he was too 
 much of a gentleman to exert any disagreeable in- 
 fluence on them. Wouldn't do. 
 
 But the room. There was no smell of sulphur 
 about it — none of the approved apparatus of magic 
 — none of those mysterious preparations which 
 are terrifically depicted in the ''Wolfs Glen;" 
 no owl beneath the blasted tree, with ominous 
 flapping wings, hovering over the edge of a cal- 
 dron of lurid flame ; no circle of skull and bone, 
 not even the orthodox ring of pale blue light that 
 should flicker round it. In the middle of the room 
 there was a large table, on which were distributed 
 a variety of bottles, vases, boxes, and other chem- 
 ical apparatus. Along with these was a little 
 text-book full of mystic rites. Such deep phrases 
 as, outer and inner life, subtle spirits, ethereal 
 essences, invisible fluids, connection of cause and 
 effect — which connection, in our ignorance, we 
 humbly presume must be the sea-serpent — we put
 
 116 di:naii's piCTuiiES. 
 
 it to Brother Jonathan — mind and matter, hidden 
 things, formed a pretty considerable item in the 
 commodity : so much so, that one could hardly 
 help suspecting a good deal of it to be imported 
 duty free from the stores of Ignazio Palazzio. 
 Around the walls Dinah had hung a series of por- 
 traits, intended to represent the passions and emo- 
 tions. Por Yandyke to have seen them would 
 have been inexorable madness. One head was 
 supplied with a pewter face and goggle brass eyes, 
 and a coronal of erected hair, like the gilded spikes 
 which bristle on the top of the Monument on Fish 
 Street Hill — this was Terror : it was enough to 
 frighten the Wellington Statue from its propriety. 
 Resignation was the perfect incarnation of Despair. 
 Amativeness seemed the embodiment of Hydro- 
 phobia. Destructiveness was shadowed forth by 
 the countenance of a weak, irresolute ninny. Hap- 
 piness was just what one would fancy a person 
 being done to death by tickling. Self-esteem was 
 a lackadaisical blockhead. 
 
 To return to the second evening of the feast. 
 
 ''Well, Dinah," said Benjamin, " there's a-goin' 
 to be no more winter now ! I hear as how they've 
 bin and fun out a plan for stopping the earth from 
 going away so far from the sun — always keep it 
 in the same place as near as may be, don't you 
 see. And they're goin' to take out a what-d'ye- 
 call-'em ; them things, Ruth, as they has to keep 
 any one else from doing the same sort o' work ?"
 
 BEXJAillN DECEIVED. 117 
 
 '^ A pay tent," suggested Ruth. 
 
 *' That's it — a paji;eiit," resumed Ben. '' The 
 shpekification is now at Shomersit House." 
 
 '' Lor' ! ha mussy," exclaimed Dinah, putting 
 up her hands, opening her eyes bigger than the 
 glasses of her spectacles, and the great borders of 
 her white linen cap quivered with flight. " Well, 
 the world's coming to an end, sure enough. I 
 alius said they'd never stop these presumtshis in- 
 ventions till they made the Lord come down and 
 confound 'em, as He did at the Tower of Babel — 
 goin' up in the skies in balloons, and sich like. 
 He'll be down upon 'em yet afore they thinks 
 on it." 
 
 " How much further, then, is the earth away 
 from the sun in winter than in summer :" asked 
 Ruth. 
 
 '' Oh, child, I don't know. P'raps Ben there 
 can tell ee'." 
 
 " Eight or nine miles," replied Ben. 
 
 '' Lar !" exclaimed Paith with modest surprise. 
 " Well, I never ; as much as that !" 
 
 *' Oh ! oh ! oh I" cried Anna, bursting out a 
 laughing. Anna was lady's maid to Miss Cohen, 
 and was decidedly a girl of a high class compared 
 with the rest of the servants; and she had re- 
 ceived a good education. 
 
 *' What pain has got into your temper, my 
 lady?" inquired Ben. "Xow, Dinah, if you'll 
 ple^e to stand pudd'n, I can rise a glass o' wine
 
 118 ANJfA COERECTS BEn's MISTAKE; 
 
 a-piece," and he deposited a bottle on the table. 
 Dinah immediately started off to the pantry. 
 
 "Why, to hear your mistake made me laugh — 
 and enough too," said Anna. 
 
 " What mistake ?" 
 
 " To say that the earth is further from the sun 
 in winter than in summer." 
 
 " Well, now, you certainly aint a-goin' to have 
 the emperdince to say it isn't ?" replied Ben, as 
 he beat a contemplative tattoo with the tips of his 
 fingers on the table. 
 
 *' Impudence? It wasn't when I went to 
 school." 
 
 " Altered a-puppos, dessay. How was it 
 then ?" 
 
 " Three millions of miles nearer the sun in 
 winter than in summer," said Anna, with deci- 
 sion. 
 
 " Oh, my Lord ! there's a choker !" cried Ben, 
 as he pensively cut a notch in the table to try the 
 quality of the wood. " See what it is now to be 
 a scholar." 
 
 ''It's truth, however," replied Anna, quietly. 
 
 *' Oh, cuss me, yes ! — coz you said it — sure 
 to be." 
 
 '' If you have anything to say to me, Mr. 
 Machir, I beg; j^ou will use more becoming lan- 
 guage ; and also remember what evening it is." 
 
 '' Oh, bless me ! I forgot — yes, ahem ! my 
 lady. Ye couldn't now do a poor undone sinner
 
 WHICH KIXDXESS MAKES Hlil AXGET. 119 
 
 the kindness of puttin' up a prayer for the good of 
 his soul ? Your own lies are as much as ye can 
 answer for — enough to do to keep them square, I 
 reckon ?" 
 
 " I believe I am much less addicted to lying 
 than my accuser ; and I certainly don't break the 
 third commandment, nor the sabbath, nor yet get 
 drunk on the Great Day of Atonement. I'm not 
 such a reprobate as that." 
 
 " Me break the shabbat ? — me get drunk on 
 the Great Day of Atonamint r" 
 
 "Yes; and swear too — most vilely." 
 
 " Me swear ? — You — I '11 have you up before 
 the rabbis." 
 
 '' Whew ! You daren't, Mr. Machir." 
 
 "Daren't, Lady Pious?" 
 
 " Yes. They'd have to put you out of the 
 synagogue. If ]Mr. Cohen knew your goings on, 
 you wouldn't be here another week. But I don't 
 want you to speak to me; so if you wouldn't 
 compel me to insult you, you had better say no 
 more. I am vexed with myself for ever having 
 anything to do with you." 
 
 " ^Tien is it I breaksh the shabbat ?" 
 
 " Always. You generally cook and clean your 
 boots — do anything you want, I think. And you 
 never do without boiling water to make youi tea 
 and coffee. In the synagogue though, I look 
 down and always see you more sanctified than 
 enough. As to that, so you are to Mr. Cohen."
 
 120 ANNA YEXED, AND LEAVES THE EITCHEN. 
 
 " You've no judgment, nor yet sense, nor yet 
 principle. Miss Gersom. Phuph ! I wonder I 
 talk to you. Women a-comin' to teach the law 
 now. We ought to be holy ; time to be gathered 
 home — Eugh." 
 
 " I've too much principle to try to pass myself 
 as a better Jew than I am," said Anna. 
 
 " Do you know how often you go out in your 
 lady's clothes?" inquired Ben. 
 
 ** Do you keep account how many bottles of wine 
 you steal from the cellar?"^' retorted Anna. 
 
 " Lau !" said Euth, soothingly, " what a jiity 
 it is to hear you two quarrel. I'm so sorry. 
 Come, make it up, and be comfortable. Dare say 
 there's six o' one to half-a-dozen of the other." 
 
 " 'No, indeed, there isn't," repKed Anna. " I'll 
 never be friends with the great fool again. Let 
 him keep his distance from me in future, else he '11 
 get a lift in Miss Cohen's opinion that he little 
 thinks on." And, with this resolution, Miss 
 Gersom left the kitchen, and went to her own 
 room. 
 
 * " Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the 
 corn," is a principle obeyed to the letter in many Jewish 
 households. The servants are allowed to take freely of 
 any viands for their own use. Conscience and respect 
 for character are their restraints. This is one of those 
 thousand perverted interpretations of the Word of God 
 which render modem Judaism a burden grievous and 
 intolerable.
 
 BEXJ±MIX AT HOME. 121 
 
 ''What's the matter with Anna?" inquired 
 Dinah, who had met her in the passage. 
 " Hufify," said Ben concisely. 
 
 " It's a sad thing, with everything to make us 
 happy, we can't live in peace," said Dinah, with 
 a sigh. 
 
 " ^ever mind, Dinah; sliver up the pudd'n. 
 That's jest my style o' taste — plenty o' plums in 
 it," said Ben, as he poured a glass of wine for 
 himself. " Well ! " he resumed reflectively, as he 
 elevated the glass to his lips, ''Here's, ' May the 
 lover of this never want !' " which sentiment he 
 endorsed by swallowing the contents at a single 
 gulp. 
 
 "That's gone!" he said pensively — and he 
 rested the glass on his knee, — "and I feel the 
 good on it. Here's a riddle for you Ruth: 
 ' What 's the height of gallantry ? ' K^ow that's a 
 good un' for a lady to answer ! " 
 
 " You must give us time to think," said Ruth. 
 
 " Well, ponder it over a glass of wine," said 
 Ben, as he filled several, and passed them round. 
 
 " 'Now your answers," he resumed after a while. 
 " D'ye all give up ? " 
 
 " Yes," said everybody. 
 
 "Kissing a woman as takes snuff!" said Ben, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " Eugh ! you nasty fellow," exclaimed Ruth, 
 with becoming alteration of countenance. 
 
 " Ruth," said Ben, after a few minutes of deep 
 
 H
 
 122 benjamin's moral being developes. 
 
 and solemn thought ; for, like many other gentle- 
 men, Ben always felt his piety enlarge over the 
 wine-bottle, '* I see jes now you tipped that glass 
 off as if you liked it." 
 
 ''Well?" saidEuth. 
 
 '' Well, now, jes listen to a bit of a moral sen- 
 timent that's none the wus becorz it comes from 
 me. Whatever you do, don't you never take up 
 a love for wine or strong di^ink. It's brought 
 many a fust-rate man, Ruth, to be scragged. A 
 ruined fortun is a bad thing, a ruined constitution 
 is wusser; but of all ruins, Ruth, the wust of all 
 is blue ruin, for that kiUs up both body and 
 soul." 
 
 " Lau bless us! You to advise — what next? 
 You don't like a glass — do ye ?" 
 
 " Kow Ruth," said Ben tenderly, ''speak kind 
 when anybody's tellin' on ye for yer raal good. 
 I don't mean to say as I'm not given to take a 
 little drop sometimes. 'Twouldn't be no sort o' 
 use, cos you knows it. But women's nat'Uy less 
 strongly gifted than men. One of our rabbis 
 says, ' Don't even look upon it in the glass, for it 
 will bite like a serpent and sting like an adder.' 
 ITow, no simile could say more than that. We 
 aU know about a serpent, — ^how if you comes 
 near it " 
 
 " There, that'll do, for Heaven's sake !" inter- 
 posed Ruth. " Pious talk isn't your forte, Ben, 
 and you'd best to let it alone — more especially
 
 ''physicians' heal thtself. 123 
 
 while you act so different. Eabbi Aben Baruch 
 can teU me all I want to know." 
 
 ''Well, we'U drop that," said Ben, "since 
 you won't take it as it's meant, Buth. I'm going 
 up the river a-Thursday, for master, and you 
 might square matters so as to come with me, if 
 you'd like a treat." 
 
 " I Ve got a treat ali^eady laid out for Thursday," 
 replied Buth, " I shall be by the water- side all 
 day." 
 
 " He r I didn't know as how you was a-goin' 
 anywhere. Goin' to Brighton long o' ]Miss Cohen, 
 I reckon?" 
 
 " jSTo; I wish she icas going there. What I 
 mean is, I've got to stand to the wash-tub all 
 day. I've got a month's washing to do for my- 
 self." 
 
 " Xow, Ben," said Bachel, " you know plenty 
 of stories, so tell us one or two." 
 
 " Oh ! and he tells them so soft, too," said 
 Ruth, " so touching ! Don't you think so : " 
 
 " WeU, what shall I teU r ""^ asked Ben. 
 
 " You know plenty, tell anything you like," 
 replied Bachel. 
 
 " Very good ! I will," said Ben. 
 
 And then he proceeded to arrange himself in 
 the proper manner for story-telling. Having 
 tenderly, by the help of both his hands, guided 
 one knee over the other, he cleared his throat, 
 spit at the stove, sniffed, took out his bob-pipe.
 
 124 BENJAMIN PEEPAEES FOE STOET TELLING. 
 
 tapped it on the table, swept away the tobacco 
 ashes with his hand, drew a whiff or two to see 
 if the way was clear, and then, filling it with the 
 fragrant weed, he deposited the '' 'bacco-box" in 
 his waistcoat pocket, and raising the candle to 
 his mouth, lit up his pipe, till with the fearful 
 energy of his puffs it vomited forth smoke and 
 cinders like a little Etna. During the whole of 
 these preliminary steps, he continued vacantly 
 staring at the fire, to collect his thoughts : and 
 then he told his wondering auditors the fol- 
 lowing : —
 
 OF OXySES, AXD THE GREAT SHIP. 125 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Of a certain animal named Cannes, that came up 
 out of Yam Suph, or the Red Sea, near the con- 
 fines of Babylonia. He had a human voice and 
 two heads, one growing beneath the other. His 
 body resembled a wonderful fish ; and from the 
 tail of this fish body proceeded his feet, which 
 were like those of a man. At sunset every even- 
 ing this creature retired into the sea to spend the 
 night. As well as conversing with mankind, and 
 vocally instructing them how to build cities, make 
 laws, and acquire the arts and sciences of civilised 
 life, he wrote concerning political economy. He 
 told them of the colossal ship ; which was so large 
 that the captain had to be drawn about the deck 
 in a carriage to give his orders. The masts were 
 so high, and the sails so big, that the sailors who 
 went aloft to rig them while youths, were gray- 
 headed with age before they came down. Once 
 this ship was in great peril from a storm. The 
 sailors were obliged to discharge some of the bal- 
 last, in order to lighten the vessel ; when, to their 
 
 ii 2
 
 126 GAEDEN OF EDEN. 
 
 surprise, first one island rose above the waters 
 and then another and another until the land was 
 formed. He told them how Abraham whilst he 
 lived in his native country was put into an oven 
 for worshipping the true God ; and that he came 
 out uninjured. He told them of the great raven 
 that always flaps its wings in the windows of the 
 dying. He told them how the man in the moon 
 causes the tides : his share in the matter is to 
 pour water from an immense bucket. Being an 
 excessively lazy fellow, he often ceases work to 
 indulge himself in a nap ; and the water takes this 
 opportunity to subside to its level. He told them 
 moreover of Zechariah Hildoth. How he aposta- 
 tised, and tried to make proselytes to his false 
 religion ; how one day, whilst he was preaching, 
 he suddenly died ; and on undressing him, " Keep 
 yourselves from idolatry," was found written on 
 the tail of his shirt ! 
 
 One or two of the traditions which he told we 
 feel inclined to give; but, as we are not so foolishly 
 sanguine as to imagine that we could rej^eat them 
 with Ben's amplifications and embellishments, 
 we must beg permission to write them in our 
 own way. 
 
 One referred to the Garden of Eden and our 
 first parents. The Sacred Garden was separated 
 by a vast ocean from all other parts of the world. 
 It was filled with luxuriant trees, and ever-bloom- 
 ing fiowers, and delicious fruits j and the climate 
 
 V
 
 ADAil. 127 
 
 was one perpetual, heavenly spring. In the sixth 
 day of the work of creating the universe, God 
 made the first man, and placed him in the garden 
 to cultivate and to keep it. He called him Adam, 
 or the man. The name likewise signifies red earth, 
 or mould ; and also heautiful, lovely, elegant, de- 
 scriptive of his perfect personal beauty. Before 
 creating Adam the Deity assumed a human body, 
 after the frame and shape of which he modeled 
 him. He consisted of two bodies, the one male, 
 the other female. These bodies were joined to- 
 gether by the shoulders ; and Eve was formed by 
 merely separating the one from the other. His 
 stature was gigantic. He reached unto the hea- 
 vens, and extended fi'om one end of the world to 
 the other ; but, after his transgression, his height 
 was reduced to one thousand ells, or nine hundred 
 cubits. (Some of the rabbins say that his measure 
 was lowered to one hundred ells.) This reduction 
 was made, not of the arbitrary will of the Deity, 
 but to appease the jealousy of the angels : for they 
 were terrified on account of his enormous height 
 and powers, and requested of God to diminish 
 them, lest, now that his innocence was lost, he 
 and his posterity should make war upon heaven. 
 His body was spiritual ; yet tangible and to be 
 seen — ^like an angel : but through taking the for- 
 bidden fruit it was transmuted into one earthy 
 and material. Eve herself was the forbidden 
 fruit. God created her as an intellectual com-
 
 128 EVE. 
 
 panion for man ; a being who, by converse witb 
 him, was to enlarge his views of the Deity ; and 
 they lived together in a state of virgin innocence. 
 But beguiled by the serpent, she tempted Adam ; 
 who eagerly acquiesced in everything emanating 
 from so dear a person, and they fell. The ser- 
 pent afterwards produced Cain. Adam invented 
 the Hebrew letters, and was the author of several 
 inspired books — one was on the Creation, and 
 another on the Deity. He also wrote the ninety- 
 third psalm; this he did immediately after his 
 creation. 
 
 In the tradition respecting Og, king of Bashan, 
 Ben was obliged to contradict himself at every 
 turn. And it really is such a labyrinth, that we 
 know not how to get through it except by de- 
 viating somewhat from the usual style of story- 
 telling. 
 
 Og, king of Bashan, was the last of the Ee- 
 phaim,"^ a race of giants in Canaan, of whom there 
 were several families. The giant Og is a prodi- 
 gious favourite with the rabbins, and figures 
 alternately as the Orion and Hercules of the Tal- 
 mud. They give the wildest accounts respecting 
 him and Sihon, who, they say, was his brother. 
 In their wild, imaginative flights, and quite re- 
 
 * The word which, in Deut. iii. IJ , is translated giants^ 
 should be rendered by this proper name, Eephaim ; for 
 Og was not the last of the giants, but only of a particular 
 race of them.
 
 OG, -KING OF BASHAX. 129 
 
 gardless of the sacred Book they professed to 
 illustrate, they have surpassed the exaggerations 
 of all the Oriental poetry, -VN^hether Persian, Ara- 
 bian, or Indian. A principal subject of the rab- 
 binical traditions is the fable of the Loves of the 
 Angels, that absurd perversion of Genesis vi. 2, 
 which describes the apostasy of the children of 
 Seth, and their taking wives from amongst the 
 proscribed posterity of Cain. The variety of nar- 
 ratives based upon it are extravagant in the high- 
 est degree. By them we are told that Og was an 
 offspring of this angelic intercourse with mankind; 
 and — strangely enough — that he was the son, not 
 of a good angel, but a bad. It is thus said that 
 his father was the evil angel Schampiel, and that 
 his mother was no less than the wife of Shem 
 himself. Og was bom before the deluge, but his 
 brother Sihon was bom in the ark. Their power, 
 in itself past all human comprehension, was vastly 
 increased by the connection which, through their 
 father, they obtained with the Prince of Demons. 
 In the JalJcut Schimoni, Moses tells the Angel of 
 Death that ''he had been forth to war against 
 Sihon and Og, two heroes of the heathens, who 
 were of so vast a stature, that the waters of the 
 deluge could not drown them, for they reached 
 no higher than their ankles." To exhibit the un- 
 conquerable prowess of Israel, it is said of Sihon, 
 that *' he was harder than a wall, and taller than
 
 130 og's attempts to stop the deluge. 
 
 any tower, and no creature born of earth could 
 withstand his strength." 
 
 With the usual inconsistency that marks the 
 traditions in the Talmud, we find that the later 
 rabbins began to entertain doubts about Og's being 
 higher than the waters of the deluge. To any 
 ordinary man this, after what Moses had been 
 represented as saying, would have been an insur- 
 mountable difficulty; but to the rabbins it was 
 not eyen a poser. In the Sevachir they contradict 
 the Jalkut Schimoni, and declare that on the com- 
 mencement of the deluge, Og, assisted by the 
 power of the Prince of Demons, made an impudent 
 attempt to thwart God and stop the flood by placing 
 his hand over the windows of the firmament, and 
 his foot upon the fountains of the great deep ; but 
 God immediately made the waters boiling hot, 
 scalding the giant so severely, that the flesh fell 
 from his bones, and he was compelled to give way. 
 Thus frustrated, he straddled his legs over the 
 ark ; and when, by the swelling of the waters, it 
 had reached high enough, he seated himself upon 
 it, and so defied the storm. How he, outside the 
 ark, and his brother Sihon, inside the ark, were 
 supplied with food, we are not very satisfactorily 
 told. If Og retained his appetite in healthy vigour, 
 he required something substantial for his bill of 
 fare. This, as given in the Sopherim, was 1,000 
 oxen and 1,000 head of game, washed down by
 
 DEATH OF OG. 131 
 
 1,000 measures of wine.* But in the Berachoth 
 we have the monster destroyed at last, after having 
 lived nine hundred years. 
 
 Og heard of the approach of the triumphant 
 Israel, and determined to meet them before they 
 set foot on his territory. Tearing fi'om the earth 
 a sheet of rock, six miles in breadth, he lifted it 
 on his head and sallied forth ; intending to huii it 
 on the camp of the Israelites, and crush them 
 beneath it. But some ants were miraculously set 
 to work on the stone as he was on the way ; and 
 having eaten a hole quite thi'ough it, it fell over 
 his head upon his shoulders, nearly strangling him 
 by its weight. He was thus rendered powerless 
 — a thing of which ICoses courageously took ad- 
 vantage. But, even then, the office of dispatching 
 him was no sinecure, ^oses — himself being, 
 according to the modest statement of the rabbins, 
 ten ells high — took a battle-axe ten ells long ; 
 yet, even then, he was obliged to leap other ten 
 ells to enable him to reach the giant's ankle. 
 There, however, he struck him vahantly ; bring- 
 ing him to the ground; when he succeeded in 
 completing his destruction. 
 
 An important evidence of the divine authority of 
 the Scripture may be drawn by comparing the sweet 
 
 * Called measures par excellence, because the largest 
 in use amongst the Jews, i. e. the chomer or ten baths, 
 — sixty-one gallons, three quarts, one pint, imperial 
 measure.
 
 132 RISING AND SETTING 
 
 simplicity of the Bible with the vagaries of the 
 Talmud. The Talmud and the other rabbinical 
 writings prove that the Jewish mind is, like that 
 of all the Orientals, inclined to extravagance and 
 romance. Even the reports which the spies brought 
 back to Kadesh-Barnea go to strengthen our assur- 
 ance that, left unrestrained by Divine power, the 
 Jews could never have written us such a book as 
 the Bible— apart from those wondrous portions of 
 the sacred page which have inspiration stamped in 
 celestial characters on every letter. The correct- 
 ness and moderation of the language used by the 
 sacred historians, are unequalled by the ancient 
 books of any nation, especially an Eastern one. 
 
 We turn from such traditions as these to others 
 of a more pleasing character. The following alle- 
 gorical saga is thoroughly poetic, and explains the 
 rising and setting of the sun. "When the tilled 
 sun rests the tip of his orb on the edge of the 
 earth in the western hemisphere, a company of 
 lovely nymphs station themselves beneath the 
 horizon to receive it, and cut it into a thousand 
 parts, with which they pelt the beautiful youths 
 who eternally guard the great gates of the eastern 
 skies. The gallant sentinels, not to be outdone 
 by the frolicsome spirit of their fair antagonists, 
 ascend to the top of the gates, and from thence 
 they sportively throw back the glittering balls, 
 which, careering through the heaven's calm ether, 
 fall in golden showers upon the heads of the beau-
 
 OF THE srx. 133 
 
 tiful virgins in the west. The Father of the 
 universe looks well-pleased on the innocent diver- 
 sion of His children ; and when it is time for the 
 sun to rise, He opens the doors of the temple in 
 which the dawn is kept, and the nymphs observing 
 it, hasten to collect the golden balls, and uniting 
 them together into one briUiant globe, they sus- 
 pend it in garlands of flowers culled from the fields 
 of heaven, and bear it amidst singing and harping 
 to the eastern sky. Elevating it above their 
 heads, they launch it forth upon its course ; and 
 the beautiful rosy light which we see hovering 
 around it, is the reflection of the retiring virgins' 
 lovely forms. 
 
 Here is one connected with that season^ when, 
 in the far north, the sun does not set for several 
 weeks, and, if possible, more exquisitely poetical 
 still. The Almighty had a band of lovely virgins 
 and youths who always waited about his person, 
 and accompanied him in all his walks through 
 the celestial paradise, and collected for him the 
 most beautiful flowers and the choicest fruits. Two 
 of these being more faithful than the rest, he 
 confided to them the care of the sun, saying, — 
 '' To thee, my son, Shanna, I give the office of 
 kindling the light of the sun every morning, and 
 placing it in its course towards the west." And 
 to the other, he said, — ''To thee, Hassim, my 
 faithful daughter, I confide the charge of extin- 
 guishing the Hght of the setting sun, and guard-
 
 134 HASSIM AND SHANNA. 
 
 ing the celestial flame that no evil happen to it, 
 and its soui'ce remain undiminished." Paithfully 
 and untiringly did the youth and the virgin per* 
 form their work. In the winter they lit the sun's 
 lamp at a very late hour, and extinguished it 
 early. But as spring advanced, and the birds be- 
 gan to warble joyfully, and mankind came forth 
 to enjoy the beauty of the fresh -budding flowers, 
 they allowed the heavenly flame to stay longer in 
 the sky. At length the summer came, when in 
 the northern world the constant presence of the 
 sun is required to ripen the fruits, and by its 
 brightness to bring the flowers to perfection. 
 Then its lamp must be kept always burning, and 
 it must cast its golden light on the mantle of night, 
 and lose no time in idle slumber. It was then 
 that the two children met face to face for the 
 first time, as Hassim stood upon the western 
 verge of heaven, and received from the hands of 
 Shaima the fading sun. And, as she passed him 
 the lamp with which to rekindle its beams, their 
 eyes met, and Hassim' s immortal blush cast an 
 enchanting colouring of light on the whole face of 
 nature, while the gentle pressure of their hands 
 sent a thrill of holy love through their palpitating 
 veins, and filling their hearts with purest joy. 
 The Pather of all things saw the loves of his 
 children, so he called them before him, and said, 
 *' Por a whole year ye have faithfully fulfilled 
 your charge. Ye have safely extinguished the
 
 rESA. MAJOE. 135 
 
 precious light at night, and kindled it in the 
 morning to awaken the flowers to life and light, 
 and rejoice by its brightness the hearts of men. 
 Henceforth ye shall fulfil your duties conjointly, as 
 man and wife." And, from that time, Shanna 
 and Hassim have performed their charges together; 
 and every morning when he rises from their couch 
 to trim the lamp, he presses a kiss upon her lovely 
 lips, and her rosy blush throws a soft and en- 
 chanting light over the whole eastern sky. 
 
 What more exquisitely lovely creation than 
 this, dear reader, could we leave for yoiu' midnight 
 dreams ? 
 
 The constellation Ursa Major is the chaiiot 
 in which Enoch and Elias ascended to heaven. 
 As there is no hope that any mortal will ever 
 be sufficiently pious for it to be required for 
 such a pui-pose again, it has been given to the 
 angels to carry them about in their vaiious noc- 
 turnal excursions amongst the stars. The coach- 
 man, who is changed every night, keeps his eye 
 steadily fixed on the celestial focus, the polar 
 star, so that he may keep the two stars which 
 form the shafts of the chariot in a direct line 
 with it. If he were to swerve from this for a 
 moment, the balance would be lost, the whole 
 concern upset, and the angels in the carriage 
 would have their ride spoiled by a precipitate 
 descent to the ground. 
 
 Ben had scarcely concluded his tales, when Mr.
 
 136 ANOTHER mistake; 
 
 Elihu entered the kitchen. A chair was imme- 
 diately placed for him; and all expressed their 
 gladness at his advent amongst them, in proper 
 orthodox fashion. 
 
 " Jest come down to see how your — a — reg'lar 
 habits, so to speak, is getting on," said Mr. Elihu, 
 as he took out his great handkerchief fussily, and 
 wiped his round, fat, oily face. 
 
 Ben looked blank. 
 
 "0, I'll be bound," said Kuth, looking wisely 
 at him, "it's Miss Cohen, has sent Mr. Elihu down 
 Ben, to see if you've done them two riding-habits 
 of hers as she give you to brush." 
 
 " 0, beg pardon, sir," said Ben, brightening up; 
 " they ain't done yet. You see, I knowed well 
 enough as how Miss Cohen wouldn't be goin' out 
 this afternoon or evening, so I left 'em till to- 
 morrow mornin', when there '11 be plenty o' time." 
 
 " In what particular view is it that you wish 
 me to understand you have left something till 
 to-morrow morning?" asked Mr. Elihu, with con- 
 scious greatness. 
 
 ''Them things as you was speakin' about, sir 
 — Miss Cohen's habits." 
 
 ''I didn't refer to Miss Cohen's habits," an- 
 swered Mr. Elihu; ''I spoke about your own— :- 
 want to know how they're gittin' on." 
 
 ''We, sir! — we!" said Ben, aghast. "Lor 
 bless you, sir, we ain't got no habits. What 
 should such as us do with habits ?"
 
 WHICH ILR. ELIHTJ TRIES TO COERECT. 137 
 
 " Not got no habits !" exclaimed Mr. EHhu, in 
 alarm. " ^Vliat can be the reason of such a me- 
 lancholy event :" 
 
 '* Got no use for 'em, sir. Lor, why I don't 
 suppose as Ruth or Rachel, nor yet Dinah, was 
 ever on the back of a hoss in all their life. "Was 
 you, Ruth ?" 
 
 " yes," repHed Ruth, proudly ; '' when I was 
 at home, I often used to git up and ride to town 
 behind father." 
 
 " "Well, I never heerd as how you'd ever riz 
 high enough to have a reg'lar ridin' -habit, how- 
 somever," answered Ben. 
 
 "Ah! — yes!" said Mr. Elihu, with a con- 
 templative sigh ; ' ' I perceive — a — onquestionably, 
 that you stand in great necessity of some sound 
 personal advice. Excuse me if I say, gentlemen — 
 a — a — Mr. — Mr. Machir and ladies, that I must 
 be very plain in my remarks upon you — I must 
 indeed. In short," he continued graciously, and 
 putting on his grandest style of diction, " I want 
 to know how the religious faculties — the devo- 
 tional genius, for instance — of your minds is 
 gettin' on, and see if the moral tree of your piety 
 is bearin' plenty of fruit — to speak in a flower. 
 I always feel igspeciaUy interested in our young 
 people. I think they are responsible for enlarged 
 measiu-es of our intellictual desire and attention 
 — oui- affectionate sympathy, so to speak." 
 
 '*"\\^eU, I'm veiy fond o' children, myself," said 
 
 >- 2
 
 138 OF THE INFANT MIND. 
 
 Ben. ' ' I always thinks you can' t be too particular 
 how you trains 'em up." 
 
 ''Do you like children, Mr. — a — M — M — 
 Machir? Do yqu take any interest in them, I 
 mean ?" 
 
 "Oh, much," replied Ben. 
 
 ''I've jest been giving my views of children, 
 upstairs," said Mr. Elihu, thoughtfully. "And I 
 flatter myself I have reason to hope that my in- 
 structive — I mean humble efforts have not been all 
 wasted, as it were. They're rather peculiar, sir ; 
 indeed, I believe I may lay sole claim to the 
 honoiu" of inventing them — but they are sound, 
 and, I think, humbly think, might be made a 
 means of extensive usefulness. What's your 
 opinion of the infant mind, Mr. Machir ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" enjoined Ben. 
 
 " Lau ! how stupid you make yourself, Ben," 
 interposed Buth. "Mr. Elihu means, what sort 
 of a thing it is, of course. Plain English, aint it ?" 
 
 "Ig — igzackly, miss," replied Mr. EKhu. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said Ben, pensively. " I 
 never thought much about it, you see. Like a 
 man's, only on a smaller scale, I reckon." 
 
 "It's strange, sir; but I can hardly find any- 
 body as seems to me to rightly know anything 
 about our infant mind. It's a most igstromary 
 thing, too, in a wonderful overwhelming age like 
 this is, when there's such igstensive desires — such 
 a going out after, as it were. And our young
 
 SCrENTIFIC QUESTIOXS. 139 
 
 people, sir, seem to "know that we don't rightly 
 understand how to manage 'em, sir, and take great 
 liberties with us, and laugh and make faces at us 
 behind our backs, and call us disrispigful epitaphs, 
 and so forth. In eliciting, sir, the talents of love 
 and affection, strengthening the faculties of their 
 spellin's, as it were, leamin' them the genius of 
 ciphering, for example " 
 
 "Excuse me for interrupting you," said Ben; 
 '' but are you much of a hand at ciphering ?" 
 
 ''I believe I can do a' most any question you 
 like to ask me," replied !Mr. Elihu, in a voice of 
 triumphant decision. 
 
 " Well, a young man as I know gave me some 
 questions a little while ago, and I can't do 'em ; 
 and nobody else as ever I've come acrost yet." 
 
 "■ W — wh — what are they ? If /can't do 'em 
 I'm sure nobody else can't." 
 
 "Well, you can try," said Ben, unfolding a 
 paper that he had just taken from his pocket. 
 " These is them : — 
 
 " ' If the light takes three years and a half to 
 come from Sinus, the Dog-star, to the earth ; how 
 many bunches of carrots will it take to make a 
 lean donkey fat ? and how many ladies' dressing- 
 combs might be made from one of the horns of the 
 moon ? ' 
 
 " ' If a man, five feet ten inches high, require a 
 nose three inches long, to set off and make stylish 
 a shirt-coUar whose diagonal from the side of a
 
 140 ME. ELIHU UNABLE TO EEPLY. 
 
 square is just four inches and a half; how broad 
 must the tails of his coat be ? ' 
 
 ^' ' If three of the staves of a water-butt and the 
 tail of a comet will make a soup strong enough to 
 feed one man for a fortnight ; what amount of 
 strength would be required to pull the boot off 
 the foot of a mountain ?' " 
 
 " Ah, they're some of Mr. Euclid's Problems/' 
 said Mr. Elihu, in a soUo voce, and wiping his spec- 
 tacles as he said it; " and I never went through 
 Ms works." 
 
 "Well, I've always been given to understand 
 as they were to be done by common figurin'," re- 
 plied Ben. " I've been told that they are only 
 simple rule of three sums." 
 
 " dear no — mistake, I assure you," answered 
 Mr. Elihu. '^ If you look among Mr. Euclid's 
 Problems, I know you'll find them there." 
 
 And then there was a foolish silence, for Mr. 
 Elihu couldn't help feeling as if, somehow or other, 
 he had lost dignity. 
 
 At last he plucked up courage again. "Well," 
 he observed, "as you are all present, I feel at 
 liberty to make a few affectionate reflections, to 
 which I beg your serious regard and attention. 
 I have no doubt, — a — brethren and sisters, that 
 you often let your inktillictual understandings 
 walk abroad, as it were, among the brooks, and 
 trees, and purling fields (as the poet says), and 
 the pretty affectionate little flower-gardens of the
 
 ME. ELIHU'S ADDRESS. 141 
 
 country cottages in this wonderful land of earth. 
 And you have been given to feel that, whichever 
 way and manner you contemplated upon them, 
 they always led you — interestingly led you — in- 
 scrutably led you — to observe a kind overruling 
 Providence over all. But it is not merely in 
 everything connected with this world that we may 
 see this ; but in all other things that we can pos- 
 sibly invent and imagine — ourselves, for example 
 — our providential existence and life, so to speak. 
 Jest think, now, on this one forcible thought and 
 idea a moment. We all know how much we de- 
 serve death for the many inscrutable times as 
 we've broke and transgressed the Holy Law. But, 
 in mercy, this thing that we have so much deserved 
 has been placed, you see, my brothers and sisters, 
 at the end of our life, so to speak. Observe, now, 
 M-M-Mr. Machir — observe, my fellow-sisters, for 
 a short space, how utterly worthless life would 
 have been if the order of things had been changed 
 — if they had been altered, and we hadn't been 
 bom first, I mean — and death, ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, had been placed at the beginning. I 
 don't know whether I can convey to you the pre- 
 cise force of the idea. I don't know " 
 
 Mr. EHhu's lecture was here ingloriously 
 brought to a close by a strange, unearthly clattering 
 on the stone steps that ascended from the kitchen. 
 
 *' My gracious ! A\Tiy ! — what's that ?" sobbed 
 Rachel, starting to her feet.
 
 142 A FRIGHT — 
 
 '' 0, don't be agitated, dear !" gasped Ruth, her 
 teeth chattering and her lips quivering like an 
 aspen leaf. '' — i — its given me such a turn, 
 you can't think. Ben, what is it ? There, it's 
 coming in ! Mercy on us ! !" 
 
