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nearly ready to enter the ‘Gate Beautiful' her
self.
After Monsieur Ferrial had seated her in the
carriage, Jean took out her small silk parse, and
emptied its contents into her hand.
‘Give it to them,’ she said. ‘Yos know batter
how to do it than L’
It was dusk when she sprang out of the car
riage, and ran up the steps at home. A dusk
filled with whistling snow, and ice cold wind. A
subdued murmer of voices, came through the
half shut drawiDg-room door, as Jean hurried
across the hall to ihe staircase, and she sud
denly remembered, that there was to be a din
ner party, that evening. In the interests of tbe
day she had forgotten it entirely, and went
swiftly to her room to dress. The contrast be
tween the warm brightness of her pretty room,
and that dreary garret she had j ist left, struck
her sharply, as she entered. The ruddy fire
light threw a warm glow over crimson carpet,
lnxurious chairs, and handsome pictures, hang
ing on the walls-
‘Am I worthy of all this good?’ she said
aloud.
be non-expressive when he choose to make it so.
Lenuox Holmes left the Baronet in possession,
and strobed over to where they were.
‘Why are you two silent ? Have you quarrelled
again. ? I never saw two people dispute so much,
and still, strange but true, you are the best of
friends.’
‘It is all owing to my amiable disposition
Lennox, that we stay friendly. Miss Delarehas
a very decided will of her own, and presists in
beleiving like our grandfathers.’
Jean blushed, the rosetints rising over throat
and face, in shamed grace-
‘Mr. Palmer was tryiog to convince me. that j
marrying for monoy was better than marrying j
poor. I think he was only jesting; but I would
like to hear your opinion on the subject.’
‘Marry for love by all means, if there is
nothing but a crust of bread to live on.’
Palmer laughed lazily at Lennox’s warmth,
but there was a gleam of pity in his keen eyes
nevertheless.
‘Would you marry under snch circumstances
Len ?'
There was a passionate glow in the young man’s
There was a silken rustle and her cousin rose j e ye3 as they turned to Della River’s fair, flower-
from an armchair, beautiful as Aphrodite, in her J ]j£ e face.
evening dress cf pearl-white silk, with lilies in ; ‘Yes,’he answered half under his breath, ‘if
the loops of her gold bright hair, and one large , fl h e loved me I would freely give all that I have
pure diamond caught in the lace at ber thropt
Jean started back at the apparition risiDg si
suddenly before her, then folding ker hands,
stood silent with admiration.
‘I dont know of what good you spake Jean,’
said Miss Rivers; ‘hut if it was th» good of a com
fortable room, it strikes me if you eDjoyed it so
well, you would come in earlier. Where have
you been all the afternoon?’
Jean s ghed a little, and her pretty, half fool
ish thought, that Della was an angel came down
to visit her vanished.
‘I s’aid unusually late at the studio, then I
went to see a little crippled girl.’
‘I was not aware, that you were acquainted
with any crippled girl. Where does she live?, if
I may ask.
•In a hack attic. She has the face of a saint,
and a patience, that is heaven-born in its great
ness.
‘Of course, she is like the heroine in a Sun
day School story book, who always wades
through a great many trials, and tribulations,
and finally dies, and goes to heaven.
‘For shame Dslla,’ cried Jean indignantly
‘How can you make fun of a poor child, who
can never walk; who has to stay in a dreary
room for months and years, without ever leav
ing it and who is dying by slow, painful inches.
• Oh! cousin, how can you.’
A ehange passed over Miss River’s beautiful
face.
•How can I? I dont know, except that the
devil has full possession of me, just now I think
I could laugh at any thing to-night.’ She
walked to the door then tu n d a.o ind.
•Make haste Jean, and dresB; remember we
have to go through the torture of a dinner party,
and look your best, Mrs Dunleath is here.'