 ''Be quiet !" said Ben. ''It's only rats, I 
 expect." 
 
 "He!" screamed Eachel, gathering her petti- 
 coats and lea^Ding upon a chair. 
 
 " P-p-pray 1-1-ladies, d-d-don't be alarmed," 
 intreated Mr. Elihu, as he dodged about the fire- 
 place, his face blanched to the colour of a winding- 
 sheet. "I'll come inside there, if — if — you please 
 — I m-me-ean I'll take c-c-care of you — yes — 
 a — h! I'll not allow any — my! dear!" 
 he exclaimed, jumping upon the table as the clat- 
 tering entered the room like mad. "I-i-it'sa 
 ep - sp - spi - irit, ladies ! Oh ! — a !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" roared Ben, in a convulsion of 
 laughter. " Well done, it's the cat !" 
 
 " Lau .'"' stammered Ruth. " Why, how did 
 she make tliat row, then ?" 
 
 "Why, some one. Master Joseph, I'll be bound — 
 jest like his tricks — has been puttin' shells on 
 her feet, and then started her off." 
 
 " Goodness me !" sobbed Rachel, shaking out 
 her ringlets, and coming down from her pedestal. 
 "But such frights don't do one any good though. 
 Do they, Ruth?" 
 
 "0 there, I'll tell master of it," said Ruth.
 
 "WHICH PEOVES VERY FOOLISH. 143 
 
 *' I mean to say such things are -wicked. I'm fit 
 to drop. I do believe I'm going to faint." 
 
 "'WTiat an alarming instance of the nat'ral 
 inward depravity," remarked !Mr. EHhu piously, 
 as he shuffled himself off the table. " Well, as 
 the child is upstairs, I feel at liberty to go and 
 make a few observations to him upon this igstror- 
 nary event ;" and having so resolved, Mr. Elihu 
 at once retired to act.
 
 144 
 
 THE CABBALA. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THE CABBALA. 
 
 Most persons have heard of the Cabbala, but only 
 a very few of them have more than an indefinite 
 idea of its contents. No chapter in the whole 
 history of human life would be more curious, or 
 more astonishing, than that which embodied this 
 philosophy, Nothing so fully exhibits the power, 
 but, at the same time, the utter depravity of the 
 human understanding. 
 
 Cabbalism is a strange, unintelligible thing. 
 Its spirit cannot be understood in any valuable 
 measure, except by a course of close, earnest in- 
 vestigation ; added to which — and it is no small 
 difficulty — is the mystic, obscure cant pervading 
 the whole style and dialect of the sacred books in 
 which it is written. Inflamed by the poetic 
 fancies of an ardent imagination, joined to a dispo- 
 sition for metaphysical and psychological specu- 
 lations, the Cabbalists have endeavoured to pene- 
 trate into those mysteries and remote things which, 
 as they were not necessary to be known, God has 
 wisely kept hidden from our dim and limited per-
 
 THE CABBALA. 145 
 
 ceptions in the present stage of our existence. 
 The consequences of that pride of human wisdom 
 against which He so emphatically warns His 
 creatures, may be recognised in the self-deifying 
 theories of these wild religionists. The beginning 
 of this philosophy seems to be a dissatisfaction with 
 the amount of Eevelation which the Deity has 
 seen it fitting to impart to us, and an enthusiastic 
 desire to set up a theorem of the relations which 
 mankind hold to the Creator and all created 
 things. Thus, these .Jewish doctors indulged in 
 profound, abstract ideas upon the nature of God 
 and man, and all the other beings whom He has 
 created, and of the universe itself; until, in strong 
 minds, their speculations were changed to visions 
 of incoherent wildness; and, in weak minds, ap- 
 proaching, in various degrees, to absolute insanity. 
 The alchemical, or hermetic iuitiations, as in- 
 stituted by the Cabbalists, cannot be separated 
 fi'om their theosophic initiations in general ; for 
 they all form one mystical and occult whole. 
 Alchemy is used in the beginning, middle, and end 
 of the Cabbala ; and it was not until the sixth 
 century of the Christian era that any attempt to 
 make it a separate science was made. It was then 
 that, incited by the enthusiastic Geber, an Ara- 
 bian philosopher, the European initiates took upon 
 themselves to form a course of initiations for the 
 distinct prosecution of hermetic researches, unbur- 
 

 
 146 THE CABBALA. 
 
 dened by any of the transcendental spiritualism of 
 the Cabbala. 
 
 That alchemy originated with the Jewish cab- 
 balists, and that its existence amongst them was, 
 perhaps, coeval with the whole of their theosophy, 
 we have the strongest proof that history and 
 deduction could afford. The Jews themselves 
 declare it positively. But a better evidence than 
 that, is the alchemical interpretation which they 
 give to many passages in the Old Testament ; and 
 which we may certainly conclude they would not 
 have done, had they already a fixed theorem re- 
 specting them, as viewed in the light of their 
 transcendental spiritualism. 
 
 But another proof — and we incline to think it 
 sufficient, if there were no other — is the internal 
 evidence of the Cabbala itself, which shows us that 
 the Jews early commenced an earnest research 
 after the philosophic fire ; and even that there is 
 a probability that their alchemical initiations 
 resulted in their mystic spiritualism. 
 
 With these remarks we proceed. 
 
 Ben Megas and Rabbi Aben Baruch are seated 
 together in a room in l^ie rabbi's house. 
 
 Now, before we give cabbalism as a living dra- 
 matic reality, we must note that, if anywhere the 
 Cabbalistic philosophy and researches seem tomake 
 distinctions between things which, in other re- 
 spects, they conclude as one — and they do seem
 
 THE CABBALA. 147 
 
 SO — it is only because their nice distinctions can 
 never be properly conveyed by words. Cabbalists, 
 however learned in their rites, can never give us 
 details of them in common language. They them- 
 selves only know them in spirit, and after a course 
 of long and patient study. 
 
 *' Ben Megas, you wish to be a Cabbalist. It is 
 a wish worthy of thee. Our mysterious studies 
 will immediately exalt thee above other men. 
 They will give thee a power which none may 
 slight or contemn. Yet must thou be careful. 
 There are secrets in the Cabbala, which, if touched 
 by one contaminated with the materialism and 
 sensuality ccllected through contact with mortals 
 and earth, will destroy him utterly. Are you 
 prepared r" 
 
 ''I am." 
 
 '^ To leave aU sensual thoughts and things :" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 *' Good." He bent forward musingly, his eyes 
 fixed in a thoughtful rapt expression; and he 
 seemed to be intently listening as though he could 
 hear a sound. 
 
 " Hush! Soft fans the amorous air — my bright 
 Eliel speaks — 
 
 She weaves around her magic spell, 
 Sings of our love, while spirits teU 
 
 How she outshines them far ; 
 
 With light that dims each star. 
 Being, beautiful as day,
 
 148 THE CABBALA. 
 
 I gaze my life, my soul away, 
 Ecstatic in thy glance divine : 
 I feel I soon shall call thee mine, 
 Joined in a world of light for ever. 
 Where death and sin can sunder never.* 
 
 Peace be with thee, my gentle spirit ! 
 
 " Well, Ben Megas, I now shall know how I 
 may initiate you ; for be assured that, had I any 
 doubts of your intention, so I would be no party 
 to your ruin. I should keep you quite ignorant of 
 the highest mysteries of our learning. Listen 
 while I expound to you the great objects of your 
 life then ; which, having done, you shall com- 
 mence seeking them at once. 
 
 " Mankind is a retrograded, degenerate race. 
 In its relations with the Great Eternal and Ideal 
 elements, it is altogether changed. Every gene- 
 ration since the creation, and even the Jews them- 
 selves — alas ! that I should say it — get worse, 
 more sensual, more material. Even our religion 
 is rapidly becoming gross and material ; as that of 
 the Christians and all idolaters is quite so. Sin is 
 not that thing which it is generally understood to 
 be. It is an infusing of the spirit with sensible 
 and mundane things, until it becomes so com- 
 pletely mingled with earth, that it is entirely sepa- 
 
 * Mingling with the mystified cant with which the Cab- 
 balists surround their secret rites, they extemporise 
 poetry in the dialect of the Cabbala, whenever the spirit 
 takes them — and that is often enough.
 
 THE CABBALA. 149 
 
 rated from its spiritual Source and Essence. The 
 spirit is the life ; and every pleasure we give it 
 through physical means, adds a link to the chain 
 that ultimately makes us quite material and sinks 
 us down to original darkness ; where the Infernal 
 begins. You comprehend me r" 
 
 "I do, so far." 
 
 *' This degradation commenced when Eve, leav- 
 ing her high occupations, felt desires to gratify 
 the spirit through the body. She tempted Adam. 
 He listened to her, alas ! Their simplicity and 
 innocence were lost. The foundation of sensual 
 pleasures was laid ; and, since then, mankind in 
 all generations have been adding to it, till it has 
 attained its present mountain size and deadly 
 power. Have you marked me ?" 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " By the Cabbala, Ben ^egas — listen now ! — 
 By the Cabbala we penetrate the secret soul of the 
 universe, the hidden spirit of the material ; we 
 unite ourselves to the spiritual ; we get the com- 
 mand over the sensible and infernal, the relation 
 to the celestial which man had when first created. 
 We attain the power to dissolve all that is gross 
 in our nature, till we rise to the spirit of all 
 things — the Primeval ^ther — Life — Intellect. 
 I have said." 
 
 "I understand." 
 
 '' It is well. AU matter consists of three prin- 
 
 2
 
 150 THE CABBALA. 
 
 ciples, the celestial — the gross, or sensible — and 
 the infernal." 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 *' That is the outline, then. I^ow to approach 
 it in detail ; and may success crown thy learning ! 
 Come with me. Fear not. Thou wilt see a 
 strange room and strange things ; but if thou art 
 to be aCabbalist, Ben Megas, thou wilt see stranger 
 yet." 
 
 Aben Baruch walked away with a quick step, 
 Ben Megas following. He descended the stair- 
 case to a large apartment on the first story.
 
 THE CABBALA, 151 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THE CABBAJLA CONTINfED. 
 
 The light of day was entirely excluded. A soli- 
 tary lamp threw its pale rays around on the walls 
 hung with white draperies, and the huge agglom- 
 eration of implements used in the mystic rites. 
 At the end of the room a curtain was drawn in 
 massive folds, forming a smaller chamber. It was 
 furnished with the voluptuous luxuries of the 
 East ; the sun lit it by day, softly glistening lamps 
 by night ; and on a rich lounge or bed, both of 
 which it contained, the Cabbalist reposed in trans- 
 porting intercourse with the heavenly sylphs with 
 whom his mystic rites brought him into contact. 
 
 But indeed the whole apartment was so fes- 
 tooned and draperied, that it had a mysterious in- 
 fluence upon the spirit the moment it was entered; 
 and everything was arranged with consummate 
 reference to excite a voluptuous and transcendental 
 ideality. 
 
 In the midst of all were the two mystic vases. 
 The one used to dissolve and purge away all mat- 
 ter tiU only the spirit was left ; the other to ex-
 
 152 THE CABBALA. 
 
 plore for the elixir vitae and philosoplier's stone. 
 The elixir vitae is the cup of immortality — the 
 drink of angels — which the heathen poets have 
 sung with raptures trebly intensified. The philo- 
 sopher's stone is to turn all that is true, or mer- 
 curial, in matter into gold. 
 
 The door was closed. Aben Baruch spoke. 
 
 '' Spirits of earth, and fire, and water, and air ! 
 In the name of the Eternal Light and Essence, of 
 whom ye are an emanation and expression, I speak 
 peace !" 
 
 "Ben Megas, earthly questions intrude not 
 here, nor earthly thoughts. Eemember ! Here we 
 explore and unfold the secrets of another world and 
 life." 
 
 He took several books from a table near, and 
 spread them open before him. As the soft white 
 light fell round his silvery hair and beard, he pre- 
 sented an appearance so fascinating in its dim ob- 
 scurity, that one could not look upon him without 
 a strange veneration. Ben Megas began to feel 
 those mysterious emotions which coincidence of 
 things, and scene, and mental predisposition could 
 not fail to excite. 
 
 " All things have a destiny," said Aben Baruch, 
 in slow and measured cadence. "But even des- 
 tiny, impossible as it seems, even destiny may be 
 unravelled — may be exchanged for the possible ; 
 even for the probable. Eor destiny is merciful as 
 well as inexorable ; and, like all other things, has
 
 THE CABBALA. 153 
 
 its laws. "WTiich laws, if found, we may make a 
 destiny for ourselves ; for we subvert, combine, 
 dissolve those laws, and make or mingle them 
 entirely to our own caprice. 
 
 ''All that we now see in the actual world is a 
 mere monumental pile of that material love and 
 worship which, in all ages, has usurped the place 
 of pure elementary communion with the unseen. 
 The mysteries of extinct eras might perhaps appal 
 the most transcendant courage ; therefore it is 
 that they have faded into myths. Happy is he 
 who believes without questioning — who, by the 
 medium of purity and the ideal, converses with 
 them without inquiring. 
 
 "Our learning, Ben Megas, commences with 
 the traditions and philosophy which Moses handed 
 down to the Jewish doctors ; and thence it in- 
 cludes all the investigations made by them from 
 time to time, in the schools of initiation, together 
 with the theories based upon them. Thus it forms 
 one great system of what are called the transcen- 
 dental and occult sciences of initiation; which man- 
 kind know by the names of mythology, astrology, 
 theurgy, geomancy, magic, soothsaying, and divi- 
 nation ; but which is really and properly the circle 
 of mystic sciences comprehended under the title 
 of theosophy. It is thus that it was studied, 
 eulogised, and enforced by Aben Ezra, Cornelius 
 Agrippa, Scotus, Eeuchlin, Alcuin, Albertus Mag- 
 nus, Paracelsus, Erigena, Helmont, Poirel Cam-
 
 154 THE CABBALA. 
 
 panella, Drexelius, Rabenus Maurus, Geber, Lul- 
 lius, and Boehmen, with many others. Those 
 esoterics who were so widely distributed over 
 Europe and Asia during the mediaeval ages, under 
 the varied names of diviners, prophets, Mani- 
 chaeans, freemasons, astrologers, alchemists, Eosi- 
 crucians, et id genus omne, damaging our glorious 
 science by their blundering initiations, were not 
 Jewish Cabbalists, but only half-learned scholars 
 who had diverged from them. 
 
 ''Mark me now. We divide our initiations 
 into three classes — the celestial, the intelligible 
 universe, and the infernal. Between these three, 
 the alchemical or hermetic researches, are the 
 mediative power. 
 
 *' Am I understood ?" 
 
 '* So far, well," replied Ben Megas. 
 
 He opened one of the books of the Cabbala, and 
 read : — 
 
 ''Alchemy, Ben Megas, is the science which 
 discovers 'the most secret laws of chemistry, the 
 essences of material natures, and the composition 
 or decomposition of all physical things.' This is 
 the wide and sweeping field, which by this branch 
 of learning lies open before you, Ben Megas. You 
 see it solves all that is essential and real. 
 
 "Very well. The first thing we require is the 
 philosophic fire — without this nothing can be 
 done. The want of it is the cause of the invari- 
 able failures committed by the subordinate theoso-
 
 THE CABBALA. 155 
 
 phists — who are able to attain nothing but the 
 common kitchen fire. This philosophic fire is 
 the 'HXf/crwp, or the fiery essence which is the 
 primum mobile of the universe. It animates 
 all physical things; it puts all in motion. It 
 is the first element in nature. It elicits all. 
 This principle was worshipped by the ancient 
 Greeks and others, under the name of Jove — or 
 Jupiter Elicius ; and thus Ovid applies the term : 
 
 * EUciunt coelo te, Jupiter ; unde minores 
 Nunc quoque te celebrant, Eliciumque vocant.' 
 
 This fire is the soul of the universe, the mediator 
 between all physical and spiritual things, the first 
 great emblem of God. Some of the Cabbalistic 
 philosophers believe that the Eternal resides in it; 
 others that it might contain the seat of the 
 blessed. I believe neither of these. Xor are 
 you to confound this theory, with those embraced 
 by the Persians, Indians, Arabs, Sabaeans, &c. 
 They derived theirs from us ; but, in passing into 
 their hands, it was transmuted till it became 
 merely gross and material — while ours is tran- 
 scendental and ineffable. 
 
 '* Artephius has devoted much attention to ex- 
 plaining this fire. His enthusiastic and learned 
 convert and disciple, Pontanus, followed in his 
 steps, and treated of it yet more fully, when 
 giving directions to his scholars, so that they 
 might make no mistake. Hear what he says :
 
 156 THE CABBALA. 
 
 "' Our fire is mineral, it is equable, it is con- 
 tinual. It does not evaporate if it be not too 
 strongly excited. It participates of sulphur. It 
 is not taken fi'om matter. It destroys all ; it dis- 
 solves, it congeals, it calcines, all. Artifice is 
 required both in discovering and preparing it. It 
 costs nothing, or almost nothing. Moreover it 
 is humid, vaporous, analysing, metamorphosing, 
 penetrating, subtle, etherial, gentle, unconsuming, 
 uninflaming, surrounding all, containing all, and 
 absolutely unique. It is also the fountain of 
 living water, in which the king and queen of 
 nature continually bathe themselves. This humid 
 fire is essential in every work of alchemic art — 
 in the beginning, middle, and end; for the tvhole 
 art consists in this fire. It is both a natural fire, 
 an unnatural fire, and an anti-natural fire. It is 
 a fire at once hot, dr}^, moist, and cold, which 
 neither burns nor inflames. Think of what I tell 
 you and labour diligently, and do not avail your- 
 self of any foreign material.' 
 
 ''Here, Een Megas, is what another says : 
 *' ' Om: philosophic fire is a labyrinth from which 
 the most sagacious can scarcely extricate himself; 
 for it is altogether occult and secret. The fire of 
 the sun cannot be this secret fire. It is inter- 
 rupted and unequal. It cannot furnish a heat, 
 exact in every degree, measure, and duration. 
 Its fervour cannot penetrate the depth of moun- 
 tains, nor kindle the coldness of rocks and mar-
 
 THE CABBALA. 157 
 
 bles, that receive the mineral vapours of which 
 gold and silver are formed. 
 
 "' The vulgar fire of our kitchens hinders the 
 amalgamation of miscibles, and consumes or eva- 
 porates the delicate ties of constituent particles. 
 It is, in fact, a tyrant. 
 
 '' * The central and innate fire in matter has the 
 property of mingling substances, and propagating 
 new forms. But it cannot be this philosophic 
 heat, so much renowned, which produces the de- 
 composition of metallic seeds ; for that which is 
 in itself a principle of corruption cannot be a 
 principle of restoration, but by accident.' 
 
 ''This thaumaturgic fii'e, tliis essential spirit — 
 TTvedfia — is perfectly invisible, and can only be 
 seen in its second development, light, and felt in 
 its third development, heat. It is the parent of 
 light and flame, but must not be confounded with 
 them, since these are but its sensible develop- 
 ments — the external manifestation of an internal 
 and mysterious principle. It is a secret element 
 in the universe ; difficult to be discovered ; diffi- 
 cult to be retained ; and difficult to be used. 
 
 "In distilling tliis fire from the labyrinthine 
 being of nature great care is necessaiy ; for any 
 error on the part of the Cabbalist might cause his 
 destruction. This has happened. The philoso- 
 pher neglected to attend to all the rites prescribed, 
 and was smitten by the fiery spirit. 
 
 " Having obtained this philosophic fire, we are 
 
 p
 
 158 THE CABBALA. 
 
 fumislied with the key that unlocks the whole 
 mysteries of nature. The power that is to set 
 matter free from spirit, spirit from matter. We 
 pour unceasing streams of it upon ' the womh of 
 metallic seeds ' [«'. e. the alembic] ; we come in 
 connection with all that is spiritual — for this fire 
 is the initiation to spirit life — and are prepared 
 * to throw light on every part, and reduce to order 
 every anomaly of materialism.' "We can compose 
 and decompose ; resolve all that is ' mundane, es- 
 sential, sensible, material,' on the one hand, till it 
 is reduced to formless matter or Darkness, the Prin- 
 ciple of Evil ; and, therefore, where the Infernal 
 commences. On the other hand, we analyse, me- 
 tamorphose, combine, and exalt it until it attains 
 the form m which the essential is lost in the super- 
 essential or ideal ; from which spring life and in- 
 tellect. And then we have reached ' Eternal In- 
 nocence,' 'Free Spirit,' 'Time without limit,' or 
 'Immortality;' and there the celestial being com- 
 mences. Between these two sole Principles in 
 being — the Principle of Good and the Principle 
 of Evil — the celestial and the infernal — the oc- 
 cult or philosojjhic fire is, as I have before said, 
 the * Mediator.' Understand me ? " 
 
 '' I believe I do," replied Ben Megas. 
 
 '^ Before you arrive at this stage in your re- 
 searches, you will be brought into contact with 
 the spirits who reside in matter. At another 
 time I shaU speak of these more plainly. As your
 
 THE CABBAXA.. 159 
 
 efforts approach perfection, these pure and beautiful 
 beings will be more with you ; until at last when 
 your studies are realised, you will join them com- 
 pletely. This will be when you have arrived at that 
 part of the initiations where the material dissolves 
 in the ideal and intellectual. You will then have 
 found the exact combination necessary to make 
 the elixir vitae or essence of life — the cup of Im- 
 mortality. This cup of life will, when drunk, 
 purge away all in your body that is material, 
 essential, and leave only that which is spiritual, 
 intellectual, life, immortal. The same ingredients 
 which compose this cup. of life, that sets the spirit 
 in matter free from all that is simply sensible in 
 it, will in another proportion produce the phi- 
 losopher's stone, which ^vill convert all that is true 
 or mercurial in matter into the purest gold ; while 
 all that is not mercury will be destroyed. 
 
 "In this I have given you, Ben Megas, a partial 
 outHne of one portion of our ineffable philosophy. 
 There you see the two vases ; there is the small 
 one, in which I make the secret fire; there are 
 the nine primitive forms of matter. 
 
 " This will be as much as you can remember 
 and understand at present."
 
 160 STEINBEllU S TEIVATE SEAL. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 TREMBLINGS OF THE SPIRIT. 
 
 Steinbeeq was a Jew of the credulous sort. He 
 believed in the Talmud, Cabbala, the Targums, 
 Maimonides, and everybody — if they were only a 
 rabbi. Some of his superstitions were ludicrous 
 enough. He had few things in common with 
 either his wife or his daughter. He had his own 
 sacred plate, and his own knife and fork ; and he 
 tried to inspire a devout and ardent spirit even 
 into the hard hearts of his stone- ware and crockery; 
 for all his personal property was marked with the 
 words =-Dp2Il7 -ll^y — even to his frying-pan ! 
 This was Steinberg's seal royal, and woe be to 
 him or her that used the article it was on. If 
 any one did, a perfect pantomime ensued. Stein- 
 berg swore, stamped, danced, prayed, spun, and 
 threatened, all in a breath. He never sat upon a 
 seat after a Gentile either. He had a great 
 liking for their money, and, as it was, most of 
 his business was done with this race ; but Stein- 
 
 * Lift up your heart.
 
 steus'bekg's delicacy of feelings. 161 
 
 berg entered into the necessary arrangements 
 never to have his rule infringed. In the room 
 where all his business of any importance was 
 conducted there was one chair with a wooden 
 bottom — ^for that could be washed — which he 
 always appropriated to himself. If, however, by 
 some extraordinary stroke of ill-luck one of his 
 visitors forestalled him by applying this chair to 
 his own use, Steinberg was furnished with an 
 enormous handkerchief, with which he instantly 
 began fussing and mopping over the seat of one 
 of the others, all the time complaining of " dusht," 
 and " lazy shervantsh," and grunting like the 
 learned pig when nuzzling amongst the letters 
 of the alphabet, though the chair was already as 
 clean as hands could make it. The result always 
 was, that he could not dust it sufficiently clean 
 to be allowed contact with his old, rusty, drab 
 terminations; and so the wide-spread handkerchief 
 left open upon the seat. 
 
 At the time we see him now it was the last 
 evening of the passover feast. He was intensely 
 engaged in his devotions; for indeed he was very 
 pious in his way, and fasted every Monday, 
 Thursday, and Saturday, till sunset. He was 
 reciting his prayers, at the same time walking up 
 and down the room at a violent pace, working his 
 arms rapidly, rolling his head, and wagging his 
 tongue between his teeth. At intervals he paused 
 to pat his dog upon the back ; who for the most 
 
 p 2
 
 162 
 
 MR. ABllAHAM. 
 
 part occupied himself in spinning around like a 
 whipping-top, in the vain attempt to overtake his 
 tail — emblem of the vanity of earthly expectations. 
 Having concluded his prayers, Mr. Steinberg went 
 to a seat, and taking up the Gobar,^ a book of 
 which he did not understand a word, he began 
 reading it with indefatigable energy, while he 
 continually rocked his body to and fro. 
 
 The only other person present was his especial 
 friend, Levi Abraham. Mr. Abraham was, in a 
 small degree, an initiate of the Cabbala. He was 
 a man of about fifty years of age, and of very 
 reverend aspect. One could not help feeling awed 
 in his presence. His severe physiognomy was 
 half buried in a long, grey beard. His skin was 
 of a deep olive tint ; his nose sharp and aquiline ; 
 his black, piercing eyes gleamed from beneath a 
 pair of shaggy eyebrows. His light coverlet hung 
 very loosely around his spare form, fastened at 
 the waist by a girdle, and leaving a passage for 
 his thin, cold hands. He was incessantly engaged 
 in writing, while he mumbled half sentences to 
 himself. Ever and anon he suspended his work, 
 to perform various mystic operations to a small 
 lamp that burnt before him; and then he pre- 
 sented to it, by means of a small pincers, some 
 metallic body that inflamed, while a blue sul- 
 
 * The Gobar is the text-book of the Cabbala; and the 
 reaclmg it, even by those who know nothing of its mean- 
 ing, is considered very meritorious.
 
 iLR. ABEiJE^Ul's VOW. 163 
 
 phureous vapour hovered round it, and then 
 dropped, melting hot into a small vessel that he 
 held beneath. Having collected as much as he 
 wanted, he poured a liquid into it from a vial at 
 his side; and then he placed it over the flame, 
 constantly stirring it, and muttering broken words. 
 Small scintillations escaped from it with an ex- 
 plosive noise; and when these had ceased, he 
 mingled it with another liquid, and the process 
 was complete. 
 
 Mr. Abraham had been ill, and was supposed 
 to be at the point of death. When in this con- 
 dition, he made a vow that if God would restore 
 him to health, he would write His name on parch- 
 ment, "with the most durable ink he could procure 
 from the arts, a hundred times every day, until 
 he had done so a hundred thousand times. And 
 at each time he would repeat the name to himself, 
 and say a prayer. 
 
 By his knowledge of alchemy, he had invented 
 an ink, which he called the ** concentrated ink of 
 metallic substances;" and he proposed that it 
 was durable as the parchment itself. It eva- 
 porated rapidly, so he was obliged to make it 
 often, and in small quantities. 
 
 After a long while, he seemed to be much 
 wearied with his task. So looking on Steinberg, 
 who was still deeply absorbed in his book, he said, — 
 
 " Dost thou know, Solomon, of the dying of 
 EabbiBen-rzziel?"
 
 164 steinbeeg's illness. 
 
 " Yesh ; I know. My dear nobil freund ! Hish 
 mind, they shay, ish in ein state of unendlich ir- 
 ritation." 
 
 " Yes, brother ; he suffers much on account of 
 the awful change that must soon pass over him." 
 
 ''Ah!" half soliloquised Steinberg. ''The 
 shtruggle mit death ! Zhat's mot it ish. 11 timor 
 di morire fa tremare i piu coraggiosi, — the fear of 
 death shakes the strongest man alive. An ex- 
 cellent ixhpounder of the holy law, Levi, ish 
 fallen amongsht ush." 
 
 " Moses himself — blessed be he ! — could hardly 
 be better." 
 
 " I'm bin sehr krank myshelf seyne thee wash 
 here lastly. I'm had much dolors, and never 
 could get no slipp. Cosht me drei poundsh to 
 pay my medicine wit." 
 
 " How is the child ? Is it well with her ? " 
 
 "Ya, ya," groaned Steinberg. 
 
 " The time of brother Cohen's marriage with 
 her is approaching now, isn't it ? " 
 
 " 'Tish shettled for the last eine briefe to be on 
 the shecond of Tammuz — in ein fortnight after 
 the Shabuaut."** 
 
 " God has blessed thee with a lovely child, 
 Solomon. She is an ornament to our afflicted 
 race. I'm glad so suitable a husband is found for 
 her, and pray they may be as happy as we expect.'* 
 
 * Feast of Pentecost.
 
 STZrN'BEEG S COXTEilPT TOE MEECEXAEY LOVE. 165 
 
 ''Ja, ja," growled Steinberg, off the loss of 
 his three pounds. '' Happy enough." 
 
 " What portion hast thou fixed to give her, my 
 brother:" inquired ILr. Abraham. 
 
 Steinberg looked inexplicable : then he turned 
 his eyes upwards for another dose of comfort : 
 and then he slowly raised his fore-finger to his ear. 
 In this way he signified to his "freund " that he 
 had some suspicion he was earwigging him. 
 
 After a few moments, however, he relented, 
 and drawled out, with an uneasy jerk — " It'sh 
 not shettled." 
 
 "But you know." 
 
 "^0. Due or drei hundret shoverinsh I 
 thinksh to sink mit her." 
 
 '^Xay, Solomon, I say. To such a man as 
 Isaac Cohen — what will the brethren say:" 
 
 " Shay I Yat caresh I als any of them shay ! 
 Yat doesh it matter to me vot they tinksh mit ? 
 Cospetto ! Yat should I give away my shubstance 
 for ? Yat for should I pay my monete to Isaac 
 Cohen for no goot ? Did I shay to him, mill you 
 take mein daughtersh to you for eine wife? 
 Prayersh of Abraham ! If he can't become her 
 his wife witout monete, let him leave her. I 
 vantsh him not." 
 
 " This sounds ill, Solomon, I tell you, for an 
 Israelite : and especially towards one of the family 
 of the Cohanim." 
 
 "For vat I I'm a j)oor man, brother Levi:
 
 166 HOW Steinberg's agent got married, 
 
 Yater Abraham knowsh I'm a poor man. I'm 
 bin torn to pieshes wit dolors. I'm had losshes 
 — sehr lossbes : and mit all my thrifty shavins I 
 can hardly cover them. Vosh dere not de affair 
 of Jacob Frankein, which losht me dirteen dou- 
 sand shoverinsh ? And then there wash my agent 
 in JN'aplesh, to whom this commission I conshign 
 — ' Shend me a parshel of the finesht shpecimens 
 of antic coinsh and gute bronzes mich you can 
 getsh: and wit these 15,000 ducati yon alsho 
 shall worth them mit.' Yell, he resheive my 
 ducati and my conshignment, all simplesh and 
 direct ; and the firsht ting I hear mit him ish, 
 dat he'sh made up eine marriage mit some anti- 
 quary's daughter, and all my monete ish spent 
 wit flaring up on hish Julia or Sharah, michever 
 she is. Then, vash not mein best boxh of jew- 
 ellery shtole from my shop eine monat past, and 
 I no trace of the roguesh. To shay notin of 
 billsh and coinsh unpaid : and the bankrupt gold- 
 smith, mit whom I lent a hundert tousand poundsh, 
 and I'll not get als many pennish. I'm a needy 
 man, Levi, I tell you. The God of my vaters 
 grant I may not be broughtsh to want." And 
 Steinberg clasped his hands in a seeming pas- 
 sionate conflict with his misfortunes. 
 
 '' N'ever mind a feather or two, Solomon," said 
 Mr. Abraham; ''You have enough left, and you 
 wiU fly the lighter." 
 
 " Oh Cappita ! " gasped Steinberg. " You
 
 AXTt SPEXT HIS master's ilOXEY. 167 
 
 know not vat you shay. You've gotch too much 
 noishy voice — il s'emporte trop facilementy 
 
 And then he took up his Gobar and began to 
 read with tremendous fervour. Abraham turned 
 to make himself some more ink.
 
 168 CAEL MOTJISK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BARON PUTOWSKI. 
 
 It was the same evening, and about ten o'clock, 
 that two travellers, seated on horseback, rode at a 
 rapid pace over the great road that enters London 
 from Bath and the western counties. One was a 
 young man of about seven-and-twenty years of 
 age, moderate stature, and slightly built. His 
 ample military cloak, a very little open in front, 
 disclosed a short braided jacket, buttoned to the 
 throat. His cavalry overalls, strapped and topped 
 with leather, had rows of large silver buttons 
 down the sides. Double-rowelled spui's were 
 fixed to his boots ; which ever and anon, with a 
 gesture of impatience, he pushed against the sides 
 of his jaded horse. Suspended to his belt he 
 carried a heavy sabre. A pair of long epaulettes 
 of silver bullion marked his rank as that of lieu- 
 tenant of Prussian grenadiers ; and on his head he 
 wore the low flat foraging cap belonging to the 
 officers of that corps. 
 
 His companion was a man of widely difl'erent 
 stamp. He was taller, broad-chested, and pow-
 
 POETEATT OF PnOWSKI. 169 
 
 ferful; long Hmbed, muscular, and wiiy; alto- 
 gether he looked the perfection of military har- 
 diness and activity ; equally ready to endure ex- 
 posure and fatigue in the field, or to enjoy a 
 temporary repose in good, snug, snoozy quarters. 
 A black, shaggy beard and immense hanging mous- 
 taches adorned the lower part of his countenance ; 
 and the purple scar produced by a recent sabre- 
 cut, from the eye-brow completely across the 
 cheek, gave a rather unattractive appearance to 
 the upper half. Contempt of danger and reck- 
 less daring were legibly written on exeTy feature ; 
 and when he smiled — which was but seldom — his 
 glittering eyes, and certain lines about the mouth, 
 gave a cruel, almost a savage expression to his 
 physiognomy. He wore the uniform of a captain 
 of heavy dragoons, and a ponderous sword hung 
 by his side. He kept his cloak wrapped tightly 
 around him; as much it seemed to screen him 
 from observation as to protect him from the cold ; 
 for the night was excessively foggy. 
 
 '* How far are we from London now, Putowski ? '* 
 asked the younger one. 
 
 " 'Tis hard for me to say. Bagatello ! Those 
 few dim rays before us flickering like drowned 
 star-light must be Brentford, I think. Diavolo ! 
 but the musty air smells homely still." 
 
 " Would you like to be an Englishman again r " 
 
 *' Santa Yergine ! Xot I. !N'o power, even if it 
 were the devil who has served me so well yet,
 
 170 PUTOWSKI EXPLAINS HIS PLANS 
 
 should have brought me here if it had not been to 
 carry away some of their heavy gold. Wo betide 
 Maria Theresa if I get it !" he muttered between 
 his teeth, and clenching his fist with convulsive 
 energy. 
 
 '' I'm all of a toss with impatience to be at our 
 work," said the younger one. "What do you 
 think will be the first move ? " 
 
 " If I have a word in the matter — and that all 
 the direction will, as usual, fall on my shoulders, 
 I make no doubt — well then, I say, we shall ad- 
 vance upon Lintz at the same time that Velasquez 
 bears down upon Vienna. But curse me ! if we 
 are not quick the Hungarian Diet will be assem- 
 bled, and Maria Theresa will make an impression 
 that a few ounces of blood will not suffice to blot 
 out." 
 
 ''And then?" 
 
 *' Victory is ours — that must be. But it would 
 cost many a brave man his mess, Motjisk. N'o 
 matter. A soldier or two will be a cheap pur- 
 chase of such ends. Look you : — the plan already 
 mooted, if acted upon with due precaution, will 
 carry triumph through Vienna and up to the gates 
 of Presburg, before Philip or Charles Emmanuel 
 have collected a single regiment. And, if we can 
 get the country without their help, why, by all 
 law — human, celestial, and infernal, the place is 
 cur's — isn't that just?" he asked with a dia- 
 bolical sneer.
 
 FOE DEPOSING MAHTA THEEESA. 171 
 
 "Go on," said his companion. 
 " The plan is, that our division penetrate into 
 the Austrian territory and take Lintz by surprise. 
 A small force would be enough to effect that. 
 This expedition might commence between sunset 
 and sunrise. A paily of active gueiillas, well 
 acquainted with the country and accustomed to 
 such enterprises, might accomplish it with little 
 loss. !N"ot so, if we approached it in broad day- 
 light, with the few Hght troops which we can 
 afford to devote to this service. The country is 
 wild, and swarms with the Austrians. Our first 
 shot would bring overpowering numbers against 
 us, and not one of us would ever enter the 
 gates ; while the narrow defile between the moun- 
 tains would render a safe reti'eat impossible. But 
 to approach under cover of the night, and throw 
 out a few videttes to feel the way, and give the 
 main body an alarm in case of necessity, though a 
 little desperate, will most likely be successful." 
 
 ''If we are discovered, it will be certain death 
 to us all," said the young man. ''Our bodies 
 would be riddled Uke a hair- sieve, and we not able 
 to pay back a single shot." 
 
 " "Well, that's an after consideration. When 
 there's work to be done, it must be done," repUed 
 the other tersely. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said his companion in a careless 
 tone. " When we are in for fighting, there's no- 
 thing to be done but take it kindly, and mix up
 
 172 PTJTOWSKI RELENTLESS. 
 
 the neat and the ugly jobs together, so as to make 
 a middling sort of stuff." 
 
 ''And hark you, Motjisk," resumed the other j 
 *' should my lucky demon, who has helped me so 
 faithfully in many a less honest cause than the 
 present, fail me now ; and should he take to flight, 
 the coward ! before a few pounds of cast-iron from 
 an Austrian cannon, I'll even risk my last adven- 
 ture by my self without him. Cospetto ! TheYii'gin 
 be praised ! I'm no schoolboy to quail before bam- 
 boo and popguns, nor a mad Jew in search of the 
 philosopher's stone. And if, boy, I am out in my 
 reckoning for this, the first time in my life, I'll 
 even take a last random shot at the head of Maria 
 Theresa herself— understand me. And if in my 
 way to her throne I should stumble either over an 
 amorous dame awaiting her adored, or an insane 
 lover serenading his mistress, hagatello! I'll still 
 play my part to the life, and send them to para- 
 dise with her." 
 
 ''You are not overburdened with conscience, 
 Putowski," said the young soldier. '' Confound 
 it all, I don't like what you've just said — I may 
 as well out with it." 
 
 ''Conscience, boy! Too unsalable a com- 
 modity in this world, whatever it may be in the 
 next." 
 
 "What place is this ?" asked the other. 
 
 " It should be Hammersmith. Holy mass ! 
 what light is that bouncing and jumping about
 
 THE AILRIA'AL AT STEIXBEEg's. 173 
 
 like an opera girl in the fields there to the left 
 of us ? Mayhap it's some old woman's sprite 
 come out to entice us to her den to-night." And 
 he laughed ironically at his suggestion. ''An ugly 
 piece of weather this," he pursued, ''to measure 
 out for two who were able and Avilling to pay for 
 a better. A curse upon this rotten mist ! I can 
 see nothing to perfection. Around and about is a 
 thorough English fog, as if it were cooked up 
 from Beelzebub's Sunday caldron on purpose to 
 blind and choke me ; while the blinking stars 
 squint mockingly on my confusion. Push the 
 spurs into the flanks of that lazy beast of thine, 
 Motjisk ; the old ivy-owl will else have gone to 
 roost, though it is not quite morning." 
 
 The steaming horses struck off into a maddened 
 gallop, which was scarcely checked before they 
 were pulled up outside Steinberg's door. 
 
 " This is the house, or my memory plays me 
 traitor," said the elder horseman. "Xo matter. 
 If it belongs to somebody else we'U knock a reply 
 out of it. Have at my mark, and no time for 
 parley," he pursued, as he thundered away at the 
 door. 
 
 Strange mutterings were indistinctly heard, ac- 
 companied by a short cough. A window over the 
 door opened slowly; and a head, buried to the 
 throat in a white cotton nightcap, was thrust forth. 
 
 '^ Faztenza / Whosh dat ? Yatsh the matter 
 mit you :" said a voice — whose but Steinberg's? 
 
 Q 2
 
 174 STEINBEKG QUERULOUS. 
 
 '* Corpo di Bacco /" replied the horseman. 
 ^' Matter, man ! "What should be the matter when 
 people knock at the door ? Isn't it they want to 
 come in?" 
 
 "Yat beesnisse ish it you become mit this 
 house ?" growled Steinberg. 
 
 '' That's old Steinberg, else I've forgotten his 
 croak," observed the traveller. 
 
 " Ya, ya, mein title ish Mishter Steinberg." 
 
 ''Well, look you, Mishter Steinberg," said the 
 other, with a sneer, " I don't use to stand on 
 words or trifles. So, if you don't see fit to come 
 down and receive a friend in a delicate, lady-like 
 manner, I'll even do what I've often done when 
 I got my living at the trade of an Italian lover, 
 and had to carry off a new mistress every week — 
 try the virtue of my sword at door-hacking ;" and 
 he drew it as he spoke. 
 
 '' Yater Abrahamsh ! Here'sh a shtorm and 
 turmoil. Who are you ? Yat are you come 
 mit ? Yat do you mean "wit dis sU'epitusness?^^ 
 
 '' Let me in, and I'll tell ye, friend usurer, an- 
 tiquary, coin-seller, miser, swindler, or whatever 
 name you call yourself. A right understanding is 
 sympathy, amico mio, and sympathy is bond and 
 union. Eh, Steinberg ? Look at me — do I look 
 like a spendthrift in want of money ? or do you 
 take me for a thief?" 
 
 ^' Ne temo moltissimo — I am very much afraid 
 of it."
 
 PUIOWSKI KEVEAL^J. 175 
 
 '* A curse upon your fears and your Greek. 
 Are you coming?" 
 
 ** Ja ja !" conceded Steinberg, with a cough and 
 a grunt. 
 
 " Carl, take the horses to the nearest stable," 
 said Putowski to the lieutenant. '* You'll find 
 me up aloft in the old raven's nest." 
 
 "It was ill done, Steinberg, it was ill done, I 
 tell you," he said, as the door was opened, *'to 
 keep a friend there, palavering and juggling in 
 that way. But — per im Ebreo ! — it is well you've 
 come as you did, for I was bent to kick up the 
 devil." 
 
 '' But I didn't know only a shight mit you." 
 
 " Then make a breach in those thick ears of 
 thine, and I'll tiy to make it plain to thy stupid 
 scull. Hark you. I am, or rather I was, Arnold 
 Percival; now Baron Putowski, at your service," 
 and he bowed with mock servility. '' And I want 
 some of your money; so tip up handsomely, 
 friend miser, if it's only for old acq[uaintance 
 
 " You've come wit bad timesh, signer," mut- 
 tered Steinberg, deprecatingh*. " I'm shwimmin' 
 in troublesh — eat up mit kranks, even in my slipp. 
 I'm a needy man, signer; livesh no tag witout 
 much caresh. Mine ish no letio di dammasco — 
 damask bed." 
 
 " Look ye !" said the stranger, in an indifferent 
 voice, throwing himself into a chair, resting one
 
 176 PTJTOWSKI GIYES STEINBERG 
 
 hand on the hilt of his sword, and crossing his 
 legs composedly, but at the same time fixing 
 Steinberg with his glittering eye. ''Look ye, 
 friend Steinberg ! it's many a year, now, since we 
 first met — no matter where, for whose occasion, 
 upon what business, or to what intent — and you 
 tried hard to swindle me out of twelve hundred 
 pounds, in good English sovereigns ; and, dottore 
 mio, would have succeeded, only, my stars be 
 praised ! in me you found you had your match 
 for wit and cunning — so, Fortuna be thanked ! I 
 know you pretty well, body and soul — in desig- 
 nation, avocation, character — in everything but 
 creed. Have a care, man, I say, how you trifle 
 with me. Money I intend to have, if I can find it 
 in your den or any of your cosy crannies," and 
 he grasped his sword-hilt menacingly as he spoke. 
 " Humph ! Think you not," he pursued, seizing 
 a book which lay upon the table, and flinging it 
 open on his knee ; " think you not. Master 
 Steinberg, I know that this is the book by which 
 you profess to act for the eternal well-being of 
 your soul — humph ! that is, if you have a soul — 
 and that in this book, I say, this book of saintly 
 hieroglyphics and Hebrew trumpery, lying is for- 
 bidden and made a crime to merit endless punish- 
 ment here and hereafter; and yet. Mister Steinberg, 
 look ye, you — old and grey-headed sinner that you 
 are — whom God could have made 'eine vater' of 
 such a daughter as you have, but to save you from
 
 AN OPINION OF HIS CHARACTEB. 177 
 
 utter reprobation — you, I say, can look me in the 
 face and tell me you have no money — a j^retty 
 tale, cospettof'^ 
 
 " There' sh als the billsh and monet I lent to 
 your freund the Tuscan amhasciatore. I'll loozh 
 eveiy ducat. It's trown me in much imlarazzo.''^ 
 
 '* Well, never mind him now, amore mio. Egli 
 e un pretto furho — he's a xerx knave. Like you, 
 Mend swindler, egli e il piu gran h'iccone che mai 
 sia stato — he's the greatest rogae that ever 
 Hved." 
 
 "Bonesh of Jacob ! You no neet — " 
 
 ^^Affare ! — business," said the soldier, oracu- 
 larly. 
 
 "Vat monete do you raont, sign or?" 
 
 ''Half a million — say six himdred and fifty 
 thousand, — every sovereign of it." 
 
 '^Yell, caU eine due or di'ei tags and I'll treat 
 wit you, signer." 
 
 *' Per Jovem ! two or three ' tags I ' Why man, 
 I must leave here in an houi' or two. What you 
 do must be done now." 
 
 " I can't. Itsh the feasht of the Pasach." 
 
 *' The feasht of the Jew's harp r" said the 
 stranger : and he laughed immoderately at his sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 " Ja ! ja !" grunted Steinberg uneasily ; *' you 
 musht come when itsh done." 
 
 *' I shall have the money now," said the stranger, 
 coolly.
 
 178 AN AFFECTIONATE FAEEWELL. 
 
 " What bondsh am you gotcli to leave wit me ?'* 
 asked Steinberg. 
 
 " Here — and to them you see the king's seal, 
 and the great seal of the kingdom." 
 
 ''This the king'sh sigillo, signer?" 
 
 '' Didn't I say so, friend usurer?" 
 
 '* Ber gute ! I shuppozh itsh all shafe." 
 
 The soldier smiled an ironical smile. Where- 
 upon, Steinberg shuffled off to his strong box, and 
 produced bills to the amount of six hundred and 
 fifty thousand pounds ; which, with fatherly ten- 
 derness and an uneasy growl, he deposited with 
 the cavalier. 
 
 *' I shall ixhpect to be paid wit the entire 
 shum mit one lot." 
 
 "Certainly," said the stranger. ''How else 
 would you have it, man — un tanto la settimana ? — 
 so much a week." 
 
 " And if I should be in want of monet I shall 
 write mit you." 
 
 "To be sure, friend; you must write often to 
 your humble servant. Le vostre lettere mi sono 
 sempre grate — your letters are always welcome to 
 me. Eh, Steinberg? MoUo fedelmente il vostro — 
 very faithfully yours. That's the style, amico mio, 
 isn't it ? Ha ! ha ! ha !" and he laughed at his 
 joke to his heart's content. 
 
 "Addio,favorito ! — farewell, darling;" he said, 
 placing his great hand in Steinberg's. "7o vi 
 amo — da capo al piede — I love you, from top to
 
 PUTOWSKl's DEPAETITRE. 179 
 
 toe. Enough — temo d* esservi nojoso. A.ddio ! — 
 I fear I shall tire you. Farewell." 
 
 The same hour the horsemen departed. 
 
 Our readers may dislike being presented to 
 such a person as this. But we have an end to 
 serve in giving his character such prominence. 
 What that is, their perspicacity will hardly fail to 
 discover in the proper place.
 
 180 RULES OF THE MAHEIAGE FESTIVITIES. 
 
 CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE. 
 
 Immediately on the close of the Pasach, the seren 
 days' feastmg and rejoicing which precede a 
 Jewish marriage were commenced at Mr. Cohen's. 
 Por David was now to be united to Miss Hermon 
 Aben Baruch, to whom he had for several months 
 been affiance^. 
 
 It is usual to keep the feast at the house of the 
 father of the bride : but for various family reasons 
 Mr. Cohen desired that all the friends of the be- 
 trothed should be assembled at his own. These 
 are, indeed, days of festivity. Visitors are made 
 welcome at all hours ; but the guests usually as- 
 semble at about from one to two or three o'clock. 
 They are all of the gentle sex ; male visitors being 
 jealously excluded. If, however, they come — 
 and generally they do — they are allowed free 
 intercourse amongst the lower rooms ; where the 
 tables are kept constantly and abundantly spread 
 with cakes, preserves, pies, pates, wines, and 
 fruits of the richest description, in endless variety.
 
 THE FAMILY CTRCLE. 181 
 
 But on no terms whatever are they admitted into 
 the presence of the family circle. This is the 
 rule ; but, like all others, it has exceptions. 
 These are, when the male visitor is closely allied 
 to the family, or is on terms of very intimate 
 friendship with its members. Then, '' by parti- 
 cular desire," he will be admitted to the upper 
 house. Here the display is very brilliant. 
 
 It was the seventh day of the rejoicing. At 
 the head of the room sat Mr. Cohen. This was 
 the first marriage amongst his own family ; and 
 as he looked around upon the young and blushing 
 beauties present, he seemed the embodiment of 
 calm and quiet delight. On his right hand sat 
 his son David ; on his left the expectant bride. 
 Miss Aben Baruch. Miss Aben Baruch was sup- 
 ported by Mary Cohen; David by his brother 
 Isaac. And next Isaac sat his affianced bride — 
 Adeline. Beyond them were the guests, all clad 
 in the most brilliant attire. The display of 
 jewellery, in the form of bracelets, stomachers, 
 necklaces, earrings, &c., was immense. To one 
 who entered the room without a previous know- 
 ledge of the love which, ever since they were a 
 nation, the Jews have had for profusion of orna- 
 ment, it would have seemed to border upon ex- 
 travagance. Most of the guests were yery young. 
 Few of them were older than the bride — eighteen 
 years — and seldom could so large a company be 
 met with, in which every face was moulded with
 
 182 THE BRIDAL WBEATH, 
 
 such classic loveliness, as were the faces of these 
 Jewish women. Many a soft starry eye amongst 
 the happy group was turned upon the bride with 
 trembling rapture — the favoured object of 
 
 " Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles," 
 
 from all that was fair and beautiful ! 
 
 To conduct the ceremonies on such an occasion 
 is a post of distinguished honour. The bride is 
 suffered to take no part in the entertainment save 
 that of sitting down to look on. She was very 
 elegantly dressed. A large veil, airy as the rain- 
 bow, and spiritual as the Italian summer cloud, 
 wreathed her in misty folds, from the pensive 
 brow, where it was bound with orange-blossoms 
 and flowers of paradise, to the beautifully slip- 
 pered feet, buried amongst the billowy cushions 
 that scattered the floor. 
 
 The management of the entertainment was con- 
 fided to Mary and Adeline. Both were mag- 
 nificently dressed. Adeline's attire was a tunic 
 of pale-rose crape, covered with a long robe of 
 amber- coloured silk damask, richly embroidered 
 with crimson and gold. It was open at the bosom, 
 and from thence was buttoned downwards to 
 the feet. A scarf of brilliant cashmere encir- 
 cled her waist ; and an embroidered jacket of pale 
 blue velvet, with loose, open sleeves, completed 
 the costume. Bracelets of costly stones gleamed 
 soft and star-Kke on her finely- sculp tui^ed anns.
 
 THE DANCE OF LOYE. 183 
 
 Her long glossy tresses fell in negligent masses 
 around her shoulders, flashing ^th jewelled drops, 
 such as must have glittered on Danae when she 
 came forth from her shower-bath. 
 
 A cold collation was served fii'st. This over, 
 music, singing, and dancing formed the principal 
 entertainments. Adeline graced the festivities 
 by some of her most brilliant perfonnances, and 
 Mary most ably supported her. The dancing on 
 these occasions is kept uj) in gi'eat spiiit, and 
 many of the dances performed are ancient ones, 
 and therefore exceedingly simple. There is one 
 round intended to represent the human passions. 
 The dances in it are generally performed singly, 
 though sometimes two persons stand up together. 
 That one which is intended to sjTubolise the be- 
 ginning and triimiph of love, is perhaps as in- 
 teresting as any, and merits to be described at 
 length. It is a veiy expressive lively dance. 
 One of the ladies commences tripping about on 
 the ''light fantastic toe " with much airiness and 
 vivacity ; at the same time enacting to the life all 
 those feminine artifices, which characterise the 
 courtly and finished lady when first slightly 
 affected by the evil genius of flirtation. A male 
 member of the party, who personifies her admirer, 
 describes a single half circle around her, dancing 
 all the while. He imitates an earnest j)ursuit, 
 while she as dexterously avoids him — either by 
 retreating till she gets almost behind him, or else
 
 184 PERSEVEEANCE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 waving her handkerchief to forbid his approach. 
 This is continued some time — how long depends 
 quite on the tact of the lady — when he gets rather 
 down-hearted at her unsusceptibility. And then 
 she accords him a few gracious smiles, a few 
 attractive airs; but all mingled with that damp 
 cold kindness, which none but the ladies know so 
 well how to assume, and which so often puzzles 
 us of the sterner sex to know what encourage- 
 ment means. At last, completely out of spirits, 
 he gives up pursuit, and with a gentle, mournful 
 motion, turns his back upon her. And now it is 
 her work to calm and pacify him. At first he 
 refuses to be pleased with her, and avoids her in 
 the same manner as she avoided him. But of 
 course it is a hopeless task for him to try to be 
 vexed with her — nothing else could be expected — 
 and he is soon completely overpowered by her 
 fascinations, and again approaches her. The lady 
 rewards him with a smile of satisfaction, presents 
 him her hand, he takes it, kisses it, waves his 
 handkerchief above his head with a triumphant 
 air, and they perform a halancez, facing each other. 
 The dance is effective on the spectators in propor- 
 tion as the persons engaged in it have exhibited 
 dignity, gracefulness, and skill. 
 
 The musical and Terpsichorean part of the re- 
 joicing terminated at about half past six o'clock. 
 Soon afterwards a sumptuous banquet was served 
 up. All was carried out in the most splendid
 
 THE BANQUET. 185 
 
 and luxurious style ; and, to a gourmand, the 
 scene would have been like the whole of Paradise 
 let in at once upon his vision. Soup, fish, flesh, 
 and fowl ranged the ample mahogany in triple 
 column ; thickly interspersed with bottles of wine. 
 The table was also decorated by magnificent can- 
 delabra, and a princely service of plate. More 
 than forty of the guests sat down. Mr. Cohen 
 asked a blessing, and the entertainment began. 
 
 The whole scene was most inspiriting, and the 
 dinner passed ofi" delightfully. Enlivened, too, 
 by the harmless petit morceau, or the innocent 
 pleasantry of the youthful company; and if the 
 truth must be told, Mr. Cohen entered into the 
 feeling of the occasion as heartily as the most 
 buoyant damsel present. 
 
 Then the gloriously majestic 14oth Psalm was 
 sung. Adeline played a vivid accompaniment; 
 Mary joined with her harp. Sublime was the 
 soul-breathed melody of so many female voices, 
 that with fine emphatic utterance chanted forth 
 the glowing aspirations, their countenances en- 
 kindled by the high and lofty theme : — 
 
 I will extol Thee, my God, O King ; 
 
 And I mil bless Thy name for ever and ever. 
 
 Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; 
 
 And His greatness is unsearchable. 
 
 The Lord is gracious and full of compassion ; 
 
 Slow to anger, and of great mercy. 
 
 The Lord is good to all. 
 
 e2
 
 186 HOPE AND TRIJTH. 
 
 And His tender mercies are over all His works. 
 
 The Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon Him; 
 
 To all that call upon Him in truth. 
 
 He will fulfil the desire of them that fear Him; 
 
 He also will hear their cry and will save them. 
 
 Our mouth shall speak the praise of the Lord; 
 
 And let all flesh bless His holy name for ever and ever. 
 
 '^ Miss Steinberg !" cried one of the ladies, as 
 she skii)ped up to the piano and threw her arms 
 upon Adeline's neck. " JFonH you give us ap- 
 plause now ? Didn't we sing that in true and 
 proper spirit ?" 
 
 " That very thought was just passing through 
 my mind," replied Adeline. ''Your execution 
 was admirable ; but better than all is the fervent 
 feeling with which you breathed forth the tri- 
 umphant strain. Is it not very glorious — and 
 God hath said it." And Adeline hummed in a 
 dim and cloudy voice — ''He will fulfil the desire 
 of them that fear Him ; He also will hear their 
 cry and will save them ! Do you expect to prove 
 this, Miss Lowitz ?" asked Adeline, pressing her 
 hand. 
 
 " I can't say that I have thought much about it. 
 One doesn't half feel these beautiful things as one 
 ought, you know. Indeed the character of the 
 proper servant of Jehovah seems to me so sublime, 
 that he who fully possesses it must be almost a 
 wonder in creation." 
 
 *' Well, my sweet friend, I certainly won't do
 
 WOMAN IXTEEESTED IX THE BIBLE. 187 
 
 anything like lectaring you ; so I vriU. only say, 
 that I should like you to think on these and 
 similar assurances in future. Do try. If all our 
 people would but do this, and then act upon the 
 convictions of duty thus obtained, we should no 
 longer go mourning and uncomforted, our captiv- 
 ity would soon be turned." 
 
 " But, Miss Adeline, tve have no business with 
 it. The law and the prophets were never meant 
 to be studied by women, you know. It's only the 
 men, and chiefly the rabbins, that have to do with 
 them. That's one reason why I so like these 
 times — they are almost the only ones when we 
 are supposed to be entitled to talk about them. It 
 is very hateful to feel so excluded from spiritual 
 things as we are." 
 
 " It is. But it is an exclusion entirely of 
 man's doing. Do let me entreat you, and prevail 
 upon you, not to believe that doctrine of corrupted 
 Judaism, that woman is not to read the Bible. 
 The Bible is written to you as much as to any in- 
 dividual of the human race, and as much as though 
 no one beside yourself had ever lived. For mark, 
 the eternal condition of all the rest of mankind 
 has no effect upon yours ; it is between you and 
 God alone — and the Bible unfolds to you what 
 His will and purpose is with respect to your sal- 
 vation, the way in which He desires you to walk, 
 so that ultimately He may take you to live with 
 Him for ever. Then think how important it must
 
 188 TALMUDIC rEKSECIJTIOJSr. 
 
 be that you should read His conditions again and 
 again, so that you may know them well, and thus 
 never break them. You might perhaps think me 
 rude and troublesome, if I urged this in a manner 
 commensurate with what I feel to be its import- 
 ance. Begin now, my love. I cannot express to 
 you the sweet serenity and happiness I have 
 enjoyed, since I commenced to read the Eible, and 
 make its laws my delight. You are not happy. 
 Miss Lowitz ? I know you will excuse me — even 
 if for a moment my earnestness should seem dis- 
 agreeable. I have always felt greatly concerned 
 about you, since I became aware that you pos- 
 sessed such serious views." 
 
 " I should like to converse with you alone," re- 
 plied Miss Lowitz ; " and if you will allow me I 
 shall be able to find a convenient season. I will 
 indeed think on what you have said to me — I 
 promise you that. But I must be careful ; I am 
 already tried much. I believe if my father knew 
 me to read the Bible, I should become the victim 
 of such persecution as would compel me to aban- 
 don either that or my home. 'Now indeed, some- 
 body wiU be getting impatient if I don't say what 
 I came to say. You play the office of the Ho- 
 sanna Eabba excellently. Naj now, I wont be 
 stopped." She pursued, as Adeline placed her 
 finger upon her lips, to impress silence. " We 
 have had the whole account, with marginal refer- 
 ences, of the way in which you perform that hor-
 
 Israel's song. 189 
 
 ridly hard music ; so I have been requested to come 
 to you and ask if you T\ill kindly give it us now. 
 WiU you ?" 
 
 " Will you allow me to make one suggestion r" 
 
 " Oh, certainly." 
 
 " Well then, in my opinion, it can never obtain 
 universal favour in a large and mixed company 
 like this. The music is all in headlong time — 
 the words require it should be ; and the responses 
 produce a regularly returning clink which, to 
 some ears, is disagreeable. So, you \N'ill think it 
 isn't best to choose it." 
 
 '* Then one of the Hosannas from the Daily 
 Prayers is what we shall all like." 
 
 *' As you pass her, then, will you tell Miss 
 Cohen, if you please?" 
 
 And then Mary and Adeline burst forth in an- 
 other of the sacred chants in constant use among 
 their people. 
 
 " 0, thou sanctuary of the King ! Eoyal 
 City! Arise, and come forth from thy subver- 
 sion ; thou hast dwelt long enough in the abode 
 of calamity, for He will now pity thee with kind- 
 ness. Come, my beloved, to meet the bride. 
 
 " Shake off the dust ; arise, 0, my people ! and 
 adorn thyself with thy beautiful attire; for by 
 the hand of Jesse the Bethlehemite redemption 
 draweth nigh to my soul. Come, my beloved, to 
 meet the bride. 
 
 ''Rouse thyself, rouse thyself; arise, shine, for
 
 190 MAEKIAGE GIFTS. 
 
 thy light is come. Awake, awake, utter a song ; 
 for the glory of the Lord is revealed upon thee. 
 Come, my beloved, to meet the bride. 
 
 "Be not ashamed, neither be thou confounded. 
 0, Jerusalem, why art thou cast down ? why art 
 thou disquieted ? In thee the poor of my people 
 shall take refuge, and the city shall be built on 
 her own heap. Come, my beloved, to meet the 
 bride. 
 
 "They who spoil thee shall become a spoil; 
 and they that swallow thee up shall be removed 
 far away; thy God will rejoice in thee, as the 
 bridegroom rejoiceth in the bride. Come, my be- 
 loved, to meet the bride. 
 
 " On the right and on- the left wilt thou be ex- 
 tended, and the Eternal wilt thou revere ; through 
 the means of a man, the descendant of Pharez, 
 will we rejoice, and be glad. Come, my beloved, 
 to meet the bride. 
 
 "0, come in peace, thou crown of thy husband; 
 also with joy and mirth, in the midst of the faith- 
 ful and beloved people. Enter, 0, bride ! Enter, 
 0, bride ! Come my beloved, to meet the bride." 
 
 Then came on the interesting ceremony of pre- 
 senting the bride with a marriage gift by each of 
 the family and guests. Mr. Cohen gave first — a 
 copy of every one of the books used in the Jewish 
 services, together with the most important of their 
 standard theological works ; quite a large library 
 — and, as he laid them before her, he blessed
 
 BEIDAL MOTTOES. 191 
 
 her. Each gift is accompanied by a motto suit- 
 able to the time. Some of the mottoes presented 
 to Miss Aben Baruch, we shall write here ; and, 
 if any of our fair young friends are verging on 
 that important period of their life to which they 
 are especially applicable, they may find that se- 
 Yeral of them will repay the trouble of a little 
 serious thought. 
 
 Mr. Cohen's motto was business-like and prac- 
 tical : 
 
 Lovers may live on very aerial food, 
 But husbands require something solid. 
 
 David's was a delicate tribute to his bride : 
 
 The great felicity of conjugal life consists in the re- 
 flection that we are beloved by one whose love we have 
 desen-ed, and that we are necessaey to his happiness. 
 
 Isaac's was very like himself: 
 
 What is a Young Lady? A thing to dance, sing, flirt, 
 play well on the piano, talk flippantly in poor English 
 and worse Italian, order the servants about, have her 
 own way in everything, dress tastefully, make a nice cup 
 of tea, and preside elegantly at the table. 
 
 "What is a Woman ? A being of intellect and feeling; 
 who, by the instincts of her natiu-e, is made the guardian 
 of peace, and love, and innocence ; the first who initiates 
 man into a knowledge and apprehension of something 
 above the sensual and selfish ; the banier between amity 
 and discord in social life ; the soother of anguish and 
 sorrow ; the fountain of gentleness and pity ; an un- 
 changing friend ; and the link of sphit beauty which 
 connects the natiures of earth with those of heaven.
 
 192 BlilDAL MOTTOES. 
 
 Adeline's was like herself — gentle and wo- 
 manly : 
 
 Woman should manage her sensihilities in compos- 
 ing the happiness of herself and all in connection with 
 her, as gardeners do their flowers in making a chap^et — 
 first select the choicest, and then dispose them in the 
 most proper place, where they will give a lustre to each 
 other ; each one reflecting a part of its colour and gloss 
 on the next, 
 
 Mary's was of the same high-souled character: 
 
 To create and preserve a happy home is the ultimate 
 result of woman's office, the end to which all her en- 
 terprise and labour tends, and of which the whole of her 
 desire prompts the execution. 
 
 Miss Hallevi's, written originally in French, 
 was translated by Adeline. It contains truth too 
 excellent to be slightly passed over : 
 
 Nothing in the character of woman is of more value 
 than the possession of a sweet temper, for a very large 
 proportion of her native virtues have their source in tliis. 
 Home can never be happy where it is wanting. It falls 
 on the heart of man like warm sunshine on the young 
 blossoms of spring. He is made loving and happy, 
 and the pains of life are forgotten. A good temper 
 diffuses a heaven over a whole family circle. It is 
 the smile of nature, and captivates more than outward 
 beauty. It is a thing which man can converse with, and 
 the language of which he can comprehend, and deeply 
 feel, and retain through life. With gentleness in him- 
 self, comfort in his house, and a sweet temper in his 
 wife, the earthly felicity of man is complete.
 
 BEEDAL MOTTOES. 193 
 
 Mr. Nathan's — a valued friend of Mr. Cohen's 
 family — was clear and pointed : 
 
 Pertinacity is one of the most disagreeable qualities 
 in human nature. An ounce of it in the maiden will 
 become a pound in the wife. 
 
 His brother's — though somewhat eccentric — 
 comes to us with the seal of truth attached to it : 
 
 It is never too late to repent, to do good, to get 
 married, to train children for God, nor to prepare for 
 heaven. 
 
 His sister's has the same seal : 
 
 Purity in the heart. 
 
 Intellect on the brow — 
 
 The sum of human happiness. 
 
 Miss Lowitz's will bear reviewing more than 
 once: 
 
 Sexual Distixctioxs. — Man is bold and daring; 
 woman timid and unassuming. Man has a stem and 
 confident heart ; woman a soft and gentle one. Man is 
 great in doing; woman in suffering. Man has judg- 
 ment; woman sensibility. Man has knowledge ; woman 
 taste. Man is a being of justice ; woman an angel of 
 mercy. Man's study is to prevent affliction ; woman's to 
 soothe and relieve it. 
 
 Miss Carolina Lowitz's is very good : 
 
 Love is the health of the soul — 
 Passion is its fever. 
 
 The following — by a young fi-iend of David — 
 we like much : 
 
 The Mother! 
 
 The first beloved — 
 
 The latest remembered.
 
 194 THE BRIDAL MOEN. 
 
 The next two may go together : 
 
 All Love ! — 
 
 All Faith ! — 
 
 All Happiness. 
 Love and smile — 
 And man is conquered. 
 
 The last we shall give is by Mr. Elihu. And 
 put into sense, and then into English, it contains 
 a sound maxim. 
 
 The mind — igspecially the infant mind — is one of 
 the most inscrutably important of the domestic duties. 
 Therefore it should be our constant study, miss, to 
 mildly and sweetly elicit all the various degrees of learn- 
 ing and genius, and talents, so to speak, from the affec- 
 tionate little a-b-c books up to the tip-top summit of 
 that igstrornary tree, the tree of knowledge, miss, in the 
 most loving and. consistent manner possible. 
 
 The next morning rose clear and cloudless, and 
 calm as at the dawn of the first sabbath. The 
 golden overarching sky looked down upon earth, 
 as though it longed to clasp it in an embrace of 
 unutterable love. And so thought Adeline, as 
 passing out of her chamber, she glided softly 
 down the staircase, and descended the steps into 
 the noble garden. The slightest breath that 
 crept among the trees was audible, and bore on 
 its wings the scent of fragrant flowers. Aftei 
 lingering awhile amidst the vine-wreathed bor- 
 ders, and the bright lilies, and the large trees of
 
 SHEMA OF THE ilOEXIXG. 195 
 
 damask-rose, she Trent on through the shadowy- 
 paths, until she reached a small conservatory that 
 stood in a sweetly secluded spot. Here she 
 sat down, completely enshrouded amongst green 
 leaves and pearly blossoms, and taking a book 
 of prayers, began to compose herself for reciting 
 the b^'l':^^_ V:2t, Hear, Israel, or She ma of 
 the morning. 
 
 But Isaac had seen her go into the garden, and 
 pass along the porch of trees which led to the 
 conservatoiy. And, as was to be supposed, he 
 followed her ; and perceiving that she had not 
 commenced the devotional exercise, opened the 
 door. 
 
 "I seem to intrude; will you mind?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly not. But I cannot attend to 
 you yet. Have you said the Shema ?" 
 
 "Dear no. Isn't it horrid, Adeline ? I do be- 
 lieve I'm going desperately wicked." 
 
 *' If it is so, I am glad you are able to see it. 
 That is a hopeful sign. But it is not so ; for I 
 happen to know that you are generally pretty 
 strict, sir. Yet if you mean to attend to your 
 duty this morning, it is indeed time. Our friends 
 will be coming soon." 
 
 " It is quite true ; may I join you ? " 
 
 "Nothing could give me more pleasure. It is 
 a very important time ; and I am glad to mingle 
 our prayers together. I should be yet more de- 
 lighted if Miss Aben Baruch were here too.
 
 196 HOPE ON. 
 
 ''And such another time, Adeline — beloved 
 Adeline," said Isaac, and there was a soft tremor 
 in his voice, " there vrill, in six little weeks, be 
 here again. Do not be angry." 
 
 And Adeline was not angry, as with consum- 
 mate delicacy he pressed a kiss upon her blushing 
 cheek. Of course, in a novel, we should be ex- 
 pected to say she was ; but then, in real life, well- 
 regulated people do not display any such false 
 sensibility. Adeline had long known that Isaac' 
 loved her with all the profound, unwavering affec- 
 tion of which a perfect man' s heart is capable. And 
 the love which she returned him was too pure, and 
 her nature too noble, to allow her to profess any 
 indifference to whatever she was assured would 
 be an addition to his happiness. She repaid his 
 chaste embrace with a smile that was heightened 
 in beauty by her changeful cheek; and accom- 
 panied by a look from the lucid depths of her 
 large blue eyes, such as only a woman can look, 
 and with the power of which to fascinate hearts 
 none were more eminently endowed than Adeline. 
 
 The Shema concluded, they both walked into 
 the house. 
 
 '< Yery fine, Mary ! you expect a day's enjoy- 
 ment, no doubt ? " said Isaac to his charming sister, 
 as she tripped gracefully into the room where he 
 Bat, and courtesied before him to display the fairy- 
 like dress of pink gauze which floated airily 
 around her elegant person.
 
 WHICH IS BEST? 197 
 
 ''Before I answer that question, sir, I should 
 like to hear why you think so," replied the 
 damsel. 
 
 "By that stream of brilliant eloquence now 
 pouring out of those tell-tale eyes which it is your 
 privilege to own, miladi," answered her brother. 
 " Have a care, oh ! blue-eyed maiden, how you 
 use your ocular powers. Don't be such a sweet 
 innocent as to suppose that we of the rugged sex 
 cannot read the language of the eyes — that most 
 cultivated speech of all speeches, and which has 
 flourished since Adam and his gentle wife Eve 
 first mingled their loving looks together." 
 
 "Enjoy myself? well, let me think. "Why, 
 certainly — what should prevent ? I think I ought 
 to. Come, now, do you like me ?" and she turned 
 with a gay smile to a full-length mirror that re- 
 vealed her graceful form and her expressive 
 countenance lit up with a world of living delight. 
 
 " You are got up with some measure of taste, 
 at any rate," replied Isaac, with a sort of half- 
 thoughtful smile, that was peculiar to himself, 
 when he wished to throw a damper upon her. 
 " But I think, sweet sister, I like you quite as 
 well when you are sitting placidly down to bake 
 cakes and your face covered with smuts," he pur- 
 sued, taking up her prettily arranged head be- 
 tween his hands and laying a double kiss upon 
 her lips, as the good people did in days of yore. 
 
 " Yes, sir, but you are spoiling my hair and 
 
 s2
 
 198 ISAAC IN TEOUBLE. 
 
 hurting my dress," cried Mary, struggling to 
 release herself, " and you know I can't have you 
 do tiiat. Come, Isaac, this minute! save up the 
 displays of your affection till you see me quietly 
 stirring pancakes or reading the Talmud. I am 
 fully aware of my matchless attractions ; but 
 fraternal love and admiration of them is quite out 
 of place at these seasons, when things will not 
 permit me to receive them graciously. Isn't this 
 the fifty- second time I have told you that there 
 are occasions when young ladies are only to look 
 at, not to touch? Just as I allow myself to 
 believe that after a half-hour's advancing and 
 retreating before my toilette glass, I have success- 
 fully laid on the last finishing touches, you always 
 find a sudden inspiration of the * feeling beautiful 
 and infinite ' that destroys half my labour. Be 
 more recollected in future. I haven't time to 
 extend this lecture to a more judicious length. 
 The Doctor's carriage has just come ; and we must 
 go to see him. So, sir, take up your book and 
 follow sail." 
 
 The queenly scold was sweeping out of the 
 room ; but seeing that Isaac followed, she stopped, 
 and walked away leaning upon his arm. 
 
 During this little episode between Mary and 
 her brother, Adeline had retired to assist in the 
 last duties of Miss Aben Baruch's marriage toilette. 
 First, her long hair was cut off : for, according to 
 Jewish custom, the wife is not allowed to wear
 
 THE BllIDAL DEESS. 199 
 
 her own hair. It is j)erhaps striking that the 
 women feel no regret at losing this becoming 
 adornment, and which — so say the Macassar ad- 
 vertisements — is "a woman's pride." Habit seems 
 completely to reconcile them to the spoliation. 
 "Next her eyebrows and eyelashes were painted, 
 and her nails dyed with henna. Then the bridal 
 di'ess was put on. It was made of silk, with 
 satin stripes, and profusely encrusted with jewel- 
 lery ; and the scarf, head-dress, and veil achieved 
 the toilette. 
 