Jean did not linger over her toilet, and when
completed it was very simple. A silvery grey
dress, relieved by some rioh old lace, with her
hair parted plainly, and drawn back in a Greek
coil, and with a half opened crimson rose rest
ing jnst above her small left ear. She gave one
swift glance in the long dressing mirror, and
went down stairs. The drawing room door was
ajar and she took one view of the interior before
entering. It was like a picture, the mellow
lights, rich furniture, and groups of well-dressed
people. The rapt coloring of the picture with
varied tints, here and there, pleased the girl's
artistic taste. The people all looked so pleasant
in the room moving about or reclining in the
luxurious depths of soft easy ohairs, speaking in
low well-modulated voices, and acting with that
graceful ease and good breeding that is the birth
right of those to the ‘purple born.' After all
she was not one of them, and a sharp s'range
pang went through her heart as she thought how
little she would be missed, if she were to drop
out from among them. It was not vanity that
prompted the thought; but a new feeling that
she had never analyzed. In a vague uncertain
way, she felt that if she were to lose Palmer’s
friendship, life would be very dark.
Her cousin was seated on a low couch, Mr.
Palmer at her side, and Sir Angus Lynn and
Lennox Holmes standing before her. Her aunt
was talking to some ladies, Mrs. Carroll was en
tertaining a group in her quaint, witty way, and
her uncle was standing on the heartn talking to
Mrs. Dunleath. Jean knew it must be her, as
soon as her eyes fell on the stately figure and
proud cold face.
When Jean quietly entered the room, Mr.
Rivers met her, and leading her to the stranger
gave her an introduction. The girl lifted her
head proudly, and her bow was as cold as Mrs.
Dunleath’s. She met the cold blue eyes calmly,
steadily, while she said the few civil words
required of her, then retired to the refuge of a
table and a book of engravings. So that was
Mr. Palmer's aunt, and the woman who to a
large degree held his destiny in her hand. If
he was to displease her in his marriage, she was
quite capable of casting him adrift, with only
the small income that he possessed independent
of her.
j and go out to beggary with her.’
The evening passed pleasantly, and when it
j was over, Jean went up to her room, and from
her small store of books, selected a few to carry
to Cecile the next day. She was standing before
the fire her head bent down on her folded arms
trying to arrange the events of the day, and give
each one its proper place in her mind, when her
cousin came to the door.
‘No,’ to Jean’s invitation ‘I am not coming in.
I am too tired. What do you think of Gordon
Palmer’s aunt?’
‘I hardly know Della,’answered Jean reserved
ly. Mrs. Dunleath didn’t speak to me after our
introduction. Bhe seems to be very proud, but
that is perfectly natural I suppose.’
‘Well take care, that you do not offend her as
she will crush you with her grand airs.’
T am no! afraid,' said Jean frankly.
‘No, I know tha‘ you are not; but still it is
wiser to propitiate such people. It makes things
more comfortable.’
Jean turned around, a question on her lips,
in her eyes:
•Della ’
Miss Rivers raised her small white hand.
‘I see you are going to ask me a question.
Don’t do it now or I might give you an answer
that I would regret. Good night.'
She disapp ared like a beautiful vision, melt
ing away in the semi darkness of the hall, and
Jean was left to her own thoughts which were
all in a confused tangle.
(to be continued. )
JEW;
CURSE OF MONEY.
‘Why that pensive expression, oh lady fair?
Has one of yonr numerous admirers proposed,
and are you meditating whether or not to acoept
him ?’
She glanced up at Palmer with a bright smile.
‘What a bad hand you are at guessing. My
numerous admirers are far too sensible to pro
pose to a dowerless country girl. You see I am
learning some of the wisdom of the world.’
•Yes, and accepting it as the true wisdom of
this life,’ taking a seat, and leaning his arm on
the table.
•No, I think it is a false wisdom, as all people
will some day find. I have always been taught
that people marry for love; but since I came
here I find they marry for money and position.’
‘Of course, that shows how wise they are in
their day, and generation. Suppose your cousin
was to marry some poor clerk, getting twelve or
fifteen hundred a year. Would she be happy ?’
‘If she loved her husband, yes.’
‘No, there you are mistaken. She would be
miserable, longing after the flesh pots of Egypt.
The poor fellow would repent his mad step in
taking an aristocratic wife, in sackcloth and
ashes.’