 Then she was conducted to the room in which 
 the entertainment of the preceding days had been 
 held. At the upper end was a raised dais, with a 
 chair of state, in which she was placed to sit. A 
 maiden was stationed on each side — both holding 
 in the right hand a long wax candle. 
 
 The friends and relatives of the bride and bride- 
 groom were all assembled, and the important 
 moment which was to indissolubly unite two 
 spirits amidst the duties and son'ows of life was 
 near. At exactly nine o'clock, Dr. Aben Baruch 
 entered the room, followed by Mr. Cohen, Isaac, 
 Adeline, Mary, and the bridegroom. The bride 
 pushed aside her veil ; her father kissed her ; and 
 pronounced over her, for the last time with the 
 sole and supreme authority of a parent, the in- 
 junction to faithfully sen-e the God of her fathers, 
 and the blessing. Then the ceremony began. 
 Eabbi Aben Baruch placed himself in fi^ont of his
 
 200 THE MARRIAGE. 
 
 daughter, and Mr. Cohen immediately led David 
 to his right hand, the friends present forming a 
 circle around them. The religious, moral, and 
 social duties to be observed by the husband and 
 wife were read aloud in Hebrew. The greater 
 portion of the service is chanted — every one 
 taking part in it. A large gold ring was then 
 given, which the rabbi placed upon the forefinger 
 of the bride's right hand. This was followed by 
 the prayers ; all present joining in the responses. 
 On the conclusion of that part of the ceremony, 
 Dr. Aben Barucli placed the right hand of the 
 bride in the right hand of the bridegroom, and 
 repeated over them the marital benediction. He 
 then gave the bride a piece of sugar, and taking 
 a glass, filled with water, broke it over her head. 
 The sugar is intended as a type of the solace and 
 support which love is amidst the trials of earth, 
 the water of its purity, the broken glass of the 
 irrevocable nature of the union so solemnly made. 
 The scene seemed to awaken memories — memo- 
 ries lonesome and painful — in the bosoms of some 
 of the women present. Was it in one a remem- 
 brance surpassingljr sweet at the moment over all 
 others — of a thousand nameless gi-aces which had 
 now ceased to exist, each of them inspiring the 
 spirit with the delight of its own mournfulness — 
 of a succession of vivid emotions mingled with 
 "thoughts that breathe and words that burn," 
 as when love and poetry happily meet together,
 
 rOEE-SHADOWIXGS. 201 
 
 floyring softly and hannoniously from lips that 
 " murmured near the living brooks a music sweeter 
 than their own?" Had some seraph child, fading 
 away in the cold embrace of untimely death, 
 soared through the immense abyss on steady wing, 
 and attained the crown worn by the triumphant 
 spirits in those abodes of perfect felicity, where 
 the centuries of our noisy earth seem nothings in 
 the eternal silence? — oh! lofty thoughts! — she 
 looks, and her heart is in that heaven — but it 
 fades, and the grassy hillock that mai'ks its rest- 
 ing-place — the last of earth — ^by the working of 
 some secret power, far buried within the heart's 
 deep infinite, suddenly rises in palpable representa- 
 tion to imagination's eye, covered vrith the mellow 
 suuset, there so often seen, glancing in quivering 
 flashes through the leaves of monotonous yews 
 and hoary eld, and brightening with stripes of 
 burnished gold the oblivion of the wavering burial- 
 place — and instantly feelings " sweet but mourn- 
 ful to the soul " as the thoughts had being and 
 breathed themselves forth with the accordant 
 prayer that, long after the mourned and mourner 
 are forgotten, will continue to mingle its elegiac 
 music with the feelings of stored hearts — for 
 when will earth be unvisited by such sorrow ? — 
 in the same chant, " most musical, most melan- 
 choly," surcharged throughout mth one sigh-like 
 note, elevated or depressed in modulation only as 
 each singer has her soul touched or her heart
 
 202 FOEE-SHADOWINGS. 
 
 saddened by a fainter or a deeper shade of sorrow 
 or of grief — until, it may be, that eternal Hope 
 lifts up her voice, so that, like the echo of the 
 afar-off forest hymn, it appears to reach the sky, 
 and tells, in tones that seem heralds of the im- 
 mortal melodies, the spirit-music calm and clear 
 of angel voices, that God is heaven and heaven is 
 God — and therefore to live is love. And yonder is 
 another — her princely head prostrate with all its 
 plumes, heroic yet with dying falls, for the singer 
 weeps ! Haply she is thinking of the days of 
 light and joy when her head so gently rested on 
 her young lord's bosom — that hour of purest 
 bliss — tranquil as the waveless summer lake when 
 its mirrored crystal mingles with the heaven's 
 calm ether; or the peaceful summit of the far 
 flushing cloud, soft sleeping in the glory of the 
 sunshine on the blue serene of the meridian sky, 
 when there is not a breath in heaven — yet in its 
 deep hush, fraught with strong and passionate 
 affection — strong and passionate as the heart's 
 fullest worship could inspire — oh, cruel husband! 
 how much more loved than lovely ! how couldst 
 thou find a heart so irrecoverably lost to goodness, 
 as to quit — desert — thine adoring wife, who, if 
 it could have added to thy happiness, would, like 
 the turtle-dove in the dim and lonely forest- tree, 
 glad only in the present, have bowed her noble 
 head and died, without one sign given to the 
 fading brightness of heaven and beauty of earth
 
 BITTEEXESS OF EABBiyiSM. 203 
 
 — nothing except one last long loving sigh, 
 breathed from the immortal depths within her 
 soul — and breathed for thee — as her spirit 
 spread wing for its eternal flight, and her gentle 
 form fell lifeless on thy bosom. Peace to ye, 
 grieved ones ! and may your trust breathed forth 
 with the low mourning notes of Judea Capta's 
 praj-er be realised, and ere the sun measures 
 other summers more, your feet, early sandaled 
 with immortality, shall wander in company with 
 holy angels and blessed spirits, on the pellucid 
 crystal which surrounds the fountains of eternal 
 life. 
 
 And it was so. One young mother had just 
 stooped over the unconscious bier of her first-born. 
 Another had been separated from her husband, 
 because he was a fiery Talmudist, and she a simple 
 student of the Bible. Another — yon beautiful 
 pensive-looking woman ; so exquisitely lovely in 
 her moumtulness — had just before been, at twenty 
 years of age, divorced from her husband, after 
 having been married to hiir. rather more than two 
 years, because in that time she had failed of pre- 
 senting him with an infant. From her disap- 
 pointed, defrauded, and despairing heart ascended 
 the groan-like prayer, which is the language of 
 the soul's deep yearnings towards the bright and 
 lovely, that the young and blushing bride before 
 them might receive a happier fate !
 
 204 THE BALL-KOOM, 
 
 CHAPTEE Xy. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 " Jupiter ! how weary axe my spirits." 
 
 Shakspere. 
 
 A PEW evenings later, and that appointed for the 
 ball. The room was superbly lit up with that 
 most chaste and brilliant of artificial lights, the 
 wax candle, suspended in magnificent lustres. 
 There were in truth grandeur, profusion, and 
 style sufficient in the entertainments of that even- 
 ing. Both eye and ear were ravished by the 
 luxurious pleasures collected around them. All 
 useless furniture had been removed. Immense 
 mirrors hung around the room, reflecting the 
 beauty that stood or passed before them. Along 
 the sides, and at each of the corners, were large 
 vases filled with exotic plants, which scattered 
 far and wide a delicious perfume. At intervals 
 clusters of candles glistened in soft radiance on 
 snowy marble stands. Elegance and splendour 
 seemed to outvie each other in the disposition of 
 everything. The first step into the room was 
 like entering an ideal world. The most stoical
 
 WALTZING. 205 
 
 philosophy was for a time unable to resist the 
 power of its enchantment; and acknowledged, 
 against its will, the tremendous sovereignty of 
 Mammon. 
 
 The room was filled with company ; and sundry 
 preliminary flourishes, in the form of agonising 
 shrieks from the fiddles and the great bassoon 
 in the orchestra, announced that the proceedings 
 were about to commence. The leader started 
 up, twiddled his fingers about his nose with great 
 glee and importance, hit a couple of smart cracks 
 on the edge of his music stand, and the band 
 struck up a selection from Yerdi. The floor is 
 covered with dancers, all ready for action. That 
 instant the exhilarating march changes to a spi- 
 rited waltz, and away go the whirling couples, 
 gyrating like mad. One pair after another comes 
 before you, and is immediately lost in the bewil- 
 dering mazes of the dance. You see a face that 
 you know — you determine to watch it — impos- 
 sible. In a moment it vanishes amongst fifty 
 others ; it is lost in a maelstrom of faces. The 
 men flag ; the women appear so heated, that to 
 the calm bystander the impression of faintness 
 becomes painful. They will cease directly, and 
 give themselves time to recover. But no — a fresh 
 impulse seizes on both musicians and couples; 
 the leader's stick flourishes with redoubled ra- 
 pidity — the movement becomes more furious — the 
 music, itself gone mad, has maddened the dan- 
 
 T
 
 206 Adeline's calm dignity. 
 
 cers; the men augment their speed, and the 
 women, with dress flying abroad, and ringlets 
 given to the wind, are whirled away, away ; we 
 shut our eyes and draw back, quite dizzy from 
 the scene. 
 
 David Cohen and his young wife threw them- 
 selves amongst the flushed multitude. But Ade- 
 line — where is she ? Seated at the upper end of 
 the saloon, under the orchestra; the only part 
 where there is any reasonable share of elbow- 
 room. Often during the evening, when for a 
 moment the pulsations of the great artery had 
 ceased, she had met the enraptured gaze of the 
 gay cavalier, and heard the hushed exclamation 
 of applause. But Adeline felt no answering throb 
 within her placid breast. It was rather strange, 
 perhaps, thas she should not ; for the triumph of 
 conscious power is one of the strongest emotions 
 that can agitate the heart of woman. But amidst 
 the gidd}^ fluster her spirit maintained the same 
 clear tranquillity which always distinguished it 
 — a tranquillity as free from stagnation and insen- 
 sibility on the one hand, as from hurry and ex- 
 citement on the other. You saw at once that 
 those deep reflective eyes, from which she looked 
 out with such calm and observant inquiry, were 
 not to be imposed upon by gauds and glitter; 
 that she perfectlj'- understood the true meaning 
 of the scene before her. Her disposition to pro- 
 found thoughtfulness fulfilled the office of expe-
 
 Adeline's nrpiLEssioxs. 207 
 
 rience. To her it was a phenomenon which would 
 commence a new moral epoch — a shadow on the 
 soul's dial, moving, though too slowly to be no- 
 ticed by the superficial and unheeding. To every 
 solicitation that she would join in the dance, she 
 made but one answer — that while exceedingly 
 obliged by the attentions thus shown her, she had 
 no desire for it, and would greatly prefer to remain 
 a spectator. She was chiefly interested in specu- 
 lating on the characters of the persons who came 
 near her, as illustrated in their manners, dresses, 
 and physiognomies. At a little distance from her 
 stood a lady of about forty years of age, who 
 evidently plumed herself much upon her dignity. 
 She was exceedingly fastidious and select in her 
 introductions, and all her movements, and even 
 the tones of her voice, were modulated by the 
 cold rules of etiquette. Yet Adeline thought she 
 could discover a true woman's heart beating be- 
 neath that formidable exterior of silk and cere- 
 mony. There was another that Adeline noticed, 
 who, if any one crossed her in her efi'orts to elbow 
 her way from one part of the crowded room to 
 another, would let her eyes fall upon them with 
 the petrifying glare of a Medusa, and then turn 
 them elsewhere to enact the rolling vritchery and 
 the fascinating languishment of flirtation. One, 
 too, she observed with a face redolent of light and 
 pleasant scandal; she was talking to another, 
 whose malicious light-heartedness could not be
 
 208 EYES, 
 
 mistaken. By the rapid twinkle of her eyes, and 
 the caustic pleasantry of her countenance, it was 
 plainly exhibited that the repartees passing be- 
 tween them were such as to make the ears of the 
 absent tingle. There were several exquisites, too 
 — exquisites just ^' come out." Adeline noticed 
 the elevated smile that curled their lips, as they 
 moved about with that vulgar advertised modesty 
 which seeks notice, while it professes a supreme 
 and haughty indifference. One amongst them 
 Adeline might easily have supposed the whole 
 place belonged to, if she had not known the con- 
 trary — he strutted up and down so, gazing about 
 on everything and everybody with an air of such 
 sublime satisfaction, and neck straight and erect 
 like a superannuated stork, walking about with 
 his tail between his legs. 
 
 And then the eyes. Adeline looked upon them 
 till her conception grew confused, and they indo- 
 lently floated through her imagination in pictu- 
 resque disorder, like a dream on the shell- wreathed 
 shore of the sunny sails of long-absent ships seen 
 coming homewards on the main. They conveyed 
 so many different kinds of expression. Why 
 doesn't somebody write an essay upon eyes ? 
 Even a collection of passages, describing their 
 effect, from those of Eve, as painted by Milton, 
 in " Paradise Lost," down to the large, lovely, 
 lamping orbs of the Marchioness of Abercorn, 
 would be an intensely interesting study. The
 
 A>fD A STUDY rP02f THEM. 209 
 
 expression of Europa's eyes must have been tre- 
 mendous ; for, as the story is given us by Lucian, 
 her beauty tempted Jupiter to steal her; and, 
 judging by the fine ado made over her, he was no 
 little proud of his theft. He swam with her from 
 Phoenicia to Crete, making the sea calm, the winds 
 hushed. Neptune and Amphitrite rode before 
 them in their best chariot, to clear the road and 
 level any refractory waves. The Tritons, each 
 one holding a torch, danced about them ; the 
 Syrens, sailing on dolphins' backs, sung to them 
 in harmonious measure ; and Yenus herself came 
 behind them in a sea-shell, strewing roses and 
 flowers on their heads. And who will do justice 
 to Psyche ? Who captivated Cupid, enlisted the 
 favour of half the gods — aU it may be, for all of 
 them came to her wedding ; Yulcan cooked up the 
 feast ; Ganymede served the nectar ; Apollo strung 
 his harp ; the Xuses sang ; and Yenus tripped 
 about to her sweet heart's content. Petronius — 
 who is a great authority in these delicate inqui- 
 ries — gives to the eyes the appellation oifacetos : 
 and describes the Loves, and Pleasure, too, living 
 in the midst. Musaeus, in the story of ''Hero 
 and Leander," imparts a wondrous brilliancy to 
 the eyes of the lady. 
 
 Ot C£ TraXatoi 
 TpELC -^apiTag xpevaavro 7re(f)v\evai elg ce rig ' llpovg 
 *0(l>da\fiog yeXoojv enaroy yapiTEffOL redi^XsL. 
 
 If the reader is at aU interested in such contem- 
 
 T 2
 
 210 THOUGHTS UPON BEARDS. 
 
 plations, we would invite his special attention to 
 the word rfdrfkei. 
 
 And Adeline's observation was also attracted by- 
 several gigantic specimens of the ancient Jewish 
 beard. IS^ot a beard gracefully trimmed and pol- 
 larded till it was nothing but a mere luxuriance, 
 but thoroughly patriarchal ones of wondrous 
 dimensions. There was no end to them — they 
 were faces that might have walked out of Titian's 
 canvas. Adeline loved everything that belonged 
 to ancient Judaism ; and she would have been quite 
 contented that every Jew should wear his beard ; 
 but these — it was too much — she would have 
 preferred them in the canvas. They seemed to 
 her a little too sublime for so common an occasion. 
 
 The course of her meditation was stopped by a 
 voice so well-beloved, close to her ear. It was 
 Isaac's. 
 
 ''I am glad, dear Adeline," said he, clasping 
 her hand warmly, "to have finished my work at 
 last. And after all, in adding those lights and 
 vases at the end, it seems to me we have not much 
 improved the general effect. If you turn your eye 
 full in that direction, don't you become impressed 
 by a disagreeable glare ?" 
 
 " If you looked on them only, perhaps so. Yet 
 I think them quite necessary. They certainly 
 harmonise well with the whole ; they supply the 
 something that was wanting." 
 
 ''I would rely upon your taste in a thing of a
 
 man's capacity foe happiness. 211 
 
 thousand times the value ; the excellence of your 
 decisions is established. "VVe look magnificent to- 
 night." 
 
 '' Oh, certainly." 
 
 " To look around upon all this life and gaiety, 
 one would think that there can be no such thing 
 as unhappiness. Ours is a beautiful life, if we 
 will but make it so. And those men are won- 
 drously ungrateful, who represent the world as 
 simply a scene of melancholy, desolation, and 
 woe. " 
 
 " In that I entirely agree with you. I have 
 Tery high views of the happiness which might be 
 attained by a proper exercise of our intellectual 
 powers, and conferring our deep and solemn afiec- 
 tions upon pure objects. If mankind would only 
 begin to love each other — to feel nothing else but 
 love — and let no grosser emotion intercept it, 
 what delightful consequences we should soon wit- 
 ness. Eut to talk of this in the present condition 
 of mankind is valueless. For selfishness must 
 first be eradicated. And this can only be when 
 every human being has received the impress of the 
 Divine Mind — for God is love, and love is God." 
 
 '' The world is said to be divided into two 
 classes," said Isaac ; " those who believe aU men to 
 be honest until they are proved to be false ; and 
 those who believe aU men false until they are 
 proved to be honest." 
 
 " There can be no doubt which mode of belief
 
 212 A ball-eoom's pniLOsorHY. 
 
 is the right one," said Adeline ; " and I devoutly 
 hope we shall ever preserve the lucid transparency 
 of a pure heart, which, having no evil intentions 
 and feelings in itself, cannot imagine them in 
 others." 
 
 *' A ball-room is a remarkable phenomenon in 
 some of its aspects ; though a selected pleasure of 
 all who aspire to a position in the world pre-emi- 
 nently called ' ton' My great delight is to con- 
 template it from such an elevation as this — the 
 mysterious evolutions of the throng put me so in 
 mind of those heavings and movings one sees in a 
 cheese, when in what some call 'x3rime condition,' 
 but which all people of good sense call rotten." 
 
 "Well, do not let us quarrel with it either," 
 replied Adeline. " An ingenious mind may per- 
 haps discover a profound philosophy in it all. It 
 may be a necessary safety-valve by which the 
 mere rage of movement can escape, and thus pre- 
 serve the balance of that quiet deportment which 
 is so essential in cultivated life. I myself take no 
 pleasure in the scene. But there are numbers 
 who do, and a great one. Yery well ; if dancing 
 makes them happy, let them dance. I think the 
 mode of recreation which you and I prefer by 
 far the best, because in it we obtain intellectual 
 as well as physical pleasure. But I very much 
 dislike that vulgar stoicism in philosophy, and that 
 splenetic misanthropy in religion, which, without 
 any knowledge of the individual characters of
 
 GOD IS LOVE LIFE IS BEAUTY. 213 
 
 those engaged, would treat the whole with a bitter, 
 scornful sneer. This is not the way of God, nor 
 of the Bible; and I believe He must be very 
 angry with those who act it. Let our labour be, 
 first to gain the deepest love towards ourselves, 
 and then, in a spirit of love, try to turn the minds 
 of those who compose our circle, habitually to 
 studies that are great refined and pure — the 
 loveliness of virtue, the majesty of truth, the 
 beauty of holiness — and all these things, as far 
 as mistake is connected with them, will peaceably 
 adjust themselves. There will then be no diffi- 
 culty in discovering true and eternal sources of 
 happiness. Every day in our career of bright 
 rejoicing life will open to us fresh springs of de- 
 light in our intimate and filial communion ^Wth 
 Him who being nothing but love Himself, feels 
 nothing but love for His creatures, while He sees 
 them humbly striving to know Him, and to per- 
 form His will; we shall feel that to rejoice always 
 is the law of Him who has filled earth and sky 
 with gladness, so that wherever we turn our 
 eyes, they are met by the avijpidnop yeXaajjia of 
 nature." 
 
 " Excellent truths, eloquently spoken. I have 
 been watching that pale, intellectual girl, now 
 stretched fainting on the lounge yonder. The 
 mighty-looking man who stands by her side 
 walked up, looking cold and frosty as an iceberg, 
 newly imported from the pole, bowed himself
 
 214 lSiU.c's OPINION OF TIGHT-LACING. 
 
 into her notice, and led lier out to dance. And, 
 now observe ; instead of the quiet, graceful being 
 reposing in a flower-soft cahn, as though wrought 
 by Praxiteles in marble, there is a flushed and 
 breathless young creature, almost gasjjing for 
 life from tight-lacing, weariness, and excitement. 
 "What is it, Adeline, can possess young ladies, that 
 they crucify themselves by such slow lingering 
 means as those modern inventions of steel and 
 whalebone ? Some judicious friend should per- 
 suade them to believe the truth, that no man with 
 the three grains of judgment necessary to make 
 him worth having for a husband, likes a small 
 waist in his wife ; he is afraid of it, for he knows 
 it is unnatural, and he cannot expect her to be 
 healthy; therefore his domestic joys will be 
 spoiled, because it is impossible he could accept 
 happiness, while the being who is dearest to him 
 is incapable of sympathising with it." 
 
 A hand unceremoniously laid on Isaac's arm, 
 stopped the conversation, and at the same time his 
 right hand was grasped as if by a vice. 
 
 '* Adolphus !" gasped Isaac, as he turned round 
 to the new-comer. 
 
 "Indeed it is. How are you, my friend ?" 
 
 *' Perfectly well. And you ?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " Have you seen father — David — Mary?" 
 
 "Kot yet. I inquired for you first ; and your 
 Cerberus was going to call you. But I had no
 
 XOT SAD TVTTHOrr CAUSE. 215 
 
 patience to waste over such shuffling: so I ex- 
 pressed a desire to go on the voyage of discoveiy 
 for myself. He thought you were in the refresh- 
 ment-room. I elbowed from room to room, until 
 to my horror I found myself in one that had all 
 the appointments of a lady's drawing-room. 
 However, to cut short, I at last arrived here in 
 safety. You wonder why I came earlier than 
 you expected :" 
 
 "I wished to ask the question." 
 
 *' Well, I've come to get mamed." 
 
 " An excellent reason, certainly. Couldn't you 
 manage it in India?" 
 
 " Xot to my satisfaction. And there was no 
 policy in waiting to be miserable." 
 
 "A yoimg man in an elegant position, and 
 miserable because he couldn't get a wife, might, I 
 should think, soon make a thumping fortune by 
 going roimd the country in a caravan, and ex- 
 hibiting himself as the Unfortunate Youth." 
 
 '' I should be glad, Isaac, to leave here now. 
 This heat is too oppressive," said Adeline. 
 
 " I observed that a price is paid for admission. 
 What means it :" asked St. Maur. 
 
 '' That the baU is for the benefit of our poor 
 people in Poland," replied Isaac. 
 
 " This sort of charity is just like Judaism." 
 
 " And Christianity, too," suggested Isaac. 
 
 " Exactly. You get up a ball and make your- 
 self mad with enjoyment, out of simple benevo-
 
 216 LOLLIA PAtTLINA. 
 
 lence. There's something grand in the invention 
 — dancing out of pure sympathy with sorrow, 
 misfortune, and death. The arrangements, how- 
 ever, are marked by superb design and elegant 
 taste ; under whose presiding genius were they 
 made?" 
 
 ''Miss Steinberg's, assisted by Mary." 
 
 " The balls don't look half so gay as they used 
 to, I think. In India they sometimes cany them 
 out on a fine scale. A little before I left, I at- 
 tended one at which a live governor and his wife 
 were present. The lady wore eleven thousand 
 pounds' worth of jewellery — so they said." 
 
 " Her appearance was sufficient to cast a glow 
 over the whole company, I should think. But read 
 Pliny's account of the embellishment of LoUia 
 Paulina : * Smaragdis margaritisque opertam, al- 
 terno textu fulgentibus toto capite crinibus, 
 spiris, auribus, collo, manibus, digitisque.' " 
 
 ''You have some odd people here. "Who is 
 that with the copper-face yonder ? He is posi- 
 tively a rara avis^ 
 
 "None of us know much of him. He is a 
 Moorish Jew ; and is reputed to possess enormous 
 wealth." 
 
 "A Jew ! is he ? I'm ashamed of him, then. 
 I haven't often stumbled over a more unlucky 
 phiz. Gracious ! there's a spectacle," he pursued 
 as the Moor exhibited his molars in a free-and- 
 easy grin. "You're too late. He has closed the
 
 BLACZXESS A^^) BEIGHT^^:ss. 217 
 
 doors. And I do declare he's got the assurance 
 to offer the loan of his blackness to that pale 
 young person opposite. And she accepts — bless 
 her taste ! Smothering is too good for her — she 
 deserves doing to death in a bag of soot." 
 
 "!Now, we must introduce you to father, Mr. 
 St. Maur; so come." And making their way 
 through the crowds as gently as they could, they 
 passed out of the saloon.
 
 218 A EESOLVE FULFILLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 MR. COHEN'S PRIVATE SYNAGOGUE. ITS rURKITURE, 
 DECORATION, AND DEDICATION. AND A FEAV OTHER 
 MATTERS. 
 
 "Beautiful art! my worship is for thee — 
 The heart's entire devotion. When I look 
 Upon thy radiant wonders, every pulse 
 Is thrill'd as in the presence of divinity! 
 Pictures, hright pictures, oh ! they are to me 
 A world for mind to revel in. I love 
 To give a history to every face, to think — 
 As I thought with the painter — as I knew 
 AVhat his high communing had been." 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
 For a long time Mr. Cohen had been determined 
 that, like many others amongst his brethren, he 
 would have a small synagogue attached to his 
 house. Yet in all this long time he had never 
 really had it built. At last he had begun it in 
 earnest ; and in the month Mson, of the year of 
 which we have been writing, it was finished ; and 
 on the first of Ayier it was to be dedicated as a 
 house of prayer.
 
 RELIGION AND BEAUTY. 2X9 
 
 Beautiful exceedingly are these little temples. 
 For ourselves — we never can think of them save 
 with feelings of deep delight. That caricatured 
 simplicity — that palpable, undisguised meanness — 
 which so frequently characterise the house of God 
 amongst Christians, and especially dissenting con- 
 gregations — as if, although nothing is too good 
 or too beautiful for their own house, an3i:liing is 
 good enough for His — this, we say, is not known 
 here. Elegance, grandeur, harmony, and chaste- 
 ness, mingling in a thousand forms of perfect 
 loveliness, mark the disposition of all within 
 them. And vases of flowers and blossoms are 
 often there — filling with lovely perfumes the soft 
 and solemn atmosphere of '' dim religious light." 
 
 Mr. Cohen's was sixteen cubits, or twenty- eight 
 feet long, and eight cubits broad. Each side of 
 it was a row of seventeen pillars, which — with 
 their capitals and their entablature lying across 
 them, carved in exquisite imitation of clusters of 
 grapes and pomegranates — were all of cedar. 
 These supported the ribbed roof — so chastely 
 decorated, and divided into compartments distinct 
 yet never separated from the whole — and with 
 the floor, the steps, and the sides, aU composed of 
 polished cedar. A carpet of goat skins, dyed a 
 brilliant crimson, covered the floor; and upon 
 this numerous costly divans of sky blue satin 
 damask were strewed. 
 
 A cornice of brass, adorned with carvings of
 
 220 ARK OF THE TESTIMONY. 
 
 the flowers, and leaves, and fruit of pomegranates, 
 stretched from pillar to pillar ; and from this were 
 suspended hangings of blue, and purple, and scarlet 
 Damascus silk, splendidly wrought with gold em- 
 broidery in various devices, as cherubim, &c. by 
 the hands of Adeline and Mary. At a distance 
 of three cubits from the end, a curtain of the same 
 material was drawn across the room. Behind this 
 was the ark. 
 
 The ark was made of cedar. It was a cubit- 
 and-a-half high, a cubit wide, and a cubit deep. 
 A pair of folding doors enclosed it ; and the whole 
 of the inside was inlaid with plates of pure gold. 
 Over it were two cherubim; the tips of their 
 wings touching each other. In this ark the 
 *' testimony" — the Old Testament in Hebrew 
 was deposited. 
 
 In the midst of the room was a large table, 
 covered with a luxurious drapery of lace, broca- 
 telle, and damask; which would almost stand alone, 
 from the stiffness produced by the gold and silver 
 thread woven through it in clusters of flowers and 
 leaves. A golden candlestick — which for delicacy 
 of workmanship and elegance of design, seemed 
 as if it might have come from fairy- land — occu- 
 pied the centre. Gleaming amidst the burnished 
 leaves and branches, were seven lamps, each 
 tipped with its steady, unwavering, little globe 
 of light, kept constantly burning. It was a bril- 
 liant and mystical ornament, a loveliness placed
 
 THE SYNAGOGUE FmNITTEE. 221 
 
 there for its own sake — not to give light, but to he 
 light. Like the deep still lake sleeping in the 
 tranquil glory of the moonbeams, or the wooing 
 brightness of the stars ; or the crystal waters 
 rising and falling in the fountain, the ordinary 
 purposes of utility were forgotten — enough that 
 it was a feeling of admiration, that it was beau- 
 tiftd. 
 
 On the same table were also two basons; the 
 one used to hold the blood of the Passover, the 
 other that of the sacrifices on the Great Day of 
 Atonement ; and several vases, spoons, and dishes, 
 all made of pure beaten gold, and used in the 
 various services. Each of the basons weighed 
 nearly one-third of a maneh. * 
 
 A smaller table stood behind it. On this the 
 sacred books were arranged. And in the middle 
 of it there was a large silver dish, heavily laden 
 with grapes, and other fruits, all the growth of 
 the beloved land of Judea. Any person who en- 
 tered the synagogue took freely of these fruits, if 
 he chose ; and when the supply in the dish be- 
 came scanted, it was refilled. 
 
 A large silver laver, suiTOunded with lotus- 
 cups, occupied the space beyond the larger table. 
 This laver was filled with water of Lebanon, f 
 
 * A maneh, or CO shekels, is 2 lbs. 3 oz. 6 dwts. 16 grs. 
 Troy. 
 
 + This perfume, called by way of eminence water of 
 Lebanon, is indeed a most delicious one. In vain should 
 
 T72
 
 222 ME. Cohen's libeart. 
 
 which cast around and about a most delicate 
 and lovely perfume — that winged the imagination 
 far far away amongst the flower-groves, and 
 spice-woods, and starry-winged birds of Canaan's 
 bright land. This was used for the various pur- 
 poses of ablution. 
 
 Mr. Cohen allowed no distinctive places to be 
 set apart for the men and the women. He hated 
 it. They mingled in their worship indiscrimi- 
 nately together. 
 
 Joining with this sanctuary there was another 
 small room, in which the ecclesiastical robes were 
 kept; and whither the family adjourned to clothe 
 themselves in the Talith, and put on their Phy- 
 lacteries. It was, in fact, famished with books, 
 and altogether fitted up as an elegant Hbrary. On 
 a stand at the end the robes were deposited. The 
 stand was covered with white watered silk; on 
 this the robes were laid ; and over all was thrown 
 a priceless lace spread of the same material as the 
 finest and most expensive capes are made. The 
 window curtains were of lace and watered silk 
 looped back with bright blue cords and tassels, and 
 orange flowers. A luxurious brocatelle lounge was 
 placed for the family to occupy whilst reading. 
 Over it was a statuette standing on the tip of one 
 foot with outspread wings, and holding in one 
 
 we search amongst the dealers in modern essences for 
 anything to equal it. It is composed of myrrh, spike- 
 nard, calamus, cinnamon, aloes, and the chief spices.
 
 DEDICATION OF THE SYXAGOGUE. 223 
 
 hand a Tvreath of roses, from wMch depended a 
 curtain of gossamer lace that floated dreamily 
 around the seat, inviting to delicious contempla- 
 tion and repose. And the ceiling and the wall 
 were very beautiful. The ceiling was painted 
 with the most delicate flowers in their natural 
 colours ; and from it to the floor all round, the 
 wall was draped with fluted cerulean silk damask, 
 and adorned with large paintings in massive gilt 
 frames. 
 
 On the first of Ayier, Eabbi Aben Baruch came 
 to dedicate this beautiful little temple. At twelve 
 o'clock he went into the library to robe himself 
 for the ceremony. The colour of the robe was 
 blue. A girdle of blue, and purple, and scarlet 
 cord fastened it around his waist. On his head 
 he wore a mitre, upon the front of which was a 
 golden plate with the words Holes'ess to the 
 LoB,D inscribed upon it. The men put on the 
 Talith and Phylacteries, and the service began. 
 A great deal of it is chanted. As soon as it was 
 over, the rabbi and ^Mr. Cohen's family retired 
 from the synagogue to meet the rest of his friends 
 who were coming to join him in keeping the feast 
 of the dedication. For such a season is a time of 
 immense rejoicing, and every one enters into the 
 feeling with much gladness of heart. 
 
 "I think, AdeHne, father has fitted up this 
 place very tastefully, and made it quite one of the
 
 224 8IR JOSHUA EEYNOLDS' '' INFANT SAMUEL." 
 
 prettiest synagogues we have amongst ns," said 
 Isaac. '' Do you think so too ? " 
 
 '' I do/' replied Adeline. '' It is a work quite 
 after my own heart." 
 
 " Now indeed, then, I shall like it better than 
 before. Well, come into the next room, and let 
 us look at his pictures. I haven't seen them 
 since they were hung." 
 
 " The more I study this picture the greater is 
 my admiration of it," said Isaac, as he stood be- 
 fore a copy of Sir Joshua Reynolds' fine composi- 
 tion, "The Infant Samuel." "There is more of 
 the simple smiling beauty of nature, and less 
 affected sentiment, about it than can be found in 
 the works of many Italian masters with high- 
 sounding names — out with it, and say Raphael 
 at once. The feeling throughout is pure, elevated, 
 and sustained. It seems the perfect realization of 
 the subject. If you notice, when they are present, 
 you will see women look very lovingly on this 
 delightful picture; and what triumph would a 
 painter have more ? " 
 
 <' Very fine, sir ! " said Adeline smiling. " But 
 let me keep tranquil, for I want to understand it. 
 Indeed, I feel with you. Those eyes ! and lips ! 
 — and that face — so holy! — so ethereal! My 
 sense ..of delight is overpowering and I tremble. 
 It was a happy skill which prompted Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds to make all his portraits historic," she
 
 3IICHAEL A^•GELO S '^ LAST JUDGMENT, 225 
 
 said after a while. '' Tliis always confers the 
 charm of novelty, and gives dignity to feebleness, 
 I wish you to understand that reflection to be a 
 general one, and not at all intended to disparage 
 the great master. The organization of his mind 
 constituted him a painter ; and his peculiar genius 
 made him a painter of portraits. But let me say 
 that, while I admire his fine talents in the master 
 qualities of colouring and expression, I must 
 think him confused in his conception of story, 
 and elaborate without correctness in his outHne. 
 He had more ease but less elegance than Lely ; 
 more grandeur but less pathos than Vandyke; and 
 few native artists have exceeded him in rich va- 
 riety, profound feeling, and nobleness of design." 
 " And he had a very accurate practical know- 
 ledge of even the commonest details of nature," 
 said Isaac; "and hence he has so successfully 
 given that consistency of expression which pre- 
 vails throughout the muscles of the whole body, 
 and so perfectly depicted the nice changes produced 
 in them by the various emotions of the mind, 
 pain, grief, joy, &c. Yonder is a mighty picture 
 — a full-sized copy of the 'Last Judgment' of 
 Michael Angelo. It is indescribably, painfully 
 august. That, I say, is a sublime — a true sub- 
 lime — a new sublime — more sublime than the 
 Greek sublime, although so worshipped. And 
 now, as they say contrasts are best, look at this 
 Baroccio — 'Hagar and Ishmael.' It will touch
 
 226 LITEEART PAINTING. 
 
 you most exquisitely — it is a tearful picture. I 
 can never forget the effect it had when I first saw 
 it. My feeling was so intense that I was glad to 
 turn away from it to rest, and prepare my mind 
 for a new view. I sat down; determined to trans- 
 late my feelings into words, and send them to a 
 friend to whom I was writing. But in what a 
 wonderful way has the painter managed to create 
 out of a few colours and a pot of varnish. I laid 
 down my pen, leaned my head in my hand, and 
 thought and thought. All the figures arranged 
 themselves in perfect order, all the colours were 
 properly reflected in the little camera ohscura of 
 my brain. But it was useless. I could not have 
 described what I felt if pens were brushes, and 
 words were bladders of paint. Having attempted 
 which sentiment, let us turn to look at a bad 
 picture — a bad conception — badly drawn — in a 
 bad imitation of Michael Angelo — De Louther- 
 bourg's ' Deluge.' " 
 
 "You are severe, ' ' replied Adeline . ' ' Eemember 
 that to discover the faults in an effort of that kind 
 is exceedingly easy, while the subject is the most 
 difficult that can be undertaken. Few who have 
 attempted it have been anything like successful. 
 And indeed, the Deluge is just one of those pic- 
 tures respecting which the opinions even of 
 acknowledged judges must always disagree. But 
 come, what have we to do with a carping criti- 
 cism ? Let us cease, and search for beauties."
 