Jean turned the leaves of her book thought
fully. Palmer’s eyes lingered on the fair girl
face in a way that men only look at the woman
they love. Yes love. It had come to that at
last. At first he was only interested, and amused;
but she was so frankly, honestly true, so ignorant
of the world, and so different from all the women
he had ever met, that his proud, cynical heart
believed, and found rest in loving her. In
many things Jean was still a child, but Mr.
Palmer was too thorough a reader of human
nature, not to know, that her womanhood would
be a noble one. His secret wes his own, and
might remain so to the end of the chapter. He
was not ready to give up a fortune for a woman’s
love.
‘I cannetbe convinced that mercenary marri
ages are happy ones,' said Jean at last.
•No, but of the two evils, that is the smallest.’
‘Do you believe so ?’
He smiled down into her questioning eyes.
‘Do you expeot me to believe otherwise ? when
we ot the world are brought up to consider it
one of the greatest duties in life, to make a good
matoh. Mirs Delare yon have not learned the
A B C of wordiy knowledge.’
ean oould not tell whether he was in earnest
only jesting. Gordon Palmer’s face oould
Israel sat at his table, his head supported by
both his hands; a faint desperate feeling of
nothingness overcame him. What was the pur
pose of creating this beautiful planet, perhaps
an offspring from the disc of the sun, if no bet
ter use could be made of it than that the high
est developed beings on it should forever carry
on a strife of separate and concrete opposing
interests, and should mutually rejoice at their
success over each other? Should think it right
to gratify every voluptuous desire, whether it
clashed with the well-being of others or not?
What was the use, that he had wa'ked Palestine
and taught human mutual sympathy, and love
of the originator of our beiDg, if His teaching
had been twisted into such shapes ? Why call
this religion Christianity, for Christianity it was
not ? Before Israel’s mind's eye arose that noble,
placid figure on Olivet, teaohiog the stubborn
thousands to love each other and to understand
that true humanity can only progress if all in
terests are regarded as sacred. Ah, Israel com
prehended that if that figure had stood up in
the streets ot Naples, in the nunneries of Spain,
and in the Madeleine of Paris; the multitudes,
particularly the well-born multitude, might
have understood him less than did the stubborn
Jews of old.
Someone knocked at the door; again, louder
and louder still.
‘Come in,’ said Israel, not looking up; some
one entered slowly. At last Israel did look up;
who stood there before him ? The bent, vener
able figure of an old mao, whose long white
beard reached far down, whose partially bald
head topped a face of the sharpest sagacity, whose
dress bespoke a Jew of strict rule and immense
importance.
, And thou art Israel Torriano, my brother’s
child 1 I am thy father's eldest brother, and
come from Frankfort, in Germany.’ The old
man spoke the purest Hebrew.
Something like reverence, something like
kinship was stirred in Israel; he approached
the old man, took both his hands, shook ihem
heartily, and answered in Hebrew: ‘At last
there seems to be somebody who belongs to me;
uncle, you come nearer to me than all I have
seen. Oh, thank you for ooming to see me.’
T have come to fetch thee from this modern
Babylon, to take thee to a place, true, defiled
now, since it belongs to those cars id Prussians
but still something of a home for us. Pshaw,
Paris is but a sink of iniquity—come, pack up,
get out of it as quick as thou eanst. I told thy
cousin that thou shonldst not stay here. I have
jnst arrived and heard from him where you
were. Let us be off. ’
‘I was going to Vienna.’
‘As bad as Paris. No need; I have greater
things for thee to do; come with me, and the
plans of a life-time shall be developed before
thee, Jehovah be praised. I behold one worthy
offspring of our race; my sons are all modern
ised. One in Petersburg, one in Berlin, one in
Vienna—all fallen away from the true Jehovah,
worshipping nothing but their own social fin
ery. Pshaw!’
Old Torriano, Israel, and Pedro reached
Frankfort; the journey by rail had been a taci
turn one. Tne old man watched his young rel
ative whenever not perceived; he evidently pon
dered over some scheme, and weighed in his
mind the pro’s and con's for its success. Here
and there he would break out into some furious
‘ tirade ’ against modern ideas, or the superficial
life of the day, or the horrid Prussians and the
changes in Germany. Then again he recounted
eagerly passages from his life, while he had
been with Israel’s father in the East. But he
neither wished to be anwered nor to be reason
ed with; his whole conversation seemed rather
a passionate denunciation than a consecutive
pursuit of ideas. He paid the expenses through
out with a krnd of princely disregard of money
value: on Israel, who cared very little whether
he was thought generous or not, it made no im
pression. If his uncle would pay, let him pay.