 CLAUDE. 227 
 
 ""Well, here's a landscape by Claude, that I 
 think you will like." 
 
 "It quite sustains me in my high opinion of 
 everything he did. Whenever I see the classic 
 ruin which he so loved to make into compositions 
 — the Corinthian pillars, with their entablature 
 lying across them, and the broken capitals and 
 friezes at their feet — it gives me deeper delight 
 than I can express. So exact, complete, and well- 
 defined, it seems to speak to me of an age of calm- 
 ness and order — when Time allowed himself to 
 stand still a little, and look placidly on what he 
 was about — and not as now, an age of wondi'ous 
 intellect and majestic conceptions, but incongruous 
 and disorderly withal ; as if Time, anxious to over- 
 take in the future what he has lost in the past, 
 was hiurying on in confused march, with leaders 
 and baggage, standard and the sutler's wagon, all 
 jumbled together. Claude's distances, too, are 
 matchless ; yet they are the smallest parts of his 
 pictures, always subordinate portions of a grand 
 whole. There is no mapping. The air comes to 
 us clear and pure over a country free as the savan- 
 nahs of the West. But see this nymph crowned 
 with flowers. And such a head; and such life- 
 breathing flowers. And she wears them so se- 
 renely — so profoundly. Oh, I like that !" ' 
 
 "One cannot pass from such works without 
 taking away a certain pleasing, dreamy feeling of 
 delight and musing," said Isaac. "I cannot
 
 228 GEEA.T AUTHOES AND GREAT PAINTERS. 
 
 think of any decoration to a man's study more 
 beautiful than a few landscapes. They seem 
 eternally suggesting new thoughts in your bosom, 
 as they do fresh and richer beauties from their 
 own. I think, too, I would prefer them all pretty, 
 cheerful, third-rate pictures. To gaze upon those 
 tremendous first- rates is often enough to put us 
 ordinary people in a fever. Some of them, too, 
 seem to have been drawn on the old supposition — 
 that no man could be a great author unless he 
 wrote a big book, nor a poet unless he wrote a 
 big poem ; and so they have painted us canvases 
 of overpowering dimensions. Confess now, if 
 you have not sometimes felt your head ache while 
 you were gazing on one of these vast performances; 
 and has it not made you long for the sight of a 
 couple of donkeys and a few yards of common ? 
 "With which, turn we to a brilliant composition 
 by Gainsborough. That river stealing through 
 the wood is a thing of life. It is a fine specimen 
 of the ideal pastoral — like Gaspar Poussin's." 
 
 *' That prince of painters of the poetic pastoral! 
 The author of ' The Picturesque ' strangely con- 
 cludes that spring is not a painter's season : Gas- 
 par Poussin is a living refutation of this assump- 
 tion. He loved the bright, transparent, thin 
 leaves of spring, bursting into the full leafage of 
 summer. He never indeed presents you with 
 positive spring; and happily not. There is too 
 much of the gloom of winter retained in it — too 
 much of the upspringing of the new from the
 
 GASPAH porssix. 229 
 
 grave of the old. It is the office of the true poet 
 and painter to produce something which, though 
 true to nature, is elevated and refined above it. 
 He has therefore painted a season quite Elysian 
 — one which conveys the idea of unfading bloom. 
 True poetry bursts in beauty over all his country ; 
 there is no 'false glitter.' Fresh spring its flowers 
 from the ' ds'dal earth ;' or seem — they are so very 
 beautiful — as if spring had indeed descended from 
 heaven, ' veiled in a shower of shadowing roses.' 
 I think all seasons suitable to the true painter — 
 ' Ut pictura poesis,' and ut poesis pictura. I have 
 an autumn scene of Gaspar Poussin's. It is 
 evening ; and the poetry, as it should be, is mel- 
 ancholy. Everything exactly accords with the 
 season and the hour — ^that when 
 
 ' Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,' 
 the birds will soon be asleep in their forest-tree, 
 *Aild leave the world to darkness and to me.' 
 
 The whole picture is very true and very simple ; 
 the colour brings to one's fancy that of objects in 
 dreams. There is the ' sear and yellow leaf; ' mix- 
 ing with the dull hazy brown, which connects itself 
 with the solemn green of the foreground. In the 
 second distance, a black river steals with oppres- 
 sive silence amongst the shadows of a deep wood. 
 The air breathes heavily. You hear ominous 
 whispers in the vast forest gloom. A few clouds 
 are perspectively going off to their repose, float- 
 
 X
 
 230 AEISTIDES THE JUST. 
 
 ing in a sky of cold blue, mingling with tlie faint 
 ruddy light which continues to linger behind. 
 There is no figure — the subject would not bear 
 one. The spectator himself is all it will allow. 
 Thus the whole tenderness and peace of departing 
 day is preserved." 
 
 ''Let us turn to the statues," said Isaac. 
 '' First, we will do reverence to Aristides the Just — 
 great, austere, self-contained — the stern enemy of 
 vice, the worshipper of virtue." 
 
 'TuU of his grand and unapproachable ab- 
 stractions," said Adeline, ''he asks nothing but 
 justice from all — even from the gods. Nay, they 
 shall submit to justice, too ! Great leveler ! But 
 virtue so proud, so uncompromising as this, in a 
 creature who feels his proneness to sin, is more 
 than a mistake — it is rebellion. But here we 
 have Truth, with her invariable mirror. "Which 
 mirror, it has always seemed to me, is a very poor 
 allegory. It certainly images, and images faith- 
 fully ; but it is only the surface of things. That 
 sort of truth is not very valuable ; and often we 
 are better without knowing it, for it leads us to 
 wrong conclusions respecting what is concealed 
 beneath." 
 
 "But whatever is presented to it, it reflects 
 faithfully,^^ said Isaac. 
 
 " Which has a very humble significance," replied 
 Adeline. "It would do to illustrate the simple 
 thing, to sjpeah the truth — a prime excellence iu
 
 CnEKUBIil A>'D SCULPTUKE. 231 
 
 morals, but the humblest condition of eternal 
 truth — but it leaves the exalted act of attaining 
 truth quite unsymbolised." 
 
 " Here is a work of art which you will not 
 greatly admire, Adeline ; that little boy — cherub 
 he is called — that holds the drapery." 
 
 "Very pretty; but so sage, so serious. An 
 infant that must not smile — what can be made of 
 it ? And must not smile, lest he be mistaken 
 for a thing of earth — for some other love than 
 the celestial. Strange ! that the artist should so 
 mistake the conception. Love on earth and love 
 in heaven is the same feeling : emanating from the 
 same source — the bosom of our God : only the 
 one is shackled and distorted by sin and sense, 
 the other large, unconfined, bright, pure as eter- 
 nity. An infant without a smile ! Heaven is 
 filled with smiles; light, bounding, joyful as a 
 summer sunbeam." 
 
 " ^ow, dear Adeline," said Isaae, in a soft and 
 tender voice, "I have to show you something that 
 you will like — above all else. It is a little group 
 of two infant children. The one is kissing the 
 other, whom he is supposed to have just crowned 
 with roses. 1 was quite sure that if you saw it 
 first, I should find much difficulty to persuade you 
 to move from it. And therefore it was that I 
 hid it." 
 
 He went behind the drapery and produced the 
 group, which he deposited in its place in the
 
 232 THE FINE ARTS AND THEIE GLOEY. 
 
 centre of the table. '* Kow come and sit here 
 while you look at it," he pursued, as he drew her 
 towards the lounge. 
 
 '' How exquisitely natural ! How serene, how 
 guileless they are !" exclaimed Adeline. " Oh, 
 it is perfect loveliness ! Those countenances so 
 full of thought as well as beauty — of love and 
 angel hopes. And those brimming eyes — brim- 
 ming with innocence and bliss — and all is 
 realised ! Happy is the function of the poet, the 
 painter, and the sculptor. To move the world, 
 to sooth it, -to re-people it; but to shun its con- 
 fusion and toil ! To create, to fill with beauty, 
 to persuade, to elevate, to command. To dream 
 back the greatness and goodness and glory of the 
 past. To image the mystery, the grandeur, the 
 majesty hidden in the misty future. To inspire 
 men to moral purpose and achievement. To exalt 
 earth to heaven !" 
 
 ''Adeline, dearest," said Isaac, "are you the 
 author of the * JSTatural History of Enthusiasm ?' " 
 
 ''I am not. I might be glad, perhaps, if I 
 were; it contains so much that is excellent. But 
 I rejoice to possess the ardent spirit of an enthu- 
 siastic admiration. Admiration ! from which the 
 nobler delight of knowledge springs — without 
 which sense and intellect were vain — which in 
 the vast immortal cycles that are before me, shall, 
 gushing in unpolluted, unperverted streams, be 
 my life, my joy, my bliss — in the constant sue-
 
 POETEY life's teuth. 233 
 
 cession of its vivid emotions for ever increasing 
 my delights, because it lets me into God. The 
 feeling which even on earth — clouded and dimmed 
 though it is — enables me to fling off the inexorable 
 necessity of life : and when beneath its melancholy 
 skies, so seldom irradiated with gleams of redeem- 
 ing happiness, I am inclined to weep and be rest- 
 less, it imparts a flowing, calmy peace, a felicitous 
 tranquillity like some sweet monotone in music, 
 stilling my unquiet heart into supreme repose. 
 Strengthened, inspired by it, I dash oft' the 
 thraldom of the present and take refuge in the 
 illimitable future. There I can command, make 
 my own destiny, and attain the summit of my 
 highest wishes. It is only by thus living beyond 
 reality, and hoping beyond possibility, that I can 
 ever expect to attain the pinnacle of human hap- 
 piness and the utmost limit of human power." 
 
 **You are a philosopher, Adeline. It is well 
 for you. To me existence seems a heavy bondage. 
 What is our life ? A disconnected series of broken 
 fragments — good and evil jumbled together — 
 blackness mingled with little brightness — an un- 
 consciousness of itself — a tomb to pure feeling 
 and passion — a mystery which seems to make us 
 fools — a destiny in which innocence is only the 
 sport of malignity and death. It is vain to feast 
 the imagination with bright remembrances. In 
 such a being, then, how deadly is the strife of an 
 impassioned soul . Hunted and scourged by weari- 
 
 x2
 
 234 LIFE IN NOBLE EAENESTNESS. 
 
 ness and suffering — weeping only that it may- 
 longer live to weep — ^its highest, noblest, purest 
 affections wasted or turned against itself — and ex- 
 hausting itself in mighty but useless longings for 
 succour and deliverance. In vain man struggles 
 to escape from this bitter subjection. He looks 
 around and above, but there is the same inclement 
 sky. As a Jew, Adeline, I often indulge a mo- 
 mentary pride in the trueness and origin of our 
 religion ; but whenever I do, a cold chill always 
 comes over my heart. One invisible chain of 
 suffering links us, Jews and Gentiles, all together. 
 Indeed, I think the Christians especially must be 
 happier than we are. They have an object of 
 faith, though a mistaken one. We have nothing 
 but uncertainty." 
 
 " "While it is our duty to strictly examine our- 
 selves, that we may justly estimate our position 
 with respect to God, let us not too presumptuously 
 aspire. "Whenever we feel tempted to doubt the 
 kindness of our Pather in those things which 
 surround us, let us strengthen ourselves by the 
 reflection how much the spirit of earth must 
 always mar our best and most sacred conceptions. 
 So, instead of wasting in idle despondency, we 
 shaU. thinJc, feel, do ; and then think, feel, do again. 
 Nothing which falls short of this can be called life. 
 And oh ! how does the intellect kindle when, 
 out of simple trust in the Imowledge and good- 
 ness of a Mind that is higher than it, and which
 
 EELIGIOX JIAKES LIFE DITIXE. 235 
 
 cannot err, it has built up for itself a place of rest. 
 It is this ' feeling and faculty divine' mthin us 
 that visits with illumination our uncompanioned 
 heart, and preserves our happiness calm and self- 
 consoled even in the longest, darkest hour. Till, 
 filled with a loftier inspiration, our conception 
 itself changes, our soul enlarges, our feelings are 
 stimulated almost to the point of realization, as by 
 'touch ethereal of Heaven's fiery rod,' our hearts 
 bum with love, lit up with celestial fire." 
 
 ^' That was indeed well, even eloquently, ut- 
 tered, Adeline. But mind you, I too can harangue 
 like one of the German poets, if I have a will. 
 At present I would prefer to be silent. For you 
 have left me almost where Jacob was when the 
 candle went out." 
 
 "Let us, with a calm certainty which He 
 Himself will impart, offer unto God the sacrifice 
 of a contrite heart and humble spirit ; it is one 
 which He has declared He will accept. It is such 
 doubts as you have been expressing that stand 
 between us and our inheritance. Jehovah will 
 not exercise his power on our behalf while we 
 question the wisdom of His ways. AYe are to be 
 humble, yet confident. You are a noble-minded 
 Jew, Isaac ; be a patriot Jew too. We are now 
 fighting in a moral struggle for our countr}', for our 
 own sweet Judea. That is our countiy, not where 
 we have lived and breathed alone — not that land 
 which we have loved because in it we first saw
 
 236 OH land! my own sweet land! 
 
 the soft spring time, the beauty of summer skies, 
 the brightness of heaven and the gladness of 
 earth — but the land for which we have longed — for 
 which we have hoped and suffered — for which our 
 souls have burned, and our hearts have beat in 
 unison with the hearts of thousands of heroic 
 breasts — that land for which we have lived, for 
 which we have prayed — of which we honour the 
 mighty exiles living, of which we love the illus- 
 trious dead." 
 
 Adeline had perhaps never spoken so impas- 
 sioned before ; at any rate, Isaac never witnessed 
 it if she had. And, as the fervour of her spirit 
 kindled her countenance, and lit up her large beau- 
 tiful blue eyes, till at the closing sentence her 
 usual dignified look heightened to the majestic, 
 he gazed in irrepressible admiration. 
 
 *' Adeline," he said, after a brief pause, ''I 
 didn't think you could speak with such passionate 
 ardour as that. In future I shall believe you can 
 do anything you like." 
 
 '' Oh, no !" she replied, in her old voice, so pro- 
 foundly calm. ^'I cannot do so much as that. 
 Though I believe ray mother would have taught 
 me the broadsword exercise, if she thought it 
 could be of any possible use. But our Mends 
 will be wondering what detains us. Let us go.'*
 
 THE CABBALA.. 23' 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 MYSTEEIES OF THE CABBALA COXTINUED. 
 
 One thing we would whisper to the reader. If 
 by means of these papers on the Cabbalistic initia- 
 tions we introduce him to the art and mystery of 
 transmuting the common metals into gold, we 
 shall expect a very handsome present in acknow- 
 ledgment of our share in his fgrtunate discovery, 
 if, indeed, we do not claim a regular per centage 
 upon all the ''yellow mischief," he may thus ma- 
 nufacture. 
 
 As to the elixir vitae — the cup of life, the am- 
 brosia of the gods, the vase of immortality, the 
 beautifier of the body, the exalter of the soul — 
 he is perfectly welcome to the names of the in- 
 gredients which compose it. 
 
 Kor is it a thing to be sneezed at. Xo doubt 
 medicines so strong in their therapeutic proper- 
 ties, so tremendously energetic in their action, 
 may be so commingled as to produce a wondrous 
 purgation and exhilaration of the whole constitu- 
 tion. For ourselves, indeed, we have had some
 
 238 THE CABBALA. 
 
 thoTiglits of getting a professor to mix us a mild 
 dose — stipulating of course, that it shall be made 
 after Dr. Faustus's infallible recipe. 
 
 At the same time, they must not be so insane 
 as to expect from it the gift of immortality — not 
 even a restoration of youth, like Godwin's St. 
 Leon. These are consequences which can only 
 exist in the imagination of the Cabbalist. "We 
 observe this, to save the trouble of seeking after 
 the apportions necessary to produce these the 
 sublimest results expected from it. 
 
 Aben Baruch and Ben Megas are seated toge- 
 ther in the Cabbalistic room. 
 
 "Well, Ben Megas," said the rabbi, ''I need 
 not ask if you are ambitious, even ambitious to 
 be rich." 
 
 " '"Ea fxe Kep^aivovra KeKXijadat KaKov,^ says 
 Euripides. Ha ! ha! But we don't feel in that 
 way — though men may say it of us. Yet what 
 matters their judgment? ]N"o, Ben Megas; gold 
 is of little worth except as a means of doing good j 
 to yourself and family first, others after. A de- 
 sire to be rich is not only natural, it is right, it 
 is an excellence. 
 
 *' JSTow not only is- the means of turning the 
 metals into gold a thing desirable in itself, Ben 
 Megas, but it comes in the way of all our initia- 
 tions. The three bodies we use for that purpose 
 are the same tliree upon which we rely in all our 
 operations upon matter. Else I can hardly tell if
 
 THE CABBALA. 239 
 
 we should be justified in occupying so much 
 valuable time in the research as ^ye do. 
 
 " Often you have heard the philosopher's stone 
 laughed at — you have heard it abused — treated 
 as a fable — the wise men who seek for it called 
 madmen — maniacs. And yet, Ben ^egas, it is 
 true — it exists. It is very easy to ridicule that 
 of which we know nothing — or which is past 
 our comprehension — nothing easier. 
 
 " Listen now ! Ben !Megas. I have myself suc- 
 ceeded in the transmutation of lead into goldj 
 but it was very impure, and so charged with 
 salts, that on submittng it to the action of fire, it 
 became a compound mineral, hard, malleable, 
 ductile, but yalueless. Other philosophers are 
 reputed to have found the exact proportions of the 
 stone necessary to make fine gold, as Helmont, 
 Rosencreuz, Helvetius, Pontanus, Berigardus, &c. 
 If they did succeed the secret died with them. 
 
 " This stone is of exactly the same weight as 
 gold, it is of a deep crimson in colour, breaking 
 like glass, and melts like wax if held to the fire." 
 
 " In what way does it act r " said Ben Megas. 
 
 " 1^0 w tarry a little, " replied Aben Baruch. 
 " You will know all in course. I was speaking 
 of the philosopher's stone. It is a specific prepa- 
 ration of chemical powers, a most fixed, strong, 
 concentrated essence, which when mingled with 
 metals while in a state of fusion does ' by the 
 impulse of a spiritual love' — what among men
 
 240 THE CABBALA. 
 
 would perhaps be styled a magnetic virtue — ^imme- 
 diately and indissolubly unite itself with all that 
 is true in the metal, which is its mercurial body ; 
 while all that is gross and impure, is burnt or vola- 
 tilized, leaving behind nothing but a mass of the 
 purest gold ; gold purer than any that is dug from 
 the mines. Am I comprehended?" 
 
 ^^ Certainly." 
 
 ''ISTot only can we make the philosopher's stone 
 to do this, but we can bring it to what will be its 
 perfection. That is if it be thrown into a quan- 
 tity of gold while melting over our secret fire, the 
 whole shall be changed to philosopher's stone. 
 Also if it be projected upon pure mercury, the 
 whole shall be transmuted to philosopher's 
 stone. " 
 
 "And what are the ingredients that compose 
 the stone ?" 
 
 *' Once more, sir impatience ! wait. Ben Megas, 
 hearken now ; this hurry of thine will work an 
 evil end. All our trials are made in a cold, im- 
 passive, deliberate spirit. Thine ears have caught 
 the earthly itch. It is not the ineff'able interests 
 of our mysteries draw thee so, it is their newness ; 
 thou art simply curious. Once more, I say, be 
 careful ; be quiet ; be profound ; or thou wilt do 
 nothing here." 
 
 " I am sorry I was led to interrupt you^ I will 
 remember." 
 
 "It is well. Attend to me. There are but
 
 THE CABBALA. 241 
 
 nine primitive earths : and yet the smatterers in 
 chemistry — those shameless pretenders to alchemic 
 learning, who pronounce with unblushing impu- 
 dence upon all questions of our science — these 
 reckon thirty-eight simple metaUic substances. 
 Xor will they ever be reduced by their useless 
 blundering labours, because they can only attain 
 the common flame. 
 
 " All metals are composed of earth and fire. 
 The difference in metals arises simply from the 
 varied proportions of the fiery essence, and the 
 earth which foim them. iN'ow, mark me ; every 
 metal contains as much fire as its nature will 
 absorb. If more were added to it the whole would 
 be sublimated. So then, we say, if we find a body 
 which by subtilising, piu-ifying, and digesting, 
 will mingle with the hidden and occult basis in 
 the metal — which is always the same — the 
 whole will be converted into gold. This the phi- 
 losopher's stone will do. You understand what 
 is intended ?" 
 
 *' As far as mere explanation serves, I do." 
 
 "Yery good. Y^e go to experiments anon. 
 And now for the ingredients which compose the 
 stone. 
 
 " The elements of the cup of immortality and 
 of the philosopher's stone are three of the most 
 active and universal agents that have ever been 
 discovered in physical things — mercury, nitre, 
 and sulphur. The exact quantity and order of
 
 242 THE CABBALA. 
 
 mingling these being found, a strictly prescribed 
 amount of gold is added to them, and we have the 
 cup and the stone — the one liquid, the other solid 
 or in powder as we please. 
 
 ''The first of these elements — mercuiy — is 
 the basis of all metals. 
 
 *' The second element — nitre or azote — com- 
 poses nearly four-fifths of the atmosj)here, and 
 enters very largely into the composition of all 
 physical things. In truth, it is a principle con- 
 stituent of the fiery essence which they contain ; 
 and which, mixing with the earth, mineralises it, 
 thus forming a salt. Joined to an alkali, we 
 obtain the natrum of the ancient alchemists ; what 
 is now called saltpetre. Erom nitre, we distil 
 aqua fortis and aqua regia — solvents which no 
 metals can resist. 
 
 *' The Scripture figure ' vinegar upon nitre ' is 
 taken from, the dissolving powers which this salt 
 has when mingled with that liquid. Its cleansing 
 properties is why we, even to this day, use it in 
 our baths. 
 
 " The next element, sulphur, is also a simple 
 substance. It operates with irresistible power 
 upon all bodies when assisted by nitre, aqua regia, 
 or aqua fortis ; and if projected with them upon 
 mercury, enables us to make transmutations. 
 
 ''As to the gold which still more exalts the 
 properties of the elixir especially, it is an ingre- 
 dient in every metal yet known.
 
 THE CABBALA. 243 
 
 *' The basis of our research, in transmuting 
 metals is, that, by maturation, we will do as much 
 in a short time as it takes nature perhaps ages to 
 accomplish. 
 
 ''We transmit incessant streams of the secret 
 fire through the vase in which the metals we desire 
 to transmute are in a state of fusion ; these we 
 continue to exalt and modify with the ingredients 
 composing the philosopher's stone, mingled as oui' 
 increasing knowledge may suggest. 
 
 *' To illustrate, ^^e wish to convert lead. If 
 we find a body which will so dissolve or agitate 
 the salt which is its secret nature as to blow away 
 or bum all that is not mercury therein ; and if in 
 this body we have also the strict amount of sulphur 
 necessary to concentrate the mercuiy, the whole 
 will be converted into a mass of the finest gold. 
 
 "But remember, Ben Megas, that this is one 
 of the lowest efforts of our lore ; one upon which 
 I shall not suffer you to waste much of your time ; 
 for the Cabbalist has so many objects, endless in 
 variety, leading him onwards to a higher life." 
 
 And then he proceeded to experiments : which, 
 as they present no points that could be laid hold 
 on for description, we must leave amidst the dark- 
 ness in which they were performed.
 
 244 TEEMBLINGS OF THE SPIEIT . 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 DEATH OF BEN UZZIEL. 
 
 Poor Steinberg had got a soul : and, like everybody 
 else until it has found repose in the bosom of its 
 lovely Pather, he felt it was a very tremendous, 
 unquiet sort of possession. The Sabbath morning 
 had been ushered in by an account of the death 
 of Ben XJzziel — the language of sorrow and un- 
 certainty upon his lips. Steinberg shuddered when 
 he heard it. If he, a prince in Israel, felt so dis- 
 turbed in dying, who was to expect peace ? It 
 was vain that he read the Talmud — that he went 
 to his Gobar — that he took neither breakfast nor 
 dinner — that he recited prayers by the dozen, 
 strewing dust upon his head, and beating his fore- 
 head upon the ground — that he repeated the most 
 encouraging portions of the Jewish casuistry — he 
 could get no comfort. He tried still sterner modes 
 of recommending himself to some expression of 
 the Divine favour. He exposed himself to the 
 coldest water he could obtain — he beat his bare 
 body till the excessive pain of the weals obliged 
 him to desist. To symboHse his sense of the bit-
 
 ESS OF JrDAH's HOPE. 245 
 
 temess of sin, lie chewed one of the most nau- 
 seously-bitter roots : and then the violent sickness 
 produced by it compelled him to cease that also. 
 He vowed to devote large sums to charitable uses : 
 and yet, dear soul, though he fully believed that 
 all these things put together had certainly made 
 the scale of his merits preponderate, and so his 
 safety was secured, he could not feel satisfied. 
 K'o still small voice within his soul whispered of 
 love and joy and peace on earth, and soft rest 
 beneath immortal skies — nothing except a low, 
 desponding melancholy. To be sure, he felt a 
 sort of hope, but it brought little comfort. There 
 was no undisturbed confidence, no sweet assurance, 
 such as the Christian possesses; nothing but an 
 indistinct and shadowy trust that the Divine mercy 
 would be extended to him, although he knew not 
 why. 
 
 hard religion! Unlike — how unlike — that 
 generous, loving trust which the Lord of glory 
 delights to receive from His creature — that blessed 
 relationship into which He waits to enter with 
 all those who believe upon Him, as He has re- 
 vealed Himself in His written word. 
 
 " Father, dear, it makes me veiy sad to see you 
 so unhappy. What is it ?" said Adeline, rising 
 from the tea-table to throw her ai-ms upon his 
 neck and kiss his pale lips. 
 
 "Death! my child — death I" he said, slowly. 
 "The death of Ben Uzziel has shook me. Tell 
 
 y2
 
 246 ADELINE SOOTHES HER FATHEE. 
 
 me again what it was his disciples said to him 
 when they found him weeping." 
 
 ''Don't be angry with me, dear papa, if I seem 
 to be undutiful to yon, and cross your will ; for it 
 is from reverence for you that I speak. Your 
 nerves, just now, are much excited ; ask some 
 other time. Calmly rest your spirit upon the 
 infinite love and mercy of our Pather, leaving the 
 vain teachings of man, and you will find a happier 
 death than Eabbi Ben Uzziel." 
 
 *f I believe that my soul is safe, if thy wishes 
 can make it so. Blessed be the God of my fathers 
 for the comfort of thee, my child ! and may His 
 blessing be upon thee for ever. Dost thou pray 
 that I may be right at last ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes, dear papa !" said Adeline, kiss- 
 ing him fervently, her face bedewed with tears. 
 " I do indeed pray very earnestly for you, and for 
 dear mamma, too." 
 
 " Thank thee, my daughter. Xneel then, and 
 let me bless thee." 
 
 And Adeline bowed her head, while with out- 
 spread hands her father repeated over her the 
 usual benediction. 
 
 " Wow, my child, tell me what I asked you." 
 
 " It was this, my dear father : One of his dis- 
 ciples, seeing him weep in prospect of death, thus 
 addressed him : ' Eabbi, Light of Israel, thou 
 strong rock, right hand pillar, why dost thou 
 weep ?' He replied, ' If they were carrying me
 
 DEATH OF THE EABBI. 247 
 
 before a king of flesh and blood, who is here to- 
 day and to-morrow in the grave — ^who, if he were 
 angry with me, his anger would not last for ever 
 — if he put me in bondage, his bondage would 
 not be for everlasting — and if he condemned me 
 to death, that death would not be eternal ; whom 
 I could sooth with words and bribe with riches ; 
 yet even in these circumstances I should weep. 
 But now I am going before the King of kings, the 
 only blessed God, who liveth for ever and ever ; 
 who, if He be angry with me, His anger will last 
 for ever — if He put me in bondage. His bondage 
 will be everlasting — if He condemn me to death, 
 that death will be eternal ; whom I cannot sooth 
 with words nor bribe with riches. When, further, 
 there are before me only two ways, the one to 
 darkness, the other to paradise — and I know not 
 to which they are carrjing me, should I not 
 weep r " * 
 
 " God I" said Steinberg, clasping his hands, 
 ''if our sins are so great that Thou wilt not for- 
 give, save us by the merits of our ancestors — of 
 Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob ; by the merits of 
 Kebekah, Leah, and Rachael; by the merits of 
 our holy law ; by the merits of our holy men and 
 teachers; by the merits of Jesse, the father of 
 
 * This reflection of one of their chief rabbis is taken 
 from the Jewish prayer-book. In the Talmud, it is said 
 that Eabbi Inani, "on his death-bed," made a similar 
 reflection.
 
 248 aj)Eline's hopes. 
 
 David — of Abner, the son of ^ev — of TJtheal, the 
 son of Kenez, who constantly protect us ; through 
 the merits of Moses and Aaron, and all the illus- 
 trious of our nation. Adeline, my daughter, you 
 will say the Kaddish when thy father is gone 
 from thee ?" 
 
 ''0 my dear father," said Adeline, **I cannot 
 hear you speak of it." 
 
 '^Eut will you, my child ? " persisted Stein- 
 berg, in a hard, dry tone. 
 
 ''Papa," said Adeline, in a steady mournful 
 voice, *'it sinks into my heart, it unnerves me 
 when I see you resting your hopes on the wicked 
 falsehoods of men." Adeline was frightened at 
 what she had said; and a cold misty thrill of 
 alarm quivered to the extremities of her palpi- 
 tating veins, lest her father should be angry at 
 her daring to hold such language to him. The 
 whole conflict was too much for her gentle spirit, 
 and in thick-flowing tears she continued brokenly, 
 ''Papa, do read the Bible. The moment our spirit 
 quits the body, we rise to the abodes of happy 
 angels and blissful spirits, or" — she could pro- 
 ceed no fui^ther. 
 
 "The Bible is for the rabbins — I believe the 
 rabbins — God, all against me — my child un- 
 faithful — Curse upon " 
 
 "Father! father!" sobbed the terrified Ade- 
 line, " Do not say so ! I will say anything you 
 command ; I will do anything to make you happier."
 
 THE KADDISH. 249 
 
 *' Lay your hands upon your breast, and pro- 
 mise that when I am dead you will say the 
 Kaddish* every momiug." 
 
 * Death to the Jew is fraught with sorrowful contem - 
 plations. In the grave his body is beaten by the Evil 
 One, and suffers other terrors too numerous to mention. 
 His soul goes away into some dreadful place, and en- 
 dures a process of burning for eleven months. Thus 
 after all the fasting, and mortification, and charity, the 
 soul of the dying Jew is not to expect the rest of heaven. 
 It enters into a purgatory from which the prayers and 
 alms of his children ai'e requisite to free it. One of the 
 Jewish prayers has this preface : " It is customary among 
 the dispersed of Israel to make mention of the soids of 
 their departed parents (or other relatives) on the Day of 
 Atonement, and on the ultimate days of the three festi- 
 vals ; and to offer for the repose of their souls." 
 
 This is the prayer — called Kaddish : 
 
 "May God remember the soul of my honoured father 
 who is gone to his repose ; for that I now solemnly vow 
 charity for his sake. In reward of this, may liis soul be 
 bound up in the bundle of life, with the souls of Abra- 
 ham, Isaac, and Jacob; Sarah, Eebekah, Eachael, and 
 Leah ; ydih the rest of the righteous males and females. 
 Amen." 
 
 In reference to the time of offering this prayer, we 
 read : " The custom is for eleven months to repeat the 
 prayer called Kaddish, and also to read the lesson in the 
 prophets, and to pray the evening prayer, at the going 
 out of the Sabbath, for that is the hour when the souls 
 return to hell; but when the son prays and sanctifies in 
 public, he redeems his father and mother from hell." 
 
 The same high authority says, that the prayer "should 
 not be offered more than eleven months, lest reproach
 
 250 THE JEWISH PTJRGATORT. 
 
 *'I do promise you that I will," replied Ade- 
 line, placing her hands upon her bosom. 
 
 <'YoY the full eleven months?" 
 
 ''Yes, dear." 
 
 ''Blessings be upon thy head, my daughter. 
 And you will perform charity for my sake ?" 
 
 "I will, my dear father." 
 
 " It is well ; " and he again blessed her. " And 
 now, my child, get the books ; it is time to offer 
 the evening sacrifice." 
 
 should be cast upon the character of the departed father 
 and mother, as if they were wicked, for twelve months 
 are the term appointed for the wicked." For " Israelites 
 who sin with the body, and also Gentiles, descend into 
 hell and are judged there twelve months. After the 
 twelve months their body is consumed and their soul is 
 burnt, and the wind scatters them under the soles of the 
 feet of the righteous." 
 
 These are passages which must touch the tenderest 
 chords of every Christian heart ; and awaken the most 
 vivid emotions of sympathy and love.
 
 A FEW TOUCHES ON NATIONALITY. 251 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 IXTEODUCES A GREAT MAX. 
 
 To every man of wisdom — and to find an En- 
 glishman without much wisdom, is so extraor- 
 dinary a thing as almost to be matter for history 
 — to every Englishman, then, we say, it is as 
 clear as the sun at noon-day (the effect of which 
 rare and exquisitely poetical simile, dear reader, 
 varies considerably according to the place at 
 which we may happen to use it, or you to read 
 it — from Temple-bar, London, to the Piazza di 
 San Marco at Rome, or the Strada di Toledo at 
 Kaplcs), or as clear as — clear can be, that one of 
 the first principles of the bipedal genus to which 
 it is his honour — as it is his glory — to belong, is 
 politeness, and merciful consideration of any indi- 
 vidual failure from the national standard of cha- 
 racter : but when, in addition to the original sin 
 of a miserable exterior and a soul shriveled up 
 like an over-dried Scotch herring, is added a dis- 
 position to stuffing and guzzling — to doating on 
 great hunks of meat, and flagons of strong drink, 
 till the brain-pan being filled with a compound of
 
 252 Steinberg's feight. 
 
 pudding, and beef, and sausages, there is not 
 even room left for the shriveled-up soul aforesaid 
 — then the person becomes as fair game as any 
 that is to be met with from September to Feb- 
 ruary inclusive. 
 
 It was a few days after the events narrated in 
 the last chapter. Steinberg was sitting placidly 
 down to breakfast ; when he was startled by the 
 sound of short hurried hurrahs beneath his win- 
 dow, like the rumbling of distant thunder. Suffi- 
 cient to set afloat ''that windy suspiration of 
 forced breath " was such a noise as this in such 
 dangerous proximity ; and he went to gain tidings 
 of the cause. And lo ! the green-grocer opposite, 
 having in the opinion of the Man of the People 
 ill-used his tenant — ^his next-door neighbour — the 
 lollipop shop — by distraining her goods for rent, 
 when he knew she would have paid him if she 
 could, was being treated to summary justice by an 
 irritated London mob. He was none too soon. 
 Beneath the soft aerial, yet dusty, almost husky 
 haze, rolled and raved a sea of men, women, and 
 children, heaving in multitudinous motion, as 
 when cross seas, cross winds, and cross tides meet 
 with tumultuous rushing and whirlpool fury, in 
 some mysterious sound between unfathomable 
 sandbanks and inexplicable capes. The air dark- 
 ened, and the mischief thickened, till it seemed 
 that Steinberg, house and all, would be hustled 
 off amongst the ragged, raging regiment. * * *
 
 k LOXDOX STREET EOW. 253 
 
 Imagine a colony of wasps disturbed by an 
 unlucky schoolboy threading bis dubious path 
 amongst the lattice-loving trees at the meridian 
 hour of the hottest dog- day within the memory 
 of the oldest dog ; or — better and higher com- 
 parison — fancy a hornet's nest blown to rags 
 with gunpowder in the hollow trunk of an old 
 beech tree — there's a ferment ! No wonder that 
 poor Steinberg turned death-pale as he would 
 faint. It was useless that he implored, expostu- 
 lated, threatened ; he might as well have said not 
 a word. Some insultingly muttered in his face 
 something about ''old clothes" — and, whish ! 
 away goes the side door before the backs of the 
 awful crowds pressing over the " airey" in front ; 
 the passage was thrown open, and the whole 
 penetralia of Steinberg's mansion was laid open 
 to Mobby's vision; dining-room door on right 
 hand, parlour door behind it, kitchen door under 
 the stairs, and garden door at the end of the pas- 
 sage, through the glass light of which might be 
 dimly seen the large flower and flower-pot — a 
 "chayney" one — which Steinberg always per- 
 sisted looked equal to the " besht Bohemian 
 glassh." Amidst the thunder- shower- ferment, 
 the worthy knight of carrots and turnip-tops sat 
 in his shop, hang-mouthed and crest-fallen, afford- 
 ing to philosophers one of the finest opportunities 
 of lulling into perpetual peace that qtcestio vexata^ 
 whether greatness of mind is most severely tried 
 
 z
 
 254 A PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTIOX ANSWERED. 
 
 by prosperity or adversity. For he, who on the 
 day preceding was perched like a gay young bride- 
 groom bird on the topmost twig of the tree of 
 felicity, making the woods ring with the joy of 
 his song as he looked down upon his unhappy 
 victim, was now sitting like an old sick widower 
 crow at its foot, incapable even of a caw, and 
 deepening the gloom with that of his torn and 
 dishevelled plumage, which bore strong symptoms 
 of Erebus and Friesland. 
 
 " Dear me ! surely you don't say so ? " 
 whispers with an enchanting smile, and the 
 sweetest of all susurrus the pensive Young Lady. 
 But entre nous — you are a Greek scholar and 
 know our harmless meaning — we really must be 
 excused, for, if we stop to converse, it will be im- 
 possible to compute the longitude of this sketch. 
 And this brings us back with a beautiful graceful 
 motion, like a ring-dove on bright and emboldened 
 wing floating airily in the warm sunshine home- 
 ward to its rose-encircled tree — back, haunted by 
 no other thoughts save those of sweet recollection, 
 and as innocent of all mischievous intention as 
 our own dear little Trench pup who, it gives us 
 much pleasure to observe, has, for the last quarter 
 of an hour, been vainly attempting to enlarge a 
 casual fracture in our slipper — back to the be- 
 ginning of our chapter. 
 
 The morning had advanced ; and, by the aid of 
 the police, quietness was again established in
 
 LOED DERESCOUET. 255 
 
 Steinberg's street. A carpenter was busily em- 
 ployed repairing the broken door. Steinberg was 
 as usual seated to bis little old table, snuffling over 
 his treasures and occasionally talking to himself, 
 when a customer entered. 
 
 Before we proceed to describe the transactions 
 which ensued, we must of necessity introduce this 
 brace of personages to the reader. The oldest of 
 the two, Lord Derescourt, at that time high in 
 oflftce under the Govemment, was a tall portly 
 individual aspiring towards six feet in height. 
 He had been what is called a handsome man: 
 indeed, he was handsome then. His features were 
 mild, and harmonized well with his expressive 
 eyes. He wore his hat in a jaunty fashion, and 
 cast his regards about him with the air of a man 
 who knows more than he chooses to tell; and 
 does not intend to be taken in. 
 
 His friend. Earl Yernon, was a queer-looking 
 piece of humanity. He was a thin, grizzly, 
 little man, with a tiny pot-belly wagging from 
 side to side over a pair of spindle shanks, always 
 full of business, fussy, doing nothing, and con- 
 fused, like an elderly innkeeper at whose house 
 the Cheap-and-Hasty changes horses and stops 
 twenty minutes to gin- and- water. Like all such 
 people, he was always in bad condition — purfled 
 and short of wind, flabby and dabby, as if he had 
 been steeped for three hours in a hot bath. His 
 appetite was carnivorous j and, though his cook
 
 256 EAKL YERN02). 
 
 mixed and minced his beef with all the choicest 
 little tid-hits tliat she could devise, all her efforts 
 to fatten him proved an unmitigated failure. 
 Fatten ! pshaw ! she might as well have tried to 
 plump the cheeks of a statue by feeding it on 
 oatmeal and ]Darley-water. One look at his vine- 
 gar-face was sufficient to set every tooth in one's 
 head on edge ; it couldn't have looked sourer if it 
 had been soaked an age and a half in verjuice 
 two hundred per cent, over proof. It was sur- 
 mounted by a terrific pyramid of fiery hair and a 
 great tall hat, half the height of himself, on the 
 top of that. His small grey gooseberry orbs, 
 throwing a shifting and uneasy light over his 
 pea-soup complexion, were expressive of a restless, 
 discontented, and unprincipled mind. He had a 
 nose too, quite in keeping with the rest of his 
 physique ; it was a profound exaggeration of that 
 classical style called Roman, and we should be 
 inclined to draw its likeness here upon our paper, 
 only we are fully assured, kind reader, you would 
 pronounce the production of our genius to be, 
 either the work of an inexperienced draughtsman 
 or one of PuncKs caricatures. All his clothing 
 was made with growing room, and hung about 
 him shapeless and voluminous as a balloon when 
 the gas is out. "What information he had managed 
 to scrape together put one in mind of the Penny 
 Encyclopedia begun at the wrong end and printed 
 upside down. His carriage practically illustrated
 
 THE TISIT TO STEIXBEHg's SEAIy^CE. 257 
 
 the vulgar proverb, " He looks as if he had swal- 
 lowed a poker ; " and his little high-dried legs and 
 feet were awfully engulphed in a paii' of riding- 
 boots of brigand-like dimensions, bristled with 
 doubled-rowelled spurs, menacing and terrible as 
 those of that fearful knight who comes riding in 
 upon *' Zohac, or the Wild Horse," as transformed 
 into a Drury Lane Easter spectacle. After this 
 description it is almost unnecessary for us to add 
 that he always wore a blue coat and brass buttons, 
 lavender silk waistcoat, with a yellow sprig, 
 thunder-and-lightning breeches — ^painfully nipped 
 about the bottom of the legs by an untimely frost — 
 cream-colour gloves, and a very large primrose 
 cravat, tied after the Tarn O'Shanter order of 
 architecture, as cast in plaster of Paris, by Yeno- 
 vali and Co. of Shoe-lane. 
 
 "I hope we don't disturb you, Mr. Steinberg," 
 said Lord Derescourt. 
 
 ''Niente — not a bit of it," replied Steinberg, 
 with an innocent shake of his head, and putting 
 down his snuffy old magnifier and a coin. 
 
 ''Well, then, introduce us to your very best 
 things. The earl here has no appreciation either 
 of vertuosi or vertu. His judgment concerning 
 both is as crude as an unripe medlar ; so I pur- 
 pose to lend him mine." 
 
 The earl testified his profound sense of the 
 compliment by bursting into a sort of triple -toned 
 bob-major laugh, in which — it being his own by
 
 258 A DISQUISITION ON LAUGBLTEll. 
 
 natural entail, and neither left him by will with 
 his escutcheon nor acquired by ingenuity — he 
 was wont to indulge on all occasions, even when 
 nothing laughable had been said ; but suddenly 
 recollecting — as he generally did — in the midst of 
 his euphonious peal, that he was a '* great man," 
 and therefore entirely above such vulgar imita- 
 tions of the low, snorting, common herd, he 
 checked himself with a flash of energy, and an 
 effort to be dignified ludicrous in the extreme; 
 much more so than the sudden stop, of the sudden 
 laugh, of the sudden apparition in " Sah-ban-he- 
 sad-berk, or Gulguna and the Enchanted Head," 
 in Assa Behn Hilali's hair- stand- on- end Eastern 
 tale. And having partially recovered from the 
 convulsion produced by the violent effort re- 
 quired to rein himself in, he twitched the sleeves 
 of his coat and said, " True, true," with an effort 
 at gentility beautifully ridiculous. 
 
 *'Ya, ya," said Steinberg. ''I've got some coot 
 coinsh and tings. Dese here, mich you see, are 
 simplesh blay tings als any childer might blay 
 mit. If you'll go up stairsh, gentlemensh, I'll 
 pring dem and be wit you in eine meenut." 
 
 So accordingly up they walked into a mode- 
 rately sized room, where blazed a bright fire of 
 Gilmerton coal. A servant entered, shook the 
 cushions of a baregere, drew it to the fire, fidgetted 
 over a few more things, and then withdrew. 
 Lord Derescourt seated himself on the baregere ;
 
 STEINBEEG COMMENCES BUSINESS . 259 
 
 the earl disposed himself on a couch at the other 
 side of the fire — ^in the elegance of his position 
 and the disposal of his drapery looking alarmingly 
 like Cheops redi virus. 
 
 '* Here, gentlemensh," said Steinberg, as he 
 placed a collection of coins and stones before them, 
 ■with a most bewitching tenderness, '' I trusht 
 we shall shatisfy all parties. It vash only yes- 
 terdag zhat I resheired these coinsh from my 
 agent. 1S\0 one wit myself has ever sheen them 
 bevore. I babtise dem all antic and all nice." 
 
 Lord Derescourt and the earl drew up to the 
 table, and packed themselves closely by the side 
 of Mr. Steinberg ; the three forming an object 
 for Eembrandt, well and fittingly grouped for 
 the canvas. 
 
 The earl began to finger the coins. Passing 
 over Himeras, Messina Hares, Hieros; the 
 bearded coin of Metapontus, with Ceres or 
 Mars on the reverse ; Ai'ion on his dolphin ; these 
 most beautiful of coins were all too common for 
 his practised eye. It at length dropped, kite-like, 
 on an ^milianus, with a rare reverse. He took 
 it up and turned it about, with the air of a man 
 weU-instructed in such matters. And one good 
 turn deserving another, he turned it about again. 
 " Five pounds," and he cleared his throat in ap- 
 probation of his magnificent ofi'er. 
 
 ''Eh?" said Steinberg. "Letsh shee vot it 
 shez." He fumbled it up in his snuffy old hands,
 
 260 AN UNREASONABLE OFEEE. 
 
 rubbed it on his snuffy old coat cuff, wiped his 
 snuffy old goggle glasses, hung them on his snu%- 
 old nose, laid the coin for contrast on his snuffy 
 old account- book, and having done so, screamed, 
 " Che ! Five pounds ! Yat tink you I doesh to 
 live wit — celare loni maltoJU? — receive stolen 
 goods." 
 
 " Ko ! no ! no !" said Earl Yernon. 
 
 "Yesh you musht, to offer five poundzh for 
 de gute ting to begin wit. Doeshn't any childer 
 know that a Piscennius is cheap for fifteen 
 poundzh ? Zhat the man may preak hish heart 
 wit hish unendlissh fortunate that gitsh the 
 Yelian lion for twenty-five poundzh ? That 
 JEmilianus, Julia Pia, Matidia, and Plotina, can 
 hardly shildom be hot for forty poundzh ? And 
 thatCrotons, Constantines, and Ptolemy Evergetes, 
 are almost unpurchasable ?" Turning to Lord 
 Derescourt, and looking half with an air of in- 
 jured grandeur, half spitefully, " I have notin 
 to say wit him more." And he took a handful of 
 snuff, and wasted a deal on his snuffy coat collar 
 and shirt frill. 
 
 " Don't be cross, Mr. Steinberg," said Lord 
 Derescourt. " I myself believed the coin to be as 
 common as blackberries." 
 
 ''That coin! all antic, and all scarsh. Cos- 
 petto!'^ He was awfully vexed. He turned 
 himself about ; he cospcttd'd once : he took a 
 pinch of snuff; he cospettd'd again : he took out
 
 STEIXBEEG SELLS AND LIVES ON THE LOSS. 261 
 
 his snuffy handkerchief, wiped his snuffy nose, 
 and his snuffy magnifier ; and he cospettod again. 
 *' For dis reason I spoke not, vat I did say to you 
 lashtly. You are too much so onreasonable." 
 
 ''Well, Mr. Steinberg, Avhat will you taker" 
 inquired Vernon. 
 
 ^^ Eccola ! I don't care if you takesh it away 
 wit you for forty shoverins." 
 
 '' Too much," said Derescourt, tersely. 
 
 ^' Pigliate lo per trenta — take it for thirty." 
 And he gave a short, stiff grunt. 
 
 '' Twenty-five," replied Lord Derescourt. 
 
 " Twenty-five I" echoed Solomon. '' Yere have 
 you left your conscience pehind? Itsh impos- 
 sible I should let you have it for that. You 
 shee I should lozh shixty per shent. But never 
 mind. I shuppozh, eine brief, you musht take 
 it. There it ish, then for twenty-five poundzh. 
 Yatsh nexht r" 
 
 " This Julia Domna ?" 
 
 " Alia luon' or a — well and good. That goesh 
 for twenty." 
 
 '■'■ Only give ten, Yernon," suggested Derescourt. 
 
 " Ah ! veil. Xo use, no use. You musht 
 take it." And Steinberg sighed heavily. 
 
 Lord Derescourt hoped he had not offered too 
 little. For he had no intention to act wrong- 
 fully, or to take an improper advantage of his de- 
 sire to sell. Xot a bit of it. 
 
 But Steinberg was already convinced that they
 
 262 steinbeeg's exoedium 
 
 would do ''notin wit hlin that was not fair and 
 not nice." So, all reassured, they again pro- 
 ceeded to business. 
 
 *' What's this?" inquired Yernon, picking up a 
 thing that looked like the mummy of a newly-born 
 kitten, and turning his visage full upon it like 
 some keen-eyed tarantula. 
 
 Steinberg, who was occupied in nuzzling 
 amongst the contents of a large Etruscan jar 
 full of all sorts of odds and ends from the Creation 
 downwards, looked wistfully up at this address, 
 not suppressing an anxious sigh when the scrutiny 
 was over. 
 
 '' Caro lei r said he, stirring the fire, and look- 
 ing either at the poker or the mummy, his specta- 
 cles preventing us from seeing which. '' Dat eesh 
 my ver beshtest and finesht piece." Taking it up, 
 *' I shall confessh to you, signers, for vonce for 
 allsh, dat de preis of dis ish shomevat dear. De 
 leastest preis als I can take vill be a chent." He 
 proceeded to unswathe the article; and after 
 much wheeling and turning about, the unbinding 
 of the rags was successfully concluded, and a 
 small Agrippina — Claudius' Agrippina — exhi- 
 bited herself upon the table. 
 
 *' Ah ! die lella faccia ! signors," said Stein- 
 berg contemplatively. ''You shee, gentlemensh 
 — you judge ber sur, and can tell the worth of 
 dis ting — ^you shee it is a bargain, and can't be 
 got ein any tag of the wick."
 
 BEFOEE CHAJRGLN'G FOR HIS '' ANTICS." 263 
 
 " How did you get her, Steinberg r" 
 
 " 'Tis yestertag," replied he, looking guilelessly, 
 *' seyne mein old freund, meiu nobil freund, Signor 
 Pozzuoli — (a man who vould shooner trow hish 
 head away than hish character, eesh Signor 
 Pozzuoli) — Yell, 'tis yestertag seyne he came here 
 from Xapoli ^^it coinsh and shertatn other antics. 
 ' Steinberg,' shay he, ' I have gotch eine prize, 
 mich I foresaw not ven I did write to you lashtly.' 
 So I shay to him, I shay, * Letsh me leuk at dis 
 your prize for me.' Den he takesh out a dirty 
 little Yoman, with a face allsh covered in filt. 
 ' Ya I ya !' I shay to him, * dat eesh no gute. 
 Yat she ish I foreshee not !' * ^N'o gute I' say he, 
 in eine great dolors, ^dottore mio, you shan't have 
 her den. I'll take her back wit me if datsh de 
 vay you do beesnisse, and Teesh you coot night.' 
 ' Yat you yant for her :' I aslik. ' You shall have 
 her cheap, and wit a small trouble you also shall 
 clean her; itsh a shim pie ting als any childer 
 might do.' So I gotch her a bai'gain, you shee, 
 signers." 
 
 ''And how did you manage to clean her so 
 nicely, Mr. Steinberg ?" 
 
 " Col pazienza ed il temper 1710 — with patience 
 and a penknife." 
 
 Yemen took up the Agrippina. He twiiied 
 her, and turned her, and finally squinted on her. 
 Each moment he became more and more absorbed 
 in the contemplation of the lady. Until after
 
 2G4 steijn^beeg indignant ; but 
 
 taking his fill of admiration, while he appeared 
 gloriously oblivious of time, his pent-up enthu- 
 siasm at the sight of her charms burst forth in a 
 very rusty, creaking exclamation of, ''Be-ea-w-ti- 
 ful ! What is the least you can possibly take for 
 it?" 
 
 Before Steinberg could tell the forthcoming lie, 
 Derescourt requested to examine the bronze. It 
 was very correctly shaped ; and he allowed him- 
 self to be convinced that it was, beyond doubt, an 
 authentic one, and therefore valuable. 
 
 '^ Is it an edited figure ?" asked Vernon, l^ot 
 for worlds could he have explained the meaning 
 of what he said; but he had heard Derescourt 
 talking of edited and inedited coins, and other 
 articles of vertu. So he coughed nervously, and 
 gathered himself up at the thought of his ques- 
 tion with an overwhelming dignity ; for he felt 
 he had spoken like a connoisseur. 
 
 '' The price ?" asked Derescourt. 
 
 '' Dat eesh fifty poundzh, den, ready monet." 
 
 ''But you bought her a bargain, Steinberg, you 
 said. Can't you, now, let us have a little benefit 
 as well as yourself? — ^just a little, you know." 
 
 *' Not a shixpence lessh." 
 
 He dared to propose forty. 
 
 Steinberg exploded with virtuous indignation. 
 ''Dit dey tink he shtole her? Dit dey tink he 
 could afi'ord to part wit de goot ting in such a 
 manner ? Als nice and als clean as a young baby,
 
 A LITTLE ^' OIL OF PALiTs" PACIFIES HIil. 265 
 
 too — she Tash. Xo. He would hotel her off, and 
 keep her for himshelf to leiik at. Fifty he had 
 said, fifty he Tvoiild have — dat was de mosht 
 leastest preis." 
 
 Of course, as he had so resolved, and they really 
 wanted the figure, there was no alternative but to 
 dub down the fifty. 
 
 This bargain, then, being satisfactorily adjusted, 
 they proceeded to make others equally favourable 
 — as Steinberg condescendingly assured them. He 
 rubbed his hands, and rattled his snuff-box, and 
 snuffed his snuff, and was veiy pleased; for it 
 seemed their intention to buy up his stock. They 
 purchased a Plotina, a Mariana, a Matidia, a 
 Maximin, a Germanicus' Agrippina, an Annia 
 Faustina, a Marinus, Crotons, Lipari bronzes, and 
 all the Julias of the Eoman empire, even to 
 Julia Paula, who married Eliogabalus, and Julia 
 Mammaea, wife of Maximin. Last of all, Stein- 
 berg brought out the very best coin in his collec- 
 tion; a highly-preserved Taleria — most noble- 
 souled of Roman empresses — of a rare coinage, and, 
 as he approvingly declared, ''als goot als ven it 
 came fresh from her mint." 
 
 "WTiilst Steinberg was engaged in the transac- 
 tions just related, a .Jew belonging to the same 
 synagogue as himself walked into the parlour, and 
 
 2 A
 
 266 A JEWISH co]y:MON cause. 
 
 requested an interview with him. Mrs. Steinberg 
 being absent, Adeline replied, 
 
 *'Yell, Miss Steinberg, as usual, you see — 
 come a-begging." 
 
 " But, sir, you always come with a good cause. 
 What is it now?" 
 
 " Death." 
 
 '* Where ?" 
 
 " Pet- tee-coat Lane." 
 
 " And what, sir, are the particulars ?" 
 
 *' A young woman. The father and mother, my 
 childsh, is dead — long, long, timesh. She kept 
 four or five childsh by doing work and thuigsh 
 among the brethren ; and von of the boysh vent 
 out vith a clo' bag. But now she's dead — died 
 this morning. There' sh no monish in the housh, 
 so ve mush do liberalsh, you know, 'cause of the 
 childsh." 
 
 " What is the sum which the necessities of the 
 family require each person to give?" inquired 
 Adeline. 
 
 " Yell, all whosh shubstance will allow it ought 
 to give ten shillings ; none less than five. Bro- 
 ther Levi, though, gave only half-a-crownsh — 
 he'll lozh the reward, for the Eternal hash blessh't 
 him with plenty of monish." 
 
 ''I'll see father — I'll not detain you long,'* 
 said Adeline, as she placed a sovereign in his 
 hand. And bounding up the stairs, she gently 
 pushed aside the door of the room in which Stein-
 
 OXLY OXE '^IF. 267 
 
 berg and Yemon were occupied in closing their 
 accounts. 
 
 The blood rushed crimson over her face and 
 neck, as she perceived the eyes of the two 
 strangers turned upon her in undisguised admi- 
 ration. Her father buckled himself up with con- 
 scious pride in his daughter, and either could not, 
 or would not, understand the meaning of her up- 
 lifted finger. Stepping lightly up to him, she 
 whispered hastily, ''A very distressing case of 
 death and want; ten shillings at least." 
 
 *' Ja, ja," said Steinberg; and he grumbled the 
 money into her hand, ludicrously mingling his 
 discontented mutterings with an effort to seem 
 hearty and wilHng. Having received the dona- 
 tion, Adeline retired as noiselessly as she had 
 entered; and it was speedily transferred to the 
 box of the collector. 
 
 " Can I have a little conversation with you in 
 private, Mr. Steinberg?" asked Lord Yemon, as 
 he handed him the cheque. 
 
 *' Shertinly you can. Let'sh shee ; yes, 'um — 
 if you mishes for such a ting," replied Steinberg, 
 contemplatively, for he was admiring the cheque. 
 
 " This is new," said Lord Derescourt. " What's 
 afloat now, that I can't hear r" 
 
 " Nothing," answered Yemon, in a high-dried.
 
 268 STEINBERG IN A FOG. 
 
 uneasy tone. " Tell ijou some other time," he 
 added, as they quitted the apartment. 
 
 'Tact is, Mr. Steinherg, I've took a fancy to 
 your daughter," he said, bustling himself up and 
 down the room. 
 
 ''What do you mean by fanshy ?" drawled 
 Steinberg. 
 
 "Why, I've taken a liking to her. I want her 
 to keep house for me, receive the company, live 
 with me, instead of the one I've got." 
 
 " She's going to be married wit a hushband in 
 eine wick or two. But if she vashn't, I shouldn't 
 let her go shervant mit anybody." 
 
 " Going to be married ! eh ?" whined out Mister 
 Vernon ; a faint gleam of light finding its way 
 somewhere within him. " Then, I suppose, if 
 I'm to have her, I must marry her?" 
 
 " Augh ! vatsh that you shay ?" gasped Stein- 
 berg. 
 
 "I'll marry her. S-he's a fine, beautiful 
 
 girl — no mistake. I think she'll suit me ex- 
 actly." 
 
 " Make her eine wife mit you, do you mean ?" 
 
 " To be sure ; to-morrow, if she likes." 
 
 " Mill you love her ber gute — als I have loved 
 her ?" 
 
 "All my heart and soul I do !" 
 
 "Veil, I daun knaw," said Steinberg, thought- 
 fully. " You'll treat her wit all the same man- 
 ner als you would your wife ?"
 
 THE SKY CLEARS. 269 
 
 ''I'll maiT}* her, as I said. Make her Coun- 
 tess of Yemon, and present her to the highest 
 circles as my countess. I'm glad I've seen her — 
 so grand and queenly ; one would have thought 
 she'd been bred at court. She'U suit me first- 
 rate," said the youthful expectant with quite a 
 flash of intellectual energy. 
 
 "Yer nice. But there' sh her shweetheart," 
 Tentriloquised Steinberg. 
 
 " What odds of him ? She'd, of course, sooner 
 have me. He'll soon find some one else — trust 
 him ; plenty o' women." 
 
 "■ She mightn't likesh to part herself wit him," 
 suggested Steinberg, tenderly. 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! haw ! Haw ! haw ! haw 1" 
 roared the noble earl. And he was so sublimely 
 overjoyed at the intensely preposterous idea that 
 a woman could have any feeling in such a matter, 
 that, in his excitement, he rose jfrom his chair and 
 walked about the room, indulging his enjoyment 
 to his heart's content. 
 
 At last he recovered a little. 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! ^VTiat's she got to do with it ? 
 She'U have a husband, and a finer fellow than he 
 is, I reckon. What more does she want ?" 
 
 Steinberg was quite brought up by this view of 
 the affair. A husband — wealth — rank — title 
 — high connexions — how sweetly refreshing. 
 
 " You know she's a Jewess ?" he asked. 
 
 2 a2
 
 270 VEENON IN LOVE. 
 
 "Why certainly I do ; that is, I took her for 
 your daughter, so I reckoned she must be." 
 
 '* You'll let her come to the synagogue, and 
 keep all the feashts and fasts?" he asked, with 
 praiseworthy solicitude. 
 
 "Anything she likes. All I want is her; then 
 she may be an atheist, if she's a mind. "What 
 does it matter to me what she believes !" 
 
 "You don't mean any ting unhonoursh wit 
 her ?" persisted Steinberg. 
 
 " I mean just what I've been saying." 
 
 "Ber goot, ber goot," remarked Mr. Steinberg 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "Do I consider the thing settled then ?" 
 
 "That you shall take her to you for eine 
 wife?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Yes, ber sur." 
 
 " Well then I'd better see her," said the ardent 
 young lover, looking down upon his leggikins, 
 and eyeing himself from top to toe with tender 
 complacency. 
 
 "JSTo, no. 'No, no. Let me breaksh it wit her 
 firsht. She's ver timeet to anthward shtrangers." 
 
 Yernon did not coincide with this proposal at 
 all. But however reluctant he felt, there was no 
 help for it. 
 
 "When shall I see her?" he said pettishly, 
 and twirling his gold-headed cane.
 
 A WOMAN SOLD. 271 
 
 **Yell, let me sliee," soliloquised Steinberg. 
 " Dis ees Montag, to-morrow den ees Tuestag; 
 ven she mill be oJff mit her Isaac to the feasht, 
 before I shall have time to say wit her what you 
 have said to me lashtly. De mosht simples direct, 
 den, als I can give you ish, to shee her in about 
 ein wick; and then you can have her conshent." 
 
 "Oh, yes — she'll consent — no fear," said the 
 earl in a decided voice. ''TTell, I shall call in 
 about a week or so then." 
 
 " Ya, ya. Do in such a manner ; that will be 
 goot." And they left the place together.
 
 272 KINDKED SOULS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE FEAST OF PENTECOST. 
 
 " Be mute who will, who can, 
 Yet I will praise thee with impassioned voice ! 
 Me didst thou constitute a priest of thine 
 In such a temple as we now behold, 
 Eear'd for thy presence ; therefore am I bound 
 To worship, here and everywhere." 
 
 WOEDSWOKTH. 
 
 " Could we but keep our spirits to that height 
 We might be happy ; but this clay will sink 
 Its spark immortal." 
 
 Byeon. 
 
 " She was a fairy thing, 
 Like day-light in its opening." 
 
 OsBOEN W. T. Heighway. 
 
 Isaac's engagements of a business character were 
 never very numerous nor pressing ; and therefore 
 he ahnost entirely resigned himself to the society 
 of Adeline. Every day brought some new excur- 
 sion to scenes of chaste and quiet beauty, in com- 
 panionship with one of the most lovely and gifted 
 of women. Isaac's theory, that what is most
 
 ''it is xot good foe max to be aloxe." 273 
 
 beautiful in nature ought to be enjoyed in soli- 
 tude, he found to be quite impracticable. He 
 never felt a desire to visit any place if Adeline 
 could not accompany him; and every ramble 
 which they took together derived its higher gra- 
 tification from her presence. He could always 
 realise the hope, the joy, the poetry of life, 
 better when she was near to direct his thoughts. 
 Eetween them there was sympathy of taste, and 
 thought, and feeling ; sympathy of high purpose 
 and noble sentiment; sympathy which no time 
 nor change of circumstances could subdue. So- 
 litude indeed — 
 
 " Zimmerman, Zimmerman, 
 Hadst thou but a glimmer, man." 
 
 But he had not a glimmer of sense, else he would 
 never have dreamed and prated of a thing so un- 
 fit for man on this earth as solitude, where Xature 
 has furnished every fragrant bower, with or with- 
 out license, episcopal or parliamentary, to hold 
 
 two. 
 
 And it was something like this that Isaac de- 
 cided when, one evening, he went out alone to 
 look upon the scene near his home, which of all 
 others he preferred, it so completely fascinated his 
 spirit. To his surprise he found that he, a de- 
 voted admirer of natui'e, was standing by the 
 deep stillness of the water, beneath a beautiful 
 starlight, watching the heavj' flush of the trees
 
 274 NATURAL AFFECTION, NATURAL HAPPINESS. 
 
 and hills with a distracted mind. All the en- 
 chantment had vanished ! "W^ere now was the 
 water, and the starlight, and the hills, and the 
 mysterious profound above him ! Evidently Isaac 
 was no longer his own, half of him was some- 
 where else. 
 
 It followed, therefore, that he and Adeline 
 made many expeditions alone. Few who looked 
 upon that soft and quiet exterior, might have 
 imagined the exhaustless well of poetry and bless- 
 edness which was ever gushing over in Adeline's 
 bosom. She possessed not a faintest tinge of the 
 wild fervour of the enthusiast ; all her manner 
 was serene, peaceful, still. Yet to a kindred 
 spirit it was revealed in the brightness ever 
 hovering so dreamily over her beautiful cheek, 
 and the vivid feeling which lit up the pellucid 
 deeps of her large earnest eyes, with a light be- 
 longing to other worlds. 
 
 '^I cannot tell you," said Adeline in one of 
 these walks, ^' I cannot tell you the pleasure I 
 feel when I get away, quite away, from aU the 
 haunts of men, and find myself serene and still 
 under the crystal azure of a cloudless summer 
 sky. There all seems made only to minister to 
 my delight ; and I feel in its fullest, most enthu- 
 siastic degree what a beautiful thing is life. 
 Beauty is an all-pervading presence. ' It haunts 
 everything in earth, and sea, and sky; and an 
 infinite joy is lost to men because they so inade-
 
 LIFE AND LOYELIXESS. 275 
 
 quately understand this precious principle of our 
 being. Its delights are so refined, elevated, and 
 pure; it is so inseparably united with our noblest 
 and loftiest sensibilities, that I often grieve that 
 any one should omit to cultivate this spiritual 
 life; for let the world think how it will, the life 
 of the soul is like God, from whom it emanates, 
 all beauty. Were men's eyes opened to this 
 truth how would their existence be elevated. 
 All we see, and all we feel, would be transformed 
 — recreated. Everything visible and invisible, 
 would, like our own spirit, be love and peace. 
 That any one can live and move about among 
 these beautiful scenes, daily forgetful of the Deity 
 of whom they are an expression made intelligible 
 to mortal eyes, would be a puzzle did we not ac- 
 cept it as a proof how low sunk in sin our spirits 
 must be. To me the earth and sky do so seem 
 to mingle, that I can scarcely separate them ; and 
 feeling thus, I often indulge myself in dreamy 
 and deUcious speculations that, if the misty veil 
 of time were drawn aside from my eyes, I should 
 see myself surrounded with blissful angels, and 
 holy spirits vrith their golden lutes, and immortal 
 Buns, and fadeless bowers, and all the glorious 
 love and beauty of eternity." 
 
 " It must have been from some such feeling," 
 replied Isaac, " that the great painters have 
 thrown a mystic dimness over their Elysium. It 
 was quite necessary that there should be a dif-
 
 276 THE UNSEARCHABLE FUTUEE. 
 
 ference between it and earth : they found them- 
 selves unable to imagine a world more lovely and 
 beautiful than this, and therefore they painted a 
 land of shadows and mysterious twilight, where 
 the spirit might wander and fill with heavenly 
 beauty for itself. Adeline," he pursued, and 
 there was a quiver of intense feeling communicated 
 to his voice, " I often think it strange when I 
 hear some people talk of a desire to go to heaven, 
 for thinking and feeling as they do here, I wonder 
 how they can expect to be happy there. The 
 change produced by death is not a metamorphosis 
 but an emancipation. The soul renewed in the 
 spirit of God begins the divine life here ; in this 
 life it is as impossible to stand still in time as it is 
 in eternity; but at present all our aspirations are 
 clouded by sense, all our efforts confined by the 
 body. At last, God commissions Death to come 
 and throw the shackles off, that we may be ad- 
 mitted into the higher sanctuary. But not a 
 feeling in the soul is changed — they are simply 
 heightened, enlarged, elevated to the illimitable 
 degrees of immortality. The unbound spirit finds 
 itself in the visible presence of Him, whom be- 
 fore it could feel and behold only faintly and at a 
 distance ; and free as infinity itself, is searching, 
 learning, increasing in the enjoyment of God for 
 ever." 
 
 ''What you have said," replied Adeline, 
 '' brings to my mind the thoughts I had when I
 
 A POSSIBLE ELYSIOr. 277 
 
 first began to read the Bible. One of the things 
 that I earliest deduced from it ^as, that hea- 
 venly spirits are not equal in their degrees of 
 enjoyment. For a moment I felt disposed to ob- 
 ject to this. But a very little reflection enabled 
 me to discover that in the very nature of things 
 it must be so. As God is heaven and heaven is 
 God, it follows consistently enough that they vrho 
 imbibe most of His spirit here, will in heaven 
 enjoy a bliss of which less earnest ones can form 
 no conception, for they will Jc?iow more of Him, 
 consequently /^^Z more of Him. Of course, those 
 who have the less happiness, do not miss the 
 higher, because they are quite incapable of feeling 
 it. So each in his o^ti measure feels a heaven. 
 Just as here, the simple unlettered man can have 
 no idea of the immense and inexhaustible delight 
 which flows from a cultivated heart and intellect, 
 and thus believes that his happiness is as great as 
 it is possible to enjoy on eaith." 
 
 "You are one of those, dear Adeline," said 
 Isaac, in a playful voice, * ' who have learned to 
 begin their heaven in this world." 
 
 "If I do not begin it here," replied Adeline, 
 " I never shall at all." 
 
 "Well would it be if all would strive like 
 you ; for then the curse and misery of sin would 
 almost have passed away, even in this life. You 
 would have what you so fondly picture — a world 
 all love — no jarring chord in any heart." 
 
 2 B
 
 278 REALITY XOT ALWAYS TRUTH. 
 
 ''Oh, beautiful! beautiful!"., exclaimed Ade- 
 line, her eyes radiant with soft rapture, and a 
 crystal tear trembled on their drooping lashes* 
 *' And it would all be so if we would only allow 
 God to govern in His way, instead of madly 
 persisting with our own. But I think we really 
 must stop our transcendental contemplations if 
 you please, else we shall imbibe such a dis- 
 relish for the actual world, that when we return 
 to it we may be somewhat out of humour. Look 
 at the beauty of yonder mansion, with its thick 
 dark shelter of oaks on the one hand, and its 
 graceful avenue of acacias on the other; and the 
 statue, surrounded by that lovely parterre of 
 flowers, looking so thoughtfully — as though in 
 the quivering shadowiness of the water depths 
 he could find aerial companions for his loneliness 
 — on the fountain bubbling up at his feet. And 
 then shift your position of view a little — how fine 
 is the wavy outline of those blue hills, inter- 
 lacing the azure sky with gently undulating ridges 
 and massy trees that seem to hide themselves in 
 the very brightness — yet so soft — so dream- 
 like — like a shadow on the soul of Love. Oh, 
 that is beautiful!" 
 
 ''And do you notice that semicircular hill, in- 
 vested with so much positiveness of hue, that at 
 last mingles itself with the far bright distance 
 which has no limits. The gradation of shades 
 and colours is perfect. It is an infinity, divided
 
 THE PEXTECOST EEAST. 279 
 
 into an infinite number of degrees, but always 
 beautiful. It is repose — perfection !" 
 
 "It is earth melting into sky I" said Ade- 
 line. "See, it seems expanding, rising higher 
 
 — higher — ascending in a calm ethereal cloud! 
 
 — a mist of light I The Spirit of the Beautiful 
 has triumphed I" 
 
 It is near the middle of the month Sivan, and 
 one of Mr. Cohen's happiest seasons, for all his 
 family are peacefully collected together in his 
 calm and gentle home, it being the Jlij^^^ti^ — 
 feast of Pentecost. 
 
 The feast of Pentecost has no features of par- 
 ticular interest. Xone of the sacrifices appointed 
 for it can be offered now. The want of these is, as 
 usual, supphed by prayer and alms-giving. 
 
 "A new synagogue is to be opened the day 
 
 after to-morrow, Isaac, at , in Berkshire," 
 
 said Mr. Cohen. " 1 cannot go. But you might; 
 and surely Miss Steinberg will too." 
 
 "I shall be delighted; and so will Adeline. 
 We can go in the chaise." 
 
 "I think so," repHed Mr. Cohen. "The dis- 
 tance is about eighteen miles. You won't be there 
 ^the saying of the Shemar" and he smiled 
 Pily. 
 
 " Why then it would be necessary to start at
 
 280 A COLLECTION. 
 
 once. JN'o. If we get there in time for the late 
 service it will be excellent, I think," said Isaac. 
 
 ** Yes, that would do. Our brethren there are 
 few in number, and have had hard work to build 
 their little place ; and the Holy One — blessed be 
 He — having prospered us, we must take part of 
 their burden. Give this for me." And he placed a 
 bank-note in Isaac's hand. 
 
 *' This is enough for you and me too, father. 
 IN'ow, David, where is your share in the concern ? 
 You have to treble your contributions, you know, 
 now you are married ; one lot for yourself, two 
 for Mrs. Cohen." 
 
 '' "Whish !" cried David, '' Hermon must pay 
 for herself, I think. But no matter. The money 
 being joint-stock, I may as well subscribe all. 
 "What damages do you expect now ?" 
 
 " Three guineas, at the very least." 
 
 '' There is need for the utmost liberality," inter- 
 posed Mr. Cohen. ''He can well afford four or five." 
 
 " In my opinion, Mr. Cohen, you might gene- 
 rally be more liberal than you are ; you have the 
 means," said Mary. 
 