A certain unexplained enmity had arisen be
tween Pedro and the old man; Pedro aotually
sneered at him.
‘ A fine old curmudgeon, to take my master,
God knows where; he looks more sinister than
the gipsy smugglers; 1 11 watch you my man.’
Pelro aid watch unremittingly, and by the
; time the trio had reachei Frankfort they were
as uncomfortable as three people could be. A
certain depression had come over Israel; life
appeared unreal here, there seamed no bright
spring at the bottom of the well, nothing but a
muddy substance to draw from for sustenance.
He began to think, as perhaps many of us have
thought; ‘What is the use of this existence,
whose purpose seems nothing but the frittering
away of each day in some renewed toil, to sup-
j ply the lesser or greater wants of the body, and
leave those of the spirit crippled and sparingly
i attended to ?’
Old Torriano had shut up his fine house ‘Auf
der Zrile,’ in Frankfort, and lived in an old
banking plaoe near the Jews’ quarter. Neither
wife nor daughter existed; the three sons were
all settled elsewhere, money princes themselves.
So Israel’s reception was none of the most
cheerful. A veteran crusty man-servant receiv
ed the three into tne sombre hall, and opened
to them a reception room more sombre still.
Pedro shuddered: surely this was not the same
world as sunny Italy and bright Spain? It was
getting worse and worse, and had it not been
that Pedro seemed bound band and foot to his
master, he would have turned tail and rnshed
off back to his home, where the sky swam in the
light, the air was embalmed with sweetness,
and life was pleasant and enj eyable.
Great attention was paid to Israel, whose
chamber appeared more fit for an inhabitant of
centuries ago than for a young man accustomed
to the free breath of aa Eastern life on the
mountains of Palestine.
Old Torriano retire! early on the evening of
their arrival, but not before he had solemnly
blessed Israel in Hebrew and pronounced end
less benedictions on his sacred head. The wel
come Israel had given his aged relative on first
meeting him seemed to vanish into distance;
this earnest, passionate, concentrated old Jew
had no affinity with him, Israel felt it. no more
than the gorgeous, luxurious cousin in Paris.
‘No time to lose, Israel, thou blessed child,"
said the old man the next morning, after a state
ly breakfast. ‘ We have business, a great, vast
immense business to settle. Come into my pri
vate room.’
Into the private room they went, a close old-
fashioned plaoe, smelling of calculations in mil
lions, musty with many transactions to which
dung the fates of thousands of human beings.
The room had an uncanny appearance, as if it
were an inquisition chamber; against the wall
hung a large map of Europe and Asia, on the
table in the middle lay another. Heavy volumes
stood on the shelves against the wall. Large
ominous safes were heaped up in corners, and
money was written on every article in the place.
The old man drew himself up. ‘ Israel Tor
riano, here no one enters but my old cinfiden-
tial manager, not even my sons are permitted to
oome here, But thou art different even from
them. On thy head rests the sacredness of a
race; in thy veins flows the blood of the pure
eastern land; in thy faoe something shines of
former grandeur and future hope. I feel it, my
eyes are seeing the only man that can realise
my long hopeless dreams.’
Israel shuddered. What could he mean ?
What ambition would so excite a man to whom
the world had given all the prosperity it was
oapableof? But the elder exercised a certain
power oval the younger, and as if spell-bound
Israel stood opposite his uncle, listening atten
tively to every word that fell from his lips.