 " My lovely accusing angel !" said David. 
 
 " Let me see the effect," said Mary. 
 
 ''Three will do," said David. "One for my- 
 self, two for Hermon. Unless," he pursued, as he 
 looked upon his wife, ''unless you wish to gi^ 
 more." 
 
 "If you will allow me, then, my dear husband,
 
 A DESCAJS'T OX FBrENDSHIP. 281 
 
 I will add one more guinea to yours. We have 
 so much cause for gratitude in the peace and love 
 with which a kind Providence so abundantly 
 blesses us." And she drew out her purse. 
 
 ''Will Mr. St. Maur go with us r" asked 
 Isaac. 
 
 ''I don't know. It's a very serious question, 
 and should not be hastily answered." 
 
 " 0, take plenty of time for consideration, by 
 aU means," replied Isaac. 
 
 " You see I've lost a good deal of my piety 
 lately ; and to go would be worse than a Talmud- 
 ist's penance, and do as little good." 
 
 *' But you might make a sacrifice to friendship." 
 
 ''And, besides, get a mouthful of spiritual 
 food. But no; I'll retract that. Tar more 
 glorious would it be to go as a martyr to friend- 
 ship ; that then shall be my motive." 
 
 *' You are a faithful affectionate creature," ob- 
 served Isaac, tenderly. 
 
 "And always was. I learned it at school. We 
 used, you know, to write it in our copy-books — 
 'Amicus fidelis medicamentum vitae,' — a faithful 
 friend is the medicine of life. We should at all 
 times be ready to accompany a friend either in a 
 triimiphal ovation, or on a melancholy march to 
 the scaffold ; to place the victor's crown upon his 
 wjad, or the funereal handkerchief in his hand. 
 And all should be done with the most disinterested 
 feeling — from the mere pleasure of serving him." 
 
 2b2
 
 282 A TRUE FEELING OF HUMANITY. 
 
 " You may perhaps find some tidings of Eva 
 there," said Isaac. 
 
 '' I wish I might ; but I have no hope of it. 
 However her guardian will be back soon." 
 
 The entrance of a servant with a letter, which 
 she placed in the hands of Mr. Cohen, changed 
 the current of the conversation. 
 
 He rapidly ran his eye over the contents, and 
 then said, '' Show her here, make tea, and bring 
 whatever substantial food you have at hand." 
 
 The stranger entered. She was a pale, thin 
 woman, with a countenance that bespoke a fami- 
 liar acquaintance with sorrow. In her arms she 
 bore an infant ; and a little girl, of about eight 
 years old, stood trembling by her side. Placing 
 chairs, Isaac requested they would seat themselves. 
 
 " Why, my good lady, didn't you make your 
 circumstances known to us before you were re- 
 duced to such extremity ?" said Mr. Cohen. 
 
 " When I was offered a letter to you, sir, I 
 didn't like to take it, if I wasn't obliged, because 
 I am a Gentile; and I felt I had no right." 
 
 *'How could you allow such a thought !" eja- 
 culated, Isaac, involuntarily. 
 
 " It was indeed a sad mistake," replied Mr. 
 Cohen. "It matters nothing to us whether the 
 poor sufferer is Jew or Gentile. While we have 
 bread we must help him. How many childreB^ 
 have you ? Let's see though — I think the letter
 
 ADELINE TBnTMPHAXT. 283 
 
 " Seven, sir," said the stranger. 
 
 '* And that in arms is the youngest — of course:" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And it is very young, I should think." 
 
 *' It is nearly six months old, sir." 
 
 Adeline was quite incapable of rudeness. But, 
 spite of herself, she was obliged to indulge in 
 several very covert looks in the direction of the 
 baby, each one increasing the intensity of her sym- 
 pathies towards it, until it were hard to say if 
 what she felt was not a downright breach of the 
 tenth commandment. !N'ow, however, that the 
 remarks had turned upon the little creatui'e, she 
 could restrain herself by the cold rules of eti- 
 quette no longer. 
 
 " I do hope you will forgive me my intrusive- 
 ness, ma'am," she said as, with a face beaming 
 all over with love, she advanced towards the 
 stranger lady. "But I should feel much plea- 
 sure if you would allow me to nurse the baby 
 while you remain." 
 
 Of course no objection was offered. So Ade- 
 line took the infant gently in her arms, smoothed 
 down its long white robe very carefully indeed, 
 laid a kiss upon its peach-blow lips, and marched 
 off with it to her seat triumphantly. 
 
 " Do you love children, Miss Steinberg ?" asked 
 St. Maur. 
 
 " Oh ! passionately," replied Isaac. " She posi- 
 tively adores them."
 
 284 
 
 "And how do you manage, my good lady, 
 without any furniture ? Is it possible you have 
 nothing at all left ?" 
 
 " My husband went and got a bundle of shav- 
 ings for us to sleep on; and those with a few 
 bricks " 
 
 " Spare yourself any farther particulars, pray," 
 said Mr. Cohen. " Your circumstances are dread- 
 ful ; it is a melancholy thought that such things 
 are and can be?" 
 
 " The Lord only knows what we have suffered," 
 said the woman, and a strange brilliance flashed 
 in her feverish eyes. ''Once I wouldn't have 
 thought it possible to live and endure what I have. 
 But nobody knows how much they can bear, es- 
 pecially when the Lord helps them, till they 
 prove it." 
 
 Eulalie — the beautiful, the lovely Eulalie — ^had 
 all this time been standing with her white arms 
 inweaving the waist of the little stranger child ; 
 her mild, angel eyes fixed earnestly upon her 
 father, while her ears drunk every word. She 
 tripped lightly up to Mary, and said in a sad and 
 tearful voice, ''Mary, dear, may I go with you 
 next time you go a- visiting ?" 
 
 " Certainly, my love, you may if you wish ; 
 but why should you?" 
 
 *' Oh, Mary, these things lie so heavy on my 
 heart, and make my head burn so. I cannot bear 
 it. That little baby, with its poor thin fingers ;
 
 DOES GOD LOVE SITFERiyG .' 285 
 
 oh dear !" and Eulalia buried her face in Marj-'s 
 bosom. 
 
 "Hush, my precious I — don't cry," said ^an', 
 folding her still tighter to her heart. " "We shall 
 be able to relieve them and make them better, 
 I hope, now we know of it." 
 
 "Yes, dear, but, oh! what they have suffered. 
 ^What a world this seems ; so much sorrow, sor- 
 row, son-ow. I don't understand it. I feel God 
 does not mean it, for He loves us so very dearly ; 
 and it grieves Him then, I know it, I feel it, dear 
 Mary." 
 
 "Yes, my love, sin, by introducing sorrow, has 
 made this world a great grief to our tender Father. 
 But if we suffer now, we shall reign with Him 
 hereafter. Let us be thankful for that hope." 
 And Mary stooped to kiss Eulaha's quivering lips. 
 
 " I wish I could do something for them," said 
 Eulalia, sadly ; and her voice wandered until it 
 seemed to die away in soft, afar-off murmurings. 
 " I would make them veiy happy — all of them. 
 I would love them so fondly, so deeply, so faith- 
 fully; and be so careful of them. How lonely 
 they must feel, and desolate; nobody to speak 
 kindly to them, nor to share their trouble ; but 
 people all passing by them as if they cared nothing 
 about them. Here's this lady, Marj', loves, her 
 baby as well as papa or you love me ; and it 
 would kill him to see us all lying in the cold, 
 with nothing to cover us. Oh, it is so dreadful I"
 
 286 EULALIA MYSTIFIED. 
 
 "So it is, my love," said Mary, in a Toice in 
 whicli sootHngness, benignity, and tenderness 
 were beautifully commingled. ''And if we feel 
 rightly, we shall not allow ourselves to enjoy hap- 
 piness while such suffering is unrelieved, if we 
 can do it." 
 
 "Bat why, dear, do people feel about it as they 
 do ? Papa often says that if those who have 
 means would give all they could to those who 
 have none, no person would be distressed for com- 
 fortable things." 
 
 " It is quite true, my beloved. But we can- 
 not make them feel so ; at least if they do, they 
 like their money better than making others happy, 
 and so they will not give it away." 
 
 '^If papa were to speak to them about it," 
 said Eulalia, in a soft absent voice — "he con- 
 vinces everybody. Perhaps, dear, they don't 
 know that some little children suffer so much. 
 Of course they cannot help loving people; espe- 
 cially when they see them in trouble and un- 
 happy. And so beautiful as it is to see we have 
 made them all delighted and joyful!" 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Eulalie, I sadly fear they know 
 all about it ; many of them more than even we 
 do," replied Mary. 
 
 " Then I don't know how to think about it," 
 said Eulalia, thoughtfully. " What use is money 
 if it is not to do good with ? I am sure I should 
 never want it. And so cruel — so wicked — as
 
 it seems to let people suffer when we can 
 stop it." 
 
 Mary felt so too, and joined to the music of 
 Eulalia's sweet soft angel voice, the solemn spirit 
 light which beamed from the deeps of her mourn- 
 ful eyes, and her holy trusting look — such as a 
 cherub might wear, while sheltered beneath an 
 angel's wing — as she turned them njDon her, it 
 made her heart swell big, and a rush of melo- 
 dious feeling sweep through her soul as she hung 
 over Eulalia's bright forehead to kiss it. 
 
 "I long to go to heaven," said Eulalia, in a 
 still and misty voice; and a bright unearthly 
 cloud passed across her eyes, like a shadow from a 
 seraph's wing, and then they grew Kght agaiu. 
 " All is so peaceful, loving, beautiful in heaven. 
 All is happy there. ^-Ul love each other there. 
 I long to go. I often feel it, Mary ; near me, 
 filling me, it seems — and — and — oh I it is 
 so beautiful I — I seem breathing myself away in 
 love. And I see that bright blue sky — that sun- 
 shine that I often picture — those beautiful waving 
 flowers that never fade — and I breathe those soft 
 sweet airs which whisper — and oh ! it is of such 
 beautiful love they whisper — among the fruit and 
 orange groves of my lovely Father's land. And oh ! 
 those happy times. I seem to be falling away in a 
 beautiful gentle sleep, like I do when I sleep in your 
 bosom by the side of the fountain in the garden." 
 
 A servant came into the room, and rapidly
 
 288 ADELINE QUITE AT HOME, 
 
 spread the table with all sorts of viands : and 
 then in the midst of all, she placed a most in- 
 viting pot of tea, steaming cheerful and joyous, 
 and with its musically murmured song seeming to 
 mingle the most irresistible prayers for some one 
 to come and drink it. 
 
 '^ Kow, ma' urn, be so kind as to draw your chair 
 up to the table," said Mr. Cohen. '' Miss Steinberg, 
 will you please to attend to them ?" 
 
 The poor woman complied with a look of 
 frightened gratitude. Adeline lost no time in 
 spreading cakes, and fowl, and hot broiled beef; 
 nor was cold pie forgotten. It was just the office 
 that was congenial to all the sensibilities of Ade- 
 line's loving nature. And, with the look of her 
 beautiful eyes, the sweetness of her smile, and the 
 feeling, quicker than thought with which she 
 passed on fi'om one thing to another, all centering 
 either in the woman or her child, she appeared so 
 blessed, so benignly joyous, that all who looked 
 upon her, felt their soul stilled to the deep rich 
 hush of perfect happiness. How calm, how beau- 
 tiful, how heavenly is love ! 
 
 Yet you must not think that Adeline surren- 
 dered up her infant treasure. It could not be ex- 
 pected ; and she would have smiled if any one had 
 been so sweetly innocent as to request it. She 
 placed some milk on the fire to warm ; and while 
 this was in operation she pounded biscuit very 
 finely indeed, and then mingled it with the milk.
 
 WITH HER NEW BABY. 289 
 
 To this she added certain mysterious ingredients 
 which we really cannot specify, because the 
 proper composition of this kind of food has, ever 
 since the days of Eve the first mother, been known 
 only to the ladies. Having mixed, she tasted the 
 compound ; and finding it in every way satisfac- 
 tory, began to feed the little creature very care- 
 fully, and in small quantities at a time. Adeline 
 was delighted with the remarkably successful 
 manner in which it accomplished the feat of eating ; 
 and, indeed, there did appear to be some danger 
 that baby would be done to death with feeding, 
 and hugging, and kisses, and smiles, and express- 
 ions of admiration. 
 
 " Dear papa," said Eiilalia, whispering in his 
 ear, '* the little girl is just my size. Could she 
 not have some of my clothes r There are some 
 things I am sure I don't need, because I can wear 
 them so seldom; and I should feel so much 
 happier if I knew she was dressed warmly. How 
 she must feel, dear papa, in our comfortable 
 home!" 
 
 It was one of Mr. Cohen's principles never 
 to check the liberahty of any of his children, 
 but to do aU in his power to encourage it, and 
 show that he approved of it. So he said, in 
 the same soft voice, " WeU, my precious child, 
 if you think so, go and see what you can spare 
 them. But mind that the things are warm and 
 serviceable, and suited to the rest of her dress, so 
 
 2 c
 
 290 MESMEKISM. 
 
 that she may not be ashamed to wear them. 
 Ask Mary if she will be kind enough to go with 
 you, and help you to judge." 
 
 At last, when all was collected together, the 
 poor afflicted creature, scarcely able to contain 
 her gratitude, was dismissed with a load of food 
 and clothing beyond her strength — reduced by 
 hardship — to carry; and therefore a servant was 
 despatched to assist her. Nor was money for- 
 gotten. And as, on all such occasions, every mem- 
 ber of a Jewish family is moved by a noble spirit 
 of emulation, she received a very substantial sum, 
 accompanied by a desire that they might con- 
 tinue to be informed of her circumstances. 
 
 *' There's to be some experiments in Animal 
 Magnetism made to-night," said David, looking 
 up from the Morning Post with a yawn. 
 
 '' Where ?" asked St. Maur. 
 
 "0! at B , just beyond here." 
 
 " Shall we go ?" he said to Isaac. 
 
 *' Why you don't intend to countenance that of 
 all things?" 
 
 '^ Well, I should like to see the concern. I 
 have a decided antipathy to being gulled ; and I 
 am quite of opinion that this thing is a disgusting 
 sham all out — ^in fact, about one of the most elabo- 
 rate specimens of humbug, which any German 
 quack, in his German stuhe, over German beer, 
 ever perpetrated. I wonder it has been endured
 
 ST. MATJb's 0PrN'I02fS. 291 
 
 half as it has. But Englishmen have an instinct 
 full of sympathy with medical quackery — from 
 German pills and table-turning, to this magnetism. 
 They hate political and poetical quackery ; but they 
 shut their eyes, and open their pockets, to any 
 impudent rogue who professes to render them im- 
 mortal by a pill. You know I have seen a thing 
 or two in India; where, without any acknow- 
 ledged contract with supernatural powers, a native 
 will make you a cup of boiling coffee without 
 either fire or water — ]so he says; and take man- 
 goes and cocoa-nuts from an empty sack before 
 your eyes; and swallow poisons without harm. 
 So I should like to go to this thing to-night. 
 "WTiat do you think of the concern, David r" 
 
 " ^^thing." 
 
 " I'm glad of it — shows your exti'eme good 
 sense. I've made a few experiments myself; but 
 after going through all the flummery of passes, 
 and looking gravely and steadily into a pair of 
 laughing blue eyes for a quarter of an hour, I was 
 obliged to give up, and own that all the magnet- 
 ising power had been exercised on the other side." 
 
 ''You might do some service, if you would de- 
 nounce it in public," said Isaac. 
 
 '' Exactly. I could make out a pretty fair 
 case, I think. Amongst the three hundred and 
 sixty- five manuscript miscellanies, innocently 
 slumbering on the shelves of my cabinet, are as 
 many papers as, if collected, would make, I think,
 
 292 GENIUS. 
 
 a couple of nice octavo volumes, entitled, 'Private 
 Opinions upon Rank Impostures.' " 
 
 " Or, 'Secret Instructions of the Imposition,' " 
 suggested Isaac. 
 
 "That is better. I should get two or three 
 thousand pounds extra for the title ; for they say 
 a punning title always trebles the sale of a work. 
 "Well, ere long perhaps, they may see the day ; 
 nor need they shun the sun, for unstained are they 
 by unkindness as a lady's letters to her female 
 friend, written on her first visit to the vales of 
 Italy. I think there are two or three lectures 
 among them. I lectured once in person in India." 
 
 " The assurance !" said Isaac. " You lecture." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 ''But how did you manage to get up the impu- 
 dence and matter for a lecture ?" 
 
 " Genius, Mr. Cohen, genius. Genius can do 
 anything. It can eifectively personate lago in a 
 kilt, or Macbeth in a tail-coat and breeches." 
 
 " Then among all your other excellencies you 
 reckon an ability for spouting ?" 
 
 "Like :N'iagara." 
 
 " Were you perfectly collected, in your at- 
 tempt?" asked Mary. 
 
 " Well, I was frightened at first. Not that I 
 feared any lack of abilities — these I knew I pos- 
 sessed in an eminent degree. But I am so exces- 
 sively, even painfully, modest and bashful, as you 
 know."
 
 FEAES. 293 
 
 "Yes," replied Isaac, ''I can easily understand 
 tliat your exquisite sensitiveness in that "vray cost 
 you much suffering. But of the lecture which 
 this itinerant Xavier is going to let off to night. 
 You'll go, Adeline ? I am guided by you." 
 
 "I am sure, then, I will not be an obstacle," 
 replied Adeline. ''But I hope Mary wiU go 
 too." 
 
 " She will be sure to say yes. So we shall 
 just make a party." 
 
 " m take Tim, my Irishman," said St. Maur. 
 
 " ^hat will you do with him r" asked Isaac. 
 
 " I might be inclined to speak. If anything 
 rough followed, it might be acceptable to have 
 him near me. Besides, Tim vrill enjoy the thing 
 so : and he is a good, straightforward fellow, and 
 has the muscles of a rhinoceros." 
 
 " do let me beg you to keep silent," said 
 Adeline, imploringly. "ItwiU make us ill if 
 you arouse any feeling of an unpleasant nature." 
 
 " Be sure I will not intentionally. You need 
 not be apprehensive — it's only a joke. Tim can 
 drive us." 
 
 2 c2
 
 294 TIM IN OFFICE. 
 
 CHAPTEll XXI. 
 
 DOINGS AT THE JEWISH SEMINARY. 
 
 The carriage stood at the front door. Tim 
 plumed himself not a little on his newly- acquired 
 dignity of " dhriving the laadies/' and sat upon 
 the box as upright as a hovel-post. As soon that 
 afternoon as he was made aware that he had it to 
 do, he commenced worrying the poor groom almost 
 out of his life. It was in vain that the latter 
 assured him that '' everything was as right as a 
 trivet," and "just as it always had been;" and 
 " what had pleased before, would please now." 
 Tim would have the carriage re-rubbed and 
 polished, the horses' trappings more highly bur- 
 nished, and the ''iligant craythurs" themselves 
 were encouraged in all possible ways, and desired 
 to "stap their fut out nately." 
 
 Elder Elihu, who had arrived at Mr. Cohen's 
 during the later part of the day, took it into his 
 head that he should like to go to. A horse was 
 accordingly saddled for him. 
 
 Now Mr. Elihu was by no means a horseman ; 
 and probably the horse found it out. Eor after
 
 Mil. ELIHU OX HORSEBACK. 295 
 
 going about a hundred yards in an orthodox, 
 horsely fashion, he turned himself sidewise to the 
 road, and commenced demonstrating a series of 
 most extraordinary mathematical problems with 
 the houses opposite. When he had amused him- 
 self in this way to his heart's content, he began 
 capering and flourishing with his feet, as if he 
 were taking his first lessons from a dancing- 
 master. This interlude was followed by a suc- 
 cession of plunges and leaps of an alarming cha- 
 racter. Mr. Elihu lost his hat ; and with his coat- 
 tails bobbing up and down, contributed his full 
 share in making up a sweetly picturesque group. 
 He was the image of blank flight. He tried 
 coaxing, and patted and stroked the neck of the 
 refractoiy animal, while he used various soothing 
 addresses, as ''Poor horse, then; did I hit him 
 too hard, then?" " Good horse, come, turn round 
 — good horse — good horse — nice fellow — yes, that 
 he was." The horse, like a sensible creature, de- 
 spised his flattery ; and finally, after reaiiug in 
 every possible way he could devise, turned his 
 tail, and trotted quietly home with Mr. EHhu 
 upon his back. 
 
 Isaac selected, and paid for, a front seat ; where, 
 in exchange for their half-crown a-piece, he and 
 his friends were to be permitted to imbibe a con- 
 siderable amount of strong and full-flavoured in- 
 formation. But Avith this lecture we have nothing 
 to do ; so it may pass away.
 
 296 tim's soliloquy. 
 
 "When it was concluded, our party adjourned to 
 their private room, in the commercial hotel, at 
 which they had left the carriage. While the 
 horses were being put to, Tim proceeded to en- 
 sconce himself over a snug little drop in the tap- 
 room. Being supplied with the glittering beve- 
 rage, he poured out a tumbler-full and commenced 
 disposing of it in very exactly proportioned sips ; 
 often pausing to imbibe the dew which continued 
 to hang about his lips. During these operations, 
 Tim's physiognomy became philanthropical in the 
 extreme — a thing not unusual with gentlemen in 
 similar circumstances. A bland benevolence of 
 sentiment, embracing all races, and classes, and 
 sects of men, permeated his bosom; quite the 
 ''mild angelic air" that Byron speaks so highly of. 
 
 ''Droothy work this dhrivin," he soliloquised. 
 *' Plisint plaace itself this. Kaaps the raal cray- 
 thur, anyway — the raal mountyin-dew. Will, 
 may pace an' binidiction be an the sowl iv him as 
 firstht invinted brandj^-an'-wather." 
 
 At this stage in his meditations Tim was hailed 
 by a man dressed in the true Anglo-Hibernian 
 style. His unbraced pantaloons had worked them- 
 selves many degrees out of place by meridian, and 
 his coat bore the strongest presumptive evidence 
 of having been blown from the mouth of a cannon. 
 He had a good-tempered, broad-humoured ex- 
 pression of countenance, rendered still more 
 comical by the jaunty set of his russet eaubeen.
 
 A FRIEXDLY :iIEETIXG. 297 
 
 and a T\dsp of straw which hung daintily from a 
 considerable cavity in the roof. 
 
 ""WTiroo!" he cried. ''To blazes wid me I 
 av id isn't ould Tim O'More. Tundher an' 
 turnip-taps ! will, how an-a ye my hairo ?" 
 
 "AiTahl B't'houly!" echoed Tim, ' 'I'm right 
 glad thin to mate tegither. I'm will, ivry tay- 
 spoonful av me — an' a dale betther thin that, 
 plase God. Augh ! thin, kem, as wiv bane ould 
 frins tegither, let's giv ye a becomin' an' criditha- 
 ble reciption, me darlint. Here's a dhrap o' the 
 potteen galore, ^^ and he handed him his glass. 
 
 "An' how d'ye likes Ingee ? " inquired his 
 friend, as he wiped his mouth lq his coat- cuff 
 after he had drunk. 
 
 "Ogh! By t'houly blunderbuss! idth's the 
 feerst gim o' th' arth an' the feerst flower o' the 
 say — barrin' ould Eyrin. Ith's rayther misfor- 
 tunat though id is, ye can't get many phwaties 
 theer, an' thad's troth — theer's no phwatie gar- 
 dyius. ^Tiat are you doin' av, iv ith's a feer 
 questinr" 
 
 "Shure thin, an' id's gardyunin I am, in a 
 soort iv atuthorer's — a shkulemisthriss's famley. 
 Bud, indaad, food be hard now to till ye whad I 
 am, fur nat a knaw I know. Id's most ivry- 
 thin' in coorse, an' nothin' pethickler in the mane- 
 time. Ith's the lasthe mile beyant here thit kud 
 be mishered any way; an' id's a purty dacent 
 soort iv a plaaee. I'm bin theer two year now,
 
 298 o'callighan's teoubles. 
 
 nigh hant it. Mver house desarved a betther 
 carrickthur in the shaap av atin' an' drinkin' and 
 the likes. I niver seen a betther ayther afore or 
 sin — and that's thrue. A good plaat af baaf or 
 sim ither mate ivry day univarsally — barrin the 
 fastht is in id. Ith's no lie now, what I'm 
 tiUin' an yis. An' they'm none av yer proud 
 stuck-up aigles, wid nothin' in the sthrong-box. 
 They'm richer nor the Mint, but they don'd 
 makes me wear oud me hat-brim be touchin it to 
 em. I'm niver touched id to 'em wanst — it's 
 thruth now what I'm jist said." 
 
 ''Is id a tuthorer's house, ye said ?" 
 
 '' Shure thin, an yeer right theer, howsandiver. 
 I'm rayther skeered at this instant-momint, be- 
 kase you parsaive theer' s a blaggard a-comia' the 
 night to run awaay wid wa nav the young laadies 
 — wan iv the most beauthifulst good-lukinst 
 craythurs in all the houl shkule o' thim too. An' 
 he manes to desaive her — ids nat jokin' thit I 
 am, now." 
 
 '' Whoo-hoo-hoop !" roared Tim, flourishing 
 his arm valiantly. ' ' Tundher an' gingerbrid ! 
 Id's mesilf thit ud be the boy to rattle me shillala 
 about the hid av him, even af he's no worser nor 
 the bestht man livin' " 
 
 ''Bad luck to him. I wish he'd bin in hi wen, 
 an' his pipe lit by the houly innicents, afore the 
 shade av his sliader had crasshed on my path. 
 Its med me all ill intirely intirely. Af you
 
 DWETDLIXG AWAY. 299 
 
 could say my arms now, I'm complaitly wake 
 — trotli an' I am now, widout anybammin' an ye. 
 Sin' I've knawn the outs an' ins av't, I've thried 
 to dipind an confisshn : but some way id saams 
 sich mortal sin, an' I can't dipind an't. The 
 laady's sich a beauthiful an' innocthent craythur, 
 an' the flower af the plaace. But thin it seems 
 just an' aiquil any way, bekase ye see she was 
 wan av thim blaggards as crushified the blissid 
 Saviour — glory be to God ! Troth too, an' id's 
 hirsilf, ivry inch an her, thit's the patthern av a 
 nate purty Jewisth. Sheen got the littlest arms, 
 an' feet, an' ban's as iver ye seen, an' a waisthe 
 nat bigger nor my little finger — ye may blave 
 what I'm tillin' an ye." 
 
 ^' Hiven alive ! is id a Jewisth thit she is r " 
 ''Indaad, an' you may say that. Id's anuf to 
 put wan all over in a thrimble av fright. Ye see 
 id isn't the wrang an't I'd like fur to do. Plaase 
 the piper, I'm all right now intirely intirely. 
 "Whin I wint to pinance, I wint wid a load thit 
 ud blacken the say — sure, no wan iver tuk more 
 good out af the houly fadthre nor mesilf. Theer's 
 nat a babe in all the houl barony iv Tyrawly 
 thit's fitted to hould a candle to me now : an' if 
 he did, sarra a spick wud he fin' an' me sowl 
 — id's bin clane as a new pin sin' yestherday." 
 ''Lave aff now, you gom: yeer ixcaidingly 
 houly, an't ye. Sure now, ye needn't make yer- 
 silf a pack o' thrubble an' nat a thrifle av ni-
 
 300 A GOOD UNDEESTANDING LOST. 
 
 cissithy fur't. Shin can't be so bad iv id's so 
 aisy clained aff agin. Iv yeer sich an omadthaun 
 as to be frekened in the likes o' this matther 
 thin, till Fadthre Cormac to shpit in yer eyes, and 
 allow yees to make yer sowl, an' resaive the 
 binifit iv the blissid ointmint. JSTow, oud wid the 
 pethicklers ; fur, by my mither, id's mesilf ill 
 sj)ile the black thraithor the night — Whroo !" 
 
 " Ugh ! ye shcaimer ! S'pose I don'd till ye 
 thin, sin' yeer so civil to an ould frin' ? " 
 
 '' Jist as ye like ahinny-machree. Bud av yer 
 don'd till purtily, yill rue id, honey me dear. 
 Yiv tilled me too much to lit ye go. My masther 
 is a Jew : an' him an' his frins is up owverhid, 
 an' they'm graat big people — tirrible itsilf. 
 They'll soon taich the likes o' you, sur. Af ye 
 don't till the houl an't an' nat a bit iv sacricy or 
 nonsince, they'll jist clap a pair av bracelits an 
 yer wrists, an' sind ye acrassh the herr'n pool as 
 an akshisermy. Theer's no minutes to be lost, min' 
 me. The shagamarann ill be stanthin' it the dure 
 diricthly. Id's nat the laisthe differ sur af ye 
 tills or nat : bui ye don'd go out av here widout 
 weem wid ye!" 
 
 '' Och, bad luck to me ! Mither in glory ! D'ye 
 think I'm sich a bosthoon as to be frekened by the 
 like o' yees thin ? Augh ! ye ould thraythor ! " 
 
 " Ith's no matter at all at all," replied Tim 
 with the calm self-contained air of a philosopher. 
 *' A- whoop! waithor theer! waithor! Till the
 
 TUL rPSTATRS. 301 
 
 gintlemin as belongst to the harse an' carr'ge, thit 
 I wants to say thim here perthickler fur jist wan 
 minit an' to wonst. Xo, no," he continued to the 
 other, seeing he was after backing out through 
 the door, ''Af ye don'd untherstand me, my 
 jewel, I'll be afdthre makin' an't plane an' ixpa- 
 dient to yer capacithy intirely intirely. Ye don't 
 lave this place widout id's owver me. I'll have 
 the sathisfaction iv clatterin' me stick about yeer 
 ugly hid feerst. Deed I will, asthore." And 
 Tim so evidently looked what he said, that the 
 other drew back abashed. 
 
 '' They'll be down to you directly," said the 
 man on his return. 
 
 '' Arrah !" cried Tim, ''be attintive now. Till 
 the masthre's hanor ith's a litthle con wersay shin 
 I'm wushin' wid himsilf, fur jist ican minit, my 
 own cushla." 
 
 Tim was ordered to proceed up stairs. 
 
 '*Xow Black Jack," he said, "this way wid 
 ye. His hanor ill bring things to yer rimim- 
 brance complaitly intirely. Throth, an' he will 
 too. Come an; an', by the powers ! we'll put the 
 shpake an ye to rights now." And as Tim spoke, 
 he brandished a pair of fists that threatened an- 
 nihilation to all with which they came in contact. 
 So Black Jack wisely concluded it were best to go 
 with as good grace as possible. 
 
 '' Bag yer hanor's pardon, sur," said Tim doffing 
 his hat and bowing profoundly. ''Sarra bit o' 
 
 2 D
 
 302 
 
 the likes o' me would iv thransgrissed an the 
 masthre's silf indaad, in the midthst af yir inther- 
 thaynmint wid the laadies, av it hadn't bin neces- 
 siaited to ax yer hanor's attintion to business av 
 importyince." 
 
 *' Well, Tim, what have you got for me to do ?" 
 said St. Maur, still reading his paper. 
 
 *' Sure an ith's a purty young Jewisth thit's 
 goin' to be made awaay wid the blissid night." 
 
 "How? A Jewess to be made awaay with? 
 I don't understand you Tim." 
 
 " Throth thin I'll be afdthre ixshplainin' the 
 ins an' outs av't t'yer hanor. Ith'^ the most 
 horriblst cruelst thing as iver I'm heerd an — 
 worser nor bein' kilt out of the way complaitly 
 intirely." 
 
 " But what is it, Tim ? You talk in riddles. 
 "What do you drive at ?" 
 
 "JS'ow that's jist what I'm tillin' yer hanor. 
 The laady's to be desaived into the sthratagim. 
 May the thraythor niver fin' a woman to put 
 anither stitch in his cordhery's, nor a frin' to 
 shpake to his corp when he's did." 
 
 *'Look here Tim," said St. llaur, ''I see 
 you've found out something — I can't make out 
 what. Be particular, and begin again at the 
 beginning." 
 
 " Sartinly I will, sur. As yer hanor siz ris- 
 picktin' it, ith's a black shin thit's to be parpe- 
 thrayted the night — more betoken that the
 
 O'CALLAGHAX S DELICATE ESCAPE. 303 
 
 darkness is in id, an' it's nat aisUy found out 
 theerfor. Jack O'Callaghan here you persaive is 
 a soort iv gardyuner an' porther, an' ids all the 
 hiwy work the what he do, at ayther a shkule- 
 masthre's or a tuthorer af chilther's. An' some 
 wan is comin' to shtale wan iv the young laadies. 
 He dishkivered it : but he'd till me nat a 
 bKssid mag an't. And I think he's an akshise- 
 rury: so I brought him here to deliver him up 
 t'ye sur."_ 
 
 **Plaize yer hanor," interjected Black Jack, 
 *'iv yir hanor' s rivrince ud allow me to shpake. 
 Id was wid yersilf I was wushin to conwairse, id 
 was now. An' Tim here was scrimmagy 'caze 
 I wouldn't till it t'him ye see sur." 
 
 " Augh ! By the houly Eeek ! ye graat 
 ragged deludther — £eul eidhin a' 8 croidhe cuihmi 
 [a tongue smooth as ivy, a heart Hke prickly 
 holly]. "Wlio tould ye, ye villin, thit his hanor 
 was here thin at all at all r Deed was'nt it 
 mesilf asthore bekase ye wor hilpiu' the murth- 
 erin' the night ? Barrin' the masthre and the 
 laadies now, ye should be threwn out av the 
 windy this blissid minit — throth I would, me 
 dear." 
 
 " Indaad, an' id's yersilf ill be the purthictor 
 av the univarse, sin yiv mountid thad red weshkit 
 theer. Bud in ould Eyrin, me honey, I aUis kip 
 a good shirt in me pocket, an' a watch on the 
 back iv me; an' thad's more, sur, nor the likes af 
 you iver did. Aisy talkin' any way."
 
 304 SACEED GROUND. 
 
 " Come, come !" said St. Maur trying to be 
 severe. '' This will lead to nothing. Eemember 
 who are present." 
 
 ''"Wirra, wirras thrue!" cried Tim, "bud yir 
 saife here me fine phanix ! an' ids will fur ye 
 thit y'are; ilse I'd kick yees over the wall iv 
 the world, an' two kicks ivermore beyant it. But 
 kim oud o' that now : led's have no more nor yer 
 soodherin' up. Till the mastlure's hanor all ye 
 knaws. Shpake up nately now, or I'll thry how 
 much an't I can knack out af ye." 
 
 " In your zeal, Tim," said St. Maur, 'Ho get at 
 the facts of this affair, you have perhaps vexed 
 Mr. O'Callaghan. But I hope he'll excuse it and 
 tell us everything at once; and if he does he 
 shall be properly rewarded for his trouble." 
 
 "I'm for iver an' alyis bound t'yer hanor," 
 said O'Callaghan brightening up. "Id's whad 
 I wanthst to be afdthre doin' to ye, sur. Bud yir 
 hanor has jist hard Tim ; an' ye coun't ixpick me, 
 sur, out of rispick fur mesilf, to till him anythin' 
 at all. Howsandiver, yir hanor' s kindly welkim 
 to ivrythin' I knaws — thad y'arra ivry inch av 
 ye, sur." 
 
 "Yir wan amangst the parpethwraytors ! " 
 screamed Tim. 
 
 "IS'ow Mr. O'Callaghan?" said St. Maur. 
 
 "WiU, as I was jist a-tillin' af yir hanor, a 
 young laady, wan iv the most besthst an' houliest 
 innicthints as iver walked in the likes av this
 
 JACK LOST. 305 
 
 creayshin, an' a rispicktid mimber iy the houly 
 mither churcli, was laately inthrothruced amangst 
 our saminary to thry to make theer sowls, be 
 taichin' thim the thrue docthrin' ya parsaive. 
 They sid, sur, she was a Jewisth; and 'deed vre 
 all thought she was too, for iver an' ahint it, till 
 wanst an a Sunday momin' as might be, when 
 I'd quite intirely thressed mesilf, I wint oud in 
 the beauthiful gardyin to shmoke me pipe an' 
 brathe the vardyint flowers, fur the houlsimniss, 
 BUT — jist ye see to git a tasthe of the hilthy 
 momin' air. 'Will, as I was sayin', whin I gat 
 to the conservathry, Bekky (thad's the housemaid 
 yer hanor) Bekky was claanin' awaay ad tha flure 
 like mad — an' bedad id was nat mure thin 
 was complaitly nadeful intirely, fur id didn' 
 knaw the smill iv a scribbin-brish afore sin' the 
 Fludd. 'Jack,' siz she to me, 'doan ya see whad's 
 nat theer r' 'An' whad is idr' siz I. 'Why 
 doan ya parsaive thit Missth Mahli's flowers are 
 all tuk awaay? An' by thad saame she's goin' 
 wid thim this blissid instant-momint.' Missth 
 Mahli, sur — (hurroo ! bud she was the chat 
 intirely intirely, paace an' binidiction be an her 
 the craythur — maybe yiv hard till iv Missth 
 Mahli, sur ; her fadthre was viry graat 'mangst 
 the Jewisths) — will, Missth Mahli, as I was 
 tillin' an ye, sur, hadn got her aiquil in all the 
 houl shkule, an' so she was alyis a favorith o' me. 
 'Glory an' timptayshin ! ' siz /. 'Tha world's 
 
 2 D 2
 
 306 A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 
 
 kim to an ind complaitly. I'll gid no mure 
 backy thin now.' Thad blissid minit, I hard 
 mesilf called, an' be gorrow I foun' id was me 
 that was wantid, to car' her bunthles an' thrunk 
 to the vayhicle. Will, I wint — har'ly able, 
 yir hanor, to nphould mesilf as might be, me 
 faalin's was so sthrong, fur I was 'tatched to her 
 ye see a nation dale ; an id saamed I was goin' 
 to the bad thin intirely ivry inch af me ; an' be 
 that manes I luk'd in ad the wrang dure, an' sin 
 the new Jewisth a kissin' the houly mither, an' 
 beginnin' to say the mathins. An' thin betoken, 
 id turned oud thit her brither was nothin' at 
 all bud the houly fadthre comin' to coniiss her. 
 Augh ! bud id's bin the graat thing for me com- 
 plaitly. Ith's manys an' manys the shillin' I'm 
 gat fur to kaap the saycrit ; an' ids the bitther 
 day an me ban's thit the praistht is goin' to run 
 aff the night." 
 
 "Then you know this priest?" said St. Maur. 
 
 ^' Sartinly I do, sur. I tuk a becomin' recip- 
 tion fur him wanst. 'Twas wan bitther cowld 
 night in the winther, win the wind an' rain was 
 awful. The momint I'd kim out af the gaate, I 
 filt a kick like a clap av tundher, thit knacked 
 me sure right awaay into a graat heap of mud 
 like a pharatie burrow thit stud in front iv the 
 dure. An' win I ax'd whad he'd be doin that 
 fur at all, he tould me the kick was intindid fur 
 the preestht's rivrince an' nat towarst mesilf.
 
 SLN'GTJLAIL CO>'FESSIO>\ 307 
 
 'Twas a graat hanor fur me though, to be mish- 
 taaken fur the houly fadthre." 
 
 "But my good man," said St. Maur, with some 
 impatience, "what has all this to do with what 
 we want you to tell us ?" 
 
 " Sure an' isn't that what I'm a sayin' t' yer 
 hanor? This houly young woman was misfor- 
 tunat in convartin' the deludthit Jewisth, as is 
 goin' to laave the plaace the night — glory be to 
 the Tirgin! An' id saams at confisshn her an' 
 the houly fadthre 's bin pullin' af a shtring te- 
 gither, an' she's consintid to marry him. Bud 
 the nager, win he giths her praperty, is intindid 
 to laave her, an' spind id in a forrin counthiy in 
 sim ither part av the world." 
 
 "ZS'ow we want you to tell us how you got to 
 know all this," said Isaac. 
 
 "Faix, an' you shall too, sur, complaitly," re- 
 plied the O'Callaghan, "Win I found theer was a 
 houly Yargin in that room, you persaive, I used 
 time an' agin to shtale in theer to praay to her. 
 Wanst win I was theer, an' nat ikspictin' to be 
 intherrupthid, fur the time was convanient, I 
 hard a small stip comin' towarst the dure. Con- 
 Bhtemashin an' harrishmint sailed upan me, an' 
 I siz, * Id's all owver wid me now. The divil put 
 me an comin' here this time howsandiver. I'll 
 be sacked as saafe as I had cabbage sprouts fur 
 the dinner.' Bud I seen a big cupboard as maybe 
 an' I powders awaay into't, laavin' tha dure open
 
 308 JACK HEAES SECRETS. 
 
 a litthle ya see, fur the inthrance av air. Pris- 
 intly, in kem the houly fadthre, an' sits down in 
 the aisey cheer. An' soon afdthre him, the mis- 
 sionary young woman kem too, to coniiss." 
 
 **Did you hear what she said?" asked St. 
 Maur; his sense of the ludicrous for a moment 
 checking the painful interest he felt in the affair. 
 
 *' Sure an id's to my graat grief intirely thit I 
 did. May the blissid Virgin put in a shpake for 
 me sowl, purshuin' to the word iv a lie, as I did'n 
 preshume an the the houly saycrimint wid any 
 onrivirintial intintion." 
 
 '^ "What did she say ?" he asked. 
 
 "Id's mure nor I dare till ye, sur. I wouldn' 
 nirer be admitted into purgathory wanst I com- 
 mittid sich mortal sin." 
 
 ** Oh, well, of course I wouldn't have you lose 
 your soul about it. Go on." 
 
 " I mustht ax yir hanor, thin, whad it was I sid 
 whin I laft aff." 
 
 *' You'd got as far as the confession." 
 
 " Ogh! wirras thrue, an' isn't it cracked thit I 
 am complaitly. To be sure id is. Augh ! "Will 
 thin, whin she wint out, she was foUid be the 
 Jewisth young laady ; an' I niver knawn onthil 
 thad minit, thit iver she kem to confishn. 
 An' sure anuv she wint up you see to the houly 
 fadthre, an' begun to knaal down in Mnt av 
 him as mate be. Bud afdthre he had sarcum- 
 spictid her narrily fur a jiffy or two, he axed her
 
 A LOVE SCENE. 309 
 
 to gith up agin. ' Gid up, my dear crayther,' he 
 BIZ, siz he, * yeer too houly : an' faix if yeer nat, 
 it's nat mesilf as ill be afdthre confissin' an ye 
 agin. Besides,' siz he, ' as our intintion ris- 
 pictin' id is to be married tegither soon, I'm done 
 bein' a praisht now, nigh hant it.' An' thin he 
 saamed as if he wantid to kiss her, the purty dear 
 thit she is, an' he tuk hould round her waisthe 
 nately. Af yir hanor 'ill s'pose yir the young 
 laady fur an overly minit — as I don't mane fur to 
 say thit y'are — I'll be afdthre showndin' an ya 
 how 'twas." 
 
 '''No, no," said St. Maur restlessly. ''Pray 
 go on. We understand." 
 
 " Sure an' I thought so, yer hanor, an' thad's 
 the viry rason I'm makin' the houl comparish- 
 mint an 't so plaan to ye. Will, as I was sayin' 
 to yer hanor, he tuk hould an her as though he 
 filt graat pride out iv her, the kind-hearted gin- 
 thleman thit he is. Bud, by t' houly ! she moved 
 iligantly an wan side the laiste bit in life you see, 
 sur, as though it wasn't the pKsint thit was in it ; 
 an' thin, you persaive, he was obleeched to lit her 
 go purtily, be raison thit he kudn't rache her. 
 * WiU,' he siz, siz he t'her, ' id's yersilf a-colleen 
 thit's lukin quite beauthiful this moiTon' intirely 
 intirely ; I'm niver loved ye so will afore, ye 
 iligant, fasthinatin' crathur. An' if I don'd have 
 ye soon, I blave I'll go mad !' An' thin, sur — 
 med the sints purthict me from dith all me life-
 
 310 PRIESTLY DELICACY. 
 
 time ! — af he didn' be afdthre axin' her to run aff 
 wid him to wanst an' dirictly." 
 
 ''And she consented?" 
 
 " Ad feerst, ye see, sur, she looked quite £rek- 
 ened, an' all iv a thrimble, fur the dilixy an' 
 doubts wor in it. 'Mr. Barrett/ she siz t'him, 
 ' lit me inthrate ye nat to be afdthre timptin' an 
 me,' siz she, ' af id's the raal heart-love intirely 
 that yeev got fur me. I'll nat be noways neces- 
 siaited to do the likes o' that, I'd be afdthre wards 
 despisin' mesilf fur. I'm got a brither, and I'd 
 like him to consint to me.' The houly fadthre — 
 paace an' rest to his sowl ! — was hurt in his 
 faalin's as med be, and he tuk oud his henkicher 
 to clane away the wathers. ' Yeem cruelst ! ' siz 
 he ; 'ye knaw they'd go to the viry dickens afore 
 they'd iver consint, an' yill be tuk awaay £rom 
 me, afdther all I'm gone through fur ye !" 
 
 " Well, cut it short," said St. Maur impatiently. 
 " She promised at last ?" 
 
 "Augh, thin yir rivrince has guessed about 
 the rights an't. An' a graat hanor, too, 'twas fur 
 her, when she got the beloved fadthre te consint 
 to be married to her — id's very onushil, ye see, 
 sur. An' iv twasn't fur id, that he manes to take 
 awaay the poor innicint young laady's praperty, 
 and spind it on some wan ilse, sorra the likes o' 
 me ud a tould a word iv the houl chronalagy 
 av't." 
 
 " At what time to-night is she going ?"
 
 THE LETTEH. 311 
 
 "At elivin — or, mebbe, a littMe afdtkre — as 
 soon as the house is aslaap." 
 
 " But one thing I don't understand yet," said 
 Isaac. ''How is it you knoTv of his intention to 
 abandon her ? There's something very horrible 
 about this — it makes me sick," he said aside to 
 St. Maur. 
 
 "^0 matter. 'We are just in time to thwart 
 it." 
 
 ''Why, you persaive, yer hanor," said the 
 O'Callaghan, "whin he pulled oud his henkicher, 
 there was a letter kem out wid it." 
 
 " Have you got it :" said St. Maur hurriedly. 
 
 "Augh, thin, I kngw'd yer hanor ud be for 
 wantin' an't, so I brought it wid me," said the 
 worthy, at the same time diving into a deep 
 pocket of his ragged coat, and fishing out a mys- 
 terious jumble of bob-pipes, tobacco-screws, pieces 
 of filthy paper, and other articles of virtu ; from 
 which, after some difficulty and diligence of search, 
 he picked out the letter. 
 
 " Here 'tis, yer hanor." 
 
 St. Maur took it. It had been sealed up and 
 directed — evidently intended for the post. He 
 read it aloud. 
 
 [A dirty letter, on dirty business, too dirty for 
 transcription here. It was addressed to a brother 
 Jesuit, who had been of some assistance in the 
 concern. 
 
 "VThile a divinity student in the university at
 
 312 A SWEET MOMENT. 
 
 Pisa, the priest had somehow or other managed 
 to inspire a youthful Tuscan countess with the 
 tender passion — perhaps he did it at confession. 
 But no matter when — the result is everything. 
 
 Well, after the proper quantity of snivelling, 
 and protesting, and dying on his part, and of 
 maidenly punctilios, and blushings, and doubtings 
 on that of the countess, she laid her trembling 
 
 hand in his, and softly, sweetly murmiu^d, 
 
 He was accepted ! Angelic moment — how far 
 surpassing those seen by poets in their most ex- 
 alted dreams of loveliness and beauty — all heaven 
 seemed crowded into it — to see his fair amante 
 smile — to return the mild pressure of her hand — 
 to feel the gentle blush that mantled even to the 
 snowy brow, as he pressed his lips to her flower- 
 soft cheek ; until, faint with that excess of rich 
 delight, she faded calmly, tranquilly, beautifully 
 away — like a drooping lily — into his arms, amidst 
 her softly-uttered acquiescence — just a whisper — 
 fairy music — and Cupid threw over them his 
 brightest sunbeam, the Loves showered the most 
 fragrant of immortal roses on their heads; all 
 these were but stillings in the hush, drops in the 
 cup, or portions in the whole; but then that 
 hush, how deep ! that cup, how fall of joy ! that 
 whole, how vast in its extent ! 
 
 To '' descend from these imaginative heights" 
 — though our readers will agree with us when we 
 say that it is very affecting — such a scene — the
 
 it's a ttokld of soeeow. 313 
 
 lady had no finances ; and, unfortunately, Father 
 Barrett was in the same delicate situation. Her 
 relatives interfered. In spite of them, he gal- 
 lantly persevered in the necessary attentions to 
 his fair inamorato. Whereupon they procured his 
 banishment from the Grand Duchy, and accom- 
 panied it with a promise that, if he attempted to 
 renew the correspondence, they would extinguish 
 him in his ghostly office. And very touching — 
 almost amounting to the sublimity of tragedy — 
 must have been their last converse in the shady 
 walks of the Yilla Eeale, and on the damasked 
 banks of the Amo, until at last, amidst fast-flow- 
 ing tears and choking sighs, they tore themselves 
 apart with promises of eternal truth and corre- 
 spondence. 
 
 Kot a doubt of it. And now, by the contract 
 he was expecting to get up. Father Barrett would 
 realise more property, than the whole family of 
 her ladyship could muster, if they clubbed toge- 
 ther. To her, then, he would return triumph- 
 antly ; and as his maniage would still be recog- 
 nised, even there, he would be installed as her 
 cicisheo — of course. The necessity of that beLug 
 his relation, was of no importance in a country 
 where cicisheism is looked upon, not only as a thing 
 quite as respectable as marriage, but a proper 
 addendum to it.] 
 
 '' Can such wickedness be !" exclaimed Adeline 
 as he finished. 
 
 2b
 
 314 HOMANCE. 
 
 " It seems so," said St. Maur. 
 
 " But it has surprised me, and I can scarcely 
 realise that it is not all a romance." 
 
 " ISTever mind. Having happened as it has, we 
 need not look on the gloomy side. In rescuing 
 the lady, we shall have a glorious opportunity of 
 displaying our chivalry, l^ow, Isaac, we must 
 resolve how to act." 
 
 ''It seems to me you could hardly act more 
 wisely than by acquainting the authorities, and 
 going direct to the house, beg an interview with 
 the lady so cruelly deceived," said Mary. 
 
 " Mary !" exclaimed Isaac. "Is it possible you 
 can be so unpoetical ? We must do the thing by 
 ourselves, of course." 
 
 " ITow, Mr. Callaghan, where' s the house ?" 
 asked St. Maur. 
 
 " About a short mile, sur, right away theer 
 forenent us." 
 
 "Ten minutes past ten," said Isaac, looking at 
 his watch. "Well, there is no time to waste. 
 Tim, take Mr. Callaghan down stairs with you ; 
 see him supplied with anything he desires ; and 
 then we will rely uponhimto direct us to the house." 
 
 " Yer hanor 'ill be fur stappin' in the road, I'm 
 thinkin'," said 0' Callaghan. 
 
 "^0. We must be near enough to hear all 
 that occurs — see it, if it's light enough." 
 
 "Mebbe, thin, yid be afdthre wushin' to hide 
 in the gardyin ?"
 
 A GREAT SIX. 315 
 
 " Yes. All we want of you is to point out the 
 house, and get us admission to the garden." 
 
 " Bad luck to me now ! bud thad's put me in a 
 Boort iv a — I raaly, now — the gaat's fasthened, yir 
 hanor." 
 
 '' But can't you unfasten it ? How are you to 
 get in ? How is this man to get in ?" 
 
 ** I've alyus got a kay, an' I'm Knt id to the 
 praist, sur; he ax'd fur 't." 
 
 *' Sints in righteousness !" cried Tim in a sub- 
 lime alto. ''I tould ye sur — didn I? — thit he 
 was wan amangst the parpethraytors. Augh ! ye 
 vagabone !" And he looked unutterable things 
 at the O'Callaghan. 
 
 But that worthy proceeded, without noticing 
 Tim's comment. "An' I'm tould the missiths 
 thit I'd slaap oud iv dures the night, ye see, sur ; 
 I do aftin an' agin, so they thinks nothin' 
 sthrangely by. I won't be theer for fearst the 
 houly fadthre ud be parsaived or dishkivered, ye 
 see, an' I be axed to saize hould an't him; an' 
 that, sur, is mortal sin, to touch the praistht that 
 a way. But yir hanor kud gith ow^er the wall 
 the sem as I kem out towarst. Till find a latther 
 it the wall's fut, iv wan amangst ye lits down be 
 manes iv a coord." 
 
 " Very well. Xow go and get what you want ; 
 and you shall ride up with us," said Isaac. 
 
 " Thank yir hanor kindly, sur; but I'm afearst 
 I'd be sin md ye, an' prapths lost me sittyva-
 
 316 PLANS SETTLED. 
 
 chun. Af 'twill be all as wan t' yer hanor's 
 rivrince, I'd rayther wait in onther the threes, at 
 tither ind av the graan, onthil ye kerns up." 
 
 "Ogh, ye shcaimer !" pushed in Tim; "an' 
 whad a sit af ignor'nt spalpeens yid be afdthre 
 thakin' us fur. Tare an' ounkers! bud thad's 
 divartin' now. A- whoop ! Lit ye go ! To be 
 sure, me dear ; theer's no say in' agin that, any 
 way. Throth an' we'd want the lint af Sint 
 Pathrick's spickticles af iver wid fin' ye afther- 
 wards. Pace an' contintmint t'ye, Jack; deed 
 thin, betune uz, yir nat goin' to threwn up a 
 clane pair iv heels so aisy, now. So sate yersilf 
 down, honey me darlint, and make yersilf iligant, 
 like a gintleman as you is." 
 
 " Oh, but I am sure he has no intention to 
 deceive, Tim," said St. Maur, decidedly. Por he 
 couldn't help thinking that, in the flush of his 
 spirits, Tim had taken too much rein. 
 
 ''Desaive, yis — I wisht — " 
 
 ''Ko need, no need," said Isaac, stopping the 
 imprecation. ''Here is a sovereign. And if you 
 meet us as you say, and tell us truly, when we 
 have caught the priest, I shall give you another." 
 
 "'Now, mind ye. Black Jack," said Tim, as he 
 was leaving the room, '' af ye manes to taich me 
 any iv yer thricks, I'll thransport ye as akshiserury 
 in regard av the thrichery. This blissid hour I'll 
 have yer porthrit wrout aff it the watch-us, an' 
 yis be lagged afore the morra-night."
 
 Tlil's DETOTIOX. 317 
 
 "I am much concerned about Adeline and 
 Mary," said Isaac. ''This place will close directly. 
 I think that the wisest plan is for Tim to drive 
 them home : and we'll walk." 
 
 "No, no," said Adeline. "TVe are too much 
 interested to think of going home without you." 
 
 " But," replied Isaac, " even if your clothing is 
 warm enough to withstand the night air for a 
 little while, I still think it highly improper for 
 you to be left alone. Though Tim would be 
 faithful if you would trust him." 
 
 *' Sure, sur," said Tim, "yismed wanthilp now. 
 The vagabone may bring along that blaggard thit 
 he sint the letther onto — the wan yiv jist ix- 
 plaaned to us, I mane. An' there's nerra risidin- 
 thur in the country — nat barrin' the king him- 
 silf — bud what I wouldn' mind bringin' me 
 kippeen acquainted wid the hid iv him, if 'twas 
 at all convanient to ye, sur ; an' that's will knawn 
 far an' near." 
 
 "1 believe, Tim," said St. llaur, "you 
 wouldn't see us ill-used if you could help us. 
 Now go and get youi'self something to eat." 
 
 2 e2
 
 318 O'CALLAGHAN DOTTniFUL. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED EVENTS. 
 
 On leaving the hotel, the O'Callaghan adjourned 
 to his favourite place for meditation — i.e. the 
 chimney comer of the taproom in the " Cat and 
 Eagpipes " — to treat himself with a pipe and a 
 noggin, by way of bringing his flagging spirits up 
 to par. Por he had serious feelings of defection : 
 and had it not been for some thoughts of a prison, 
 and a faint vaticination of another guinea that 
 haunted his bewildered mind, he would certainly 
 have backed out of the concern. " Sarra wan 
 bud mesilf," he thought aloud over his whiskey- 
 pot, " 'ill be hild good fur all thit's purshuin' to 
 the praisht — 'caize I tould an't. But thin they 
 wor bint an knawin' the ins an' outs av't they wor. 
 Ogh ! an willelu ! an med the houly sints taike 
 the likes av id intho theer kind consitherayshin." 
 At last, however, the thoughts of increased 
 finances inspired him with proportionately increased 
 courage; and pocketing, with the retaining fee, 
 his ''compunctious visitings of remorse," he turned 
 his steps towards the place of meeting, devoutly
 
 CALLAGHAN S FRIGHT. 319 
 
 wishing that '' the houly fadthre 'ud run aff wid 
 wan iv the young Jewisthes ivry wake." 
 
 It was rather more than half-past ten when he 
 arrived at the top of the lane where he had pro- 
 mised to join the coming party. As the mansion 
 was situated at some distance from the western 
 road, the saving effected by going along the lane 
 was somewhat considerable : while it offered, what 
 our heroes especially desii'ed, a veiy private way 
 of approach. The night was dark — dismally so. 
 Heavy masses of clouds, ''black as Erebus," 
 had piled themselves along the west, until they 
 touched the zenith and presaged a storm. The 
 air breathed hot and heavily, and was pervaded 
 by that ominous solemn stillness when the very 
 silence becomes audible, from the painful acute- 
 ness with which the senses are gifted. It was a 
 season exceedingly calculated to strengthen Jack's 
 superstitious feelings. And he felt very uncom- 
 fortable indeed, as absorbed in ''thick-coming 
 fancies," he squatted beneath the lonely hedge. 
 
 A sudden noise close to his ears startled him 
 from his reverie. He strained his eyes in an 
 effort to pierce the dense gloom in the direction 
 whence it came ; it was useless ; he could see not 
 half-a-dozen inches beyond him. He was the 
 perfection of ecstatic horror. He felt like a petri- 
 fied nightmare. Move ! — not if the whole 
 world's wealth had been cast at his feet. The 
 footsteps — slow and cautious as it seemed — with
 
 320 A MUSICAL VISITOR. 
 
 a strange rustle intermingled — came nearer, un- 
 til they were now within half-a-yard of the 
 gasping 0' Callaghan. When they opened upon him 
 with a tremendous snuff and a tornado-like hi- 
 haw ! hi-haw ! hi-haw ! in the sublimest key of the 
 asinine gamut. It was enough. The climax of 
 terror reached, Jack felt power to move. He 
 tumbled on his knees with the rapidity of a 
 comet, and began crossing himself with inde- 
 fatigable energy. 
 
 ^' Ogh ! ogh ! ogh ! " he began. '' Houly mi- 
 ther, purtict me ! Is it the what'll I do, now, 
 not a know I know. Augh! kape away — kape 
 away — they med me so they did too. Av, I 
 could rimimber now a pather an' ave, t'ud save 
 me. 'Hail, Mary!' Och! it's lost thin I'll be 
 intirely intirely ; an' no wan to hilp me. ' Hail, 
 Mary, full av graace!' — Augh, ye ould divil, 
 shpake up now, don'd ye disarve no marcy, ye 
 ould thricherer agin the houly — [Hi-haw! hi- 
 haw!] Oh, marcy — 'Hail Mary, praay fur 
 uz poor sinners now, an' ad the hour iv dith' 
 — Och! thad's wrang, ith's the indin' an't. 
 'Hail, Mary! blissed art thou amangst women.' 
 Ogh, won't I burn fur the likes o' this in the 
 blissid etarnity? I'll git many's an' many's a 
 hunther year in purgathry fur't — throth, I will." 
 
 The carriage with our party in it had driven 
 up; but 0' Callaghan, poor fellow! was too terri- 
 fied to observe it.
 
 CAT.T.AGHAy DECIDED. 321 
 
 " Why — what's the matter, friend ? " said 
 Isaac, as he laid his hand upon his arm. 
 
 "Faix, an' didn' yer hanor hear thin?" he 
 asked in a tone of intense agitation. 
 
 ''What has there been to hear:" 
 
 " Sarra bit o'me thin, 'ill be sich an omadthawn 
 as to tell ye, an' give offince. Throth I wont." 
 
 The donkey began another running hi-haw. 
 
 *'Houly sintsi" cried O'Callaghan, as he made 
 for the chaise, " led's be aff an' awaay to wanst 
 y'er hanor : wi'll git our dith alive fur the un- 
 houly — " 
 
 " Why, is it that poor harmless animal which 
 has frightened you ?" said St. Maur. 
 
 ^^ HarmUss?^^ said Jack querulously. 
 
 '*Och, ye ould fool," dropped in Tim ener- 
 getically. ''Up an the stip now, an' we'll soon 
 fin' ye summut to be an to." 
 
 " I'll nat do any hilp fur ye. Thrue fur you I 
 won't now ; an' thad's said." 
 
 "You must guide us to the house, and then 
 we'U liberate you," said Isaac. 
 
 " yis yer hanor I'll do that same far yees any 
 way. yis, to be sure an' I will, too." 
 
 The length of the road was scarcely a quarter 
 of a mile : so in less than a minute, they drew 
 up under a part of the wall at the back of the house, 
 where the chaise was completely concealed from 
 observation by a thick grove of trees. 
 
 " ^NTow Mr. O'Callaghan," said Isaac, " I'll pay
 
 322 tim's flight. 
 
 you now, if you wish it ; but if you'd mind tlie 
 horses instead of Tim, it would be all the greater 
 service. I suppose you won't mind doing that 
 for us." 
 
 ^' Sartinly nat, sur; sartinly nat. Oh, to be 
 sure I will — to be sure I will." 
 
 " JS'ow Adeline," said Isaac gaily, '' we are only 
 going a few yards from you ; and if anything 
 happens, therefore, you have only to shriek, and 
 we shall be at your side." 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself at all on that score," 
 said St. Maur. '' Trust a lady to squeak in good 
 time, without any positive orders to do it." 
 
 "Black Jack!" cried Tim, who had rapidly 
 climbed a tree, and was now seated astride the 
 wall. " Jump up this three, an' take a turn round 
 it with the coord here." 
 
 The rope was slung accordingly; and Tim 
 coiling his legs around it, threw himself off the 
 wall. 
 
 " Tim, a/vicP^ shouted Black Jack. "I'm nat 
 gat a sthrang thurn wid yees. Hould an a minit, 
 while I shpit in me hands." 
 
 And letting go the rope vdth the suspended body 
 of Tim, he performed the interesting operation. 
 In the meantime, Tim came to the ground with a 
 quick run ; and there he lay measuring his length, 
 uttering a choice litany of imprecations on the 
 head of Black Jack, and expressing various 
 opinions relative to the condition of his intellect.
 
 rypT.T.ASAyT srsPEXSE. 323 
 
 *' Augh, an' id's will that yin gat me to lay id 
 an. Didn' I tell ye to hould an :" inquii'ed 
 O'Callaghan. 
 
 Tim didn't deign a reply, but Tvith a grunt pro- 
 ceeded to erect the ladder. Having done so, he 
 mounted it, got upon the wall and tossed it over. 
 Isaac and St. Maur ascended. Tim lifted the 
 ladder on the garden side with his usual agility; 
 and all having descended, it was again laid length- 
 wise by the path. 
 
 " I think it is very likely she will come by the 
 side door" said Isaac, as he surveyed the house. 
 " It is quite convenient for the gate, and probably 
 is less heavily secured than the front. However, 
 hidden in this recess, we can see, let him go to 
 which he may." And he led the way to a dark 
 spot formed by the hedge and a group of trees. 
 
 They waited, counting the minutes and scarcely 
 daring to breathe. After a short while, a light 
 stealthy footstep was heard advancing, but in a 
 direction quite different to any they expected. 
 Their hearts beat almost audibly. 
 
 "There's a good deal of ugliness about it," 
 whispered Isaac. " I Avish it was over, and I 
 snug in bed." '' Hush," said St. Maur, for the 
 sound was close at hand. '' Sheelah, hist!'' it 
 was Tim. ''Here," muttered Isaac. "AU right," 
 he replied. '' Tundher and paraties ! wid yer 
 hanor to the fore now. We'll crack the head iv 
 him in the twinklin' af a bed-post. Whroo !"
 
 324 AN AERIYAL. 
 
 and Tim flourislied a sapling that Hercules him- 
 self might have envied. He had stayed behind 
 to cut it from among the trees in the garden. 
 
 " You are not" — St, Maur began. But he was 
 stopped suddenly, for they distinctly heard the 
 latch of the gate removed. The few pale rays of 
 the just rising moon began to reveal objects in a 
 dim obscurity : and, by her light, they saw a man 
 walking on the grassy edge of the gravel path. 
 Although the turf, yielding to his passage like a 
 velvet carpet, prevented the slightest sound of 
 footfalls, yet he came on with the mincing tip- 
 toe tread of conscious guilt. He stood still before 
 the door opposite them. There could be no doubt 
 — it was the high priest. 
 
 ''Hem! hem!" in a very sotto voce falsetto. 
 If, reader, you can fancy a pig whispering while 
 hoarse from catarrh, you will have no unapt idea 
 of the sounds which he emitted. 
 
 He waited a few moments — there was no 
 answer. " Ahem, hem !" more frightfully husky 
 than before. The very words had taken cold in 
 coming out of his frosty lungs. He was much 
 pleased, however, with their eifect, and treated 
 himself to a very well got up congratulatory 
 snort. 
 
 The blinds of the window over the door were 
 drawn; it was the signal that he was heard. All 
 was right ; and he walked up and down, rubbing 
 his hands one in the other complacently. After
 
 THE iIEETI2fG. 325 
 
 a few minutes, the door was quietly opened, and 
 a lady closely muffled and veiled stepped out on 
 to the soft grass. 
 
 "You good creature!" he said, with tender 
 rapture, ''always punctual." 
 
 " Hush !" said the lady. 
 
 " Oh!" he exclaimed gloriously, and he accom- 
 panied the assurance by a triple-major snigger. 
 " I don't care if the whole house comes now. 
 We've got the laugh of them, and shall be off and 
 away in half a second." 
 
 In " half a second " a hand was gently laid on 
 his arm. He did not laugh then — there was 
 something so real about it. He felt there was no 
 joke in St. Maur's cold and determined look; 
 and his face blanched to the colour of a winding- 
 sheet. The lady fainted. That, of course, was to 
 be expected. 
 
 " Place her to sit, Isaac," said St. Maur hur- 
 riedly; ''there are the door steps. Tim — water!" 
 
 " I wait your explanation of this little episode," 
 pursued St. Maur, turning to Barrett. 
 
 He had recovered himself. His effrontery was 
 amusing. "Are you a highwayman, Sir? If 
 you are not off these premises instantly, you shall 
 find that the law can reach you even here." 
 
 " Yery good," replied St. Maur coldly. " Thus 
 relieved, you may feel better able to answer my 
 first question." 
 
 VOL. I. 2 r
 
 326 A GEEAT BABY. 
 
 *'I answer notliiiig, you impertinent rascal. 
 Unhand me, sir. Let me give attention to my 
 sister — for ought I know you have murdered her. 
 Off! or I'll call help. Eva, dear Eva, speak to 
 me — do!" 
 
 ''Eva!" ejaculated St. Maur, and he bent over 
 her face. Her veil had been removed, and she 
 was slowly recovering. *' Isaac, it is my own 
 sister! 0!" 
 
 ''Surely not." 
 
 In his agony, St. Maur had let go his hold on 
 the priest, and the fellow was hastily decamping. 
 
 " Tim ! Tim !" cried Isaac, " look there !" 
 
 Tim was up with him in a moment, and, catch- 
 ing him in his arms, as though he were an infant, 
 carried him back triumphantly, accompanied with 
 sundry comments and inquiries, as, " Hurroo ! me 
 dear, bud yim got a nate way o' steppin' ; prapths 
 t'ud be all as wan t'ye af we ax'd ye to taich uz 
 the likes an't. Lift your leg purtily, any way. 
 Didn' ye tliink, now, ye wor clane aff like a 
 jintleman — as I don't mane fur to say thit you 
 isn't — an' we lukin' afthre like canted bos- 
 thoons?" &c. 
 
 "Mr. Barrett," said St. Maur. Barrett was 
 startled now. " I know the man with whom I 
 have to deal. It is but right that we should be 
 on equal terms. Your scheme for beggaring my 
 sister and enriching yourself, I rejoice to know is
 
 BETELATION^. 327 
 
 killed in the bud. You will now accompany me 
 to the authorities. I think you haye done enough 
 to outrage the law." 
 
 "My-a-dear sir," stammered Earrett, ''I'm 
 indeed innocent of any guilty intention. I love 
 your sister — I'm proud to own it; and love for 
 her has placed me in this disagreeable position. 
 You know " 
 
 ''Enough, sir! no argument. You know this 
 letter?" 
 
 " Let me look at it, if you please. I can't say 
 that I do." 
 
 " 0, never mind ; it's of no importance. Eva," 
 he continued, turning to his sister, whom Isaac 
 had, with all the delicacy he could command, 
 informed of her brother's presence, "this man 
 has acted in every respect most basely; and, 
 added to all, he intended to rob and then 
 forsake you. iS'ow, to avenge your dishonour. 
 Sir, I will be more merciful to you than you 
 would have been to my sister. Choose. I 
 horsewhip you on the spot, or denounce you to 
 the laws." 
 
 Barrett shuffled out apologies and entreaties 
 for forgiveness. His mean capitulation was dis- 
 gusting. 
 
 " Sir," said St. Maur, haughtily, " cease, I say ! 
 you will else put yourself beneath my contempt 
 If so, I shall not trouble myself about what I shall
 
 328 TIM S PETITION. 
 
 do to you, for I shall not think it of any im- 
 portance. ISTow decide." 
 
 "Exposure would ruin me," whined out Bar- 
 rett, in a despicable tone. 
 
 St. Maur's lip curled scornfully. 
 
 " I would prefer to throw myself on your single 
 consideration. If you can, let what I have suf- 
 fered suffice." 
 
 "Tim," said St. Maur, "lay him across your 
 knee ; I know the fellow hasn't soul enough in 
 him to stand to it." 
 
 " Och, my dear masther," said Tim, deprecat- 
 ingly, "ye're intirely 'wake, that y'are, ivry inch 
 af ye. Go an' be plisint now to the young 
 misthriss ; she's gone to the ill an our hands al- 
 tegither. Lave me, sur, to have a bit iv a scrim- 
 mage wid this same houly sint. By t'houly! 
 I'll knack the sowl av him out iv his ilbow 
 in liss thin no time, an' give him a tasthe av 
 the liberthy thit was in ould Eyrin afore the 
 tithe was invinted. Willelu ! whoop!" and 
 Tim gave an encouraging twirl to his shille- 
 lagh. 
 
 "1^0, no, Tim," said St. Maur, with a smile, 
 " I don't want to have him killed. I think I 
 must do it myself, then I shall know exactly 
 when he's had enough." 
 
 " "Will thin, sur, af you'll do half, an' kindly 
 lit mesilf do the tither — ^jist ye see fur the
 
 TIM S HOPES LOST. 
 
 hanor an't. Ogh, wirra wirras thrue I I'll twist 
 him like an ounce af pig-tail." 
 
 " Adolphus," said Eva, in a tremulous voice, 
 " let him go. I want him out of sight." 
 
 ''Let me engrain at least a few marks on him, 
 dear Eva; to take away, just as a memento," 
 replied St. Maur. 
 
 "^0, send him away. His presence hurts 
 me." 
 
 " Go, then, you miserable fellow I" said St. 
 Maur, sternly ; and he gave him a stinging lash. 
 "With a yelp and a bound he fled from the garden. 
 
 " Bad luck ! bud that's quare now," muttered 
 Tim, in a voice of severe disappointment. " I'd 
 med me mind fur a bit av divarshin at aU evints ; 
 lay alone giTin' to the nager a cridithable reciption, 
 and makin' a few marks an his rind." 
 
 '* I think we have disturbed the people in the 
 house," said Isaac. " It seems to me that it 
 would be wise to get to the carriage as soon as 
 possible. It won't do, you know, to stand ex- 
 plaining here at this time of night, ^^e can sup- 
 port Miss St. Maur between us." 
 
 "I hear them on the stairs," said St. Maur, 
 "what you say is best. Come, then, dear Eva, 
 if you can," he pursued, taking her hand. " Let 
 them find that you are absent, and digest it at 
 their leisure. I shall call for what belongs to you 
 to-morrow."
 
 330 EEUNION. 
 
 Everything was quickly explained to Adeline 
 and Mary ; and Eva was lifted up to a seat be- 
 tween them. Adeline was immediately absorbed 
 in calming Eva's spirit, and inducing her to forget 
 the excitement, by all those delicate and feminine 
 attentions which none knew how to display better 
 than herself. 
 
 It was very natural that in the overflowing 
 of his joy, St. Maur felt inclined to reward 
 O'Callaghan very liberally indeed ; and to the in- 
 finite delight of the latter, he did so. He being 
 discharged, Tim mounted the box in the highest 
 possible feather. Tim was happy from two causes. 
 With the honesty of a truly Hibernian heart, he 
 rejoiced in his master's joy through the saving of 
 Eva ; and, justly enough, he took to himself a con- 
 siderable share of the applause due to the means 
 by which it had been brought about. So, con- 
 tinually testifying his intense pleasure by all 
 sorts of approving exclamations, he drove the 
 horses off at a rapid rate. Even the animals 
 themselves came in for a share of his felicitations. 
 He lavished on them all imaginable encourage- 
 ment and praise ; until at last their good sense 
 was entirely overcome, and they threw up their 
 heads with a consequential toss, and twinkled 
 their ears as if they quite believed what he- so 
 eloquently assured them — that they '^ wor two av 
 the most beauthifulest craythurs in all the houl
 
 JOTTFL KESX7LTS. 331 
 
 world univarsally." Finally, he di-ove up to Mr. 
 Cohen's door with a tempest-like majesty, pulling 
 the horses to -with a sudden grand stop, as almost 
 to eject every one from the carriage, notwith- 
 standing the precautions they had taken for 
 countervailing the vis inertise. 
 
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