‘Listen, Israel Torriano, child of the East,
and interrupt me not.’ The old man stood on
one side of the table on which lay the map, Is
rael on the other. ‘Listen: two years ago this
town was the stronghold of our race; here, we
had gained a new power over the world, here
had arisen, according to present civilization, a
fresh empire which we held over mankind. Mon
ey rules the earth, and money had we created
and absorbed to such an extent that kingdoms
cannot reckon upon such a revenue as we pos
sess. And this revenue is not stationary, for
money begets money. It has branched off where
ever a number of our or some other great Jew
ish family settles. It seems to collect around
us, to cliug to us, to raise us into importance
wherever we go. For one moment imagine, if
thou hast even a faint idea of it, what woul!
be the power in the hands of the richest Jewish
families on the globe? Ha! they cannot even
conceive it. But Israel, this cash power wants
realization; I know it; it wants men—human
flesh and blood, and human flesh and blood I
want to buy with it. My Frankfort, my home,
has been desecrated; the hard, stern man of the
sword has come and whipped it like an offending,
helpless child. He has taken our liberties, our
free Reichstadt, and made it into au appendix
of his own paltry, sandy pessessions. The Prus
sians have swamped us, drained us, despoiled
us, humiliated us. God of my fathers! Jehovah
of the patriarchs! how I hate those spike-headed
men! Listen, Israel,’ and the old man bent
more forward still, ‘listen; look at this map.
Two hundred years ago thess Prussians were a
paltry concern in the east of Germany, patching
up little bits of stray lands from the rotten corn
ers cf the great German empire,even then swel
ling np with pride and self, and talking about
schools and universities, about reformation in
their religion, and hardy defence of their mis
erable country; about taking in industrious
Protestants whom Spain and Austria turned out;
in fact, about all the dirty, petty means people
who are needy and poor employ to swell their
little importance. They never had much mon
ey; one of their sovereigns had to employ a Jew
every now and then to patch up the concern,
another half-starved his court to amass a few
heaps of silver thalers in his treasury; but ha!
see Israel, what even thess few silver thalers did,
they enabled his son to make head against Aus
tria, the only thing a Prussian could do, and to'
astonish Europe. That wily serpent, that in
domitable, plucky, Frederick II., did more with
his father's few thalers than half the realms of
Europe have known to do with their heaps of
gold. Look at them now. The silver thalers
and wilinees have made use of human flesh and
blood, and Franfort, the stronghold ot money
capital, the old town of the German empire has
fallen under their clutches, and if one man does
not stay them, soon the rest of the land will fol
low. But it shall not, Israel, we’ll prevent it;
we will keep back the march; we, like the Mac
cabees, will turn the stream; for we have gold,
gold, gold; we have brains, and we can buy hu
man flesh and blood, we can tr-in armies.' The
old man wiped his brow, his eyes shot forth a
lurid internal fire, that had been feeding on its
own intensity. ‘Israel, here it is: next door to
the Prussians lives a man who has also a long
heal, though rather given to possible calcula
tions than aclions; from his gorgeous metropo
lis you have just come. Napolean III. is that
man. It won’t last long, the affair, any Jew
could tell him that, for we know intuitively
when people have outrun their credit; but he
can serve us. This new comer, this political,
dextrous free-lance, has what we want—human
flesh and blood—he has armies. Listen again,
dear Israel, the scheme is coming, the scheme
of my hatred and my ambition—listen.
‘Where you came from lies a land that God
had given us and man has taken from us—Pal
estine. What right has that stupid, plethoric
Turk to sweet, holy Palestine—my dream of
dreams? What right? None. Turn the Turk
out, he is nothing but a burden, a cumbersome,
lazy human machine, that won’t go forward to
improve and can’t go backward to brighten up
his old, insolent, blood-thirsty sword of war.
But how turn him out? Israel, your and my
money can do t. Give it me, man. give it me;
let me handle it - I am not quite so clear-sighted
as was your father; but revenge and ambition
will make me. They will make my brain pen
etrate the brains ot other men and look into the
future! We’ll go to Nipolean III.: we’ll prom
ise him support to stay the Prussians, who will
one day prostrate him, be sure of it, if he does
not hinder them now; we’ll give him the sinews
of war, money, and ask nothing in return but
help against the Turks. He’ll give it; I know
him. He'll be set up as a reoewer of nations,
as leading back an old powerful race to its home
—he’ll beat the Prussians, if he has untold re
sources, he'll beat them now; but not muoh later,
they are swelling up wonderfully, and there is
no time to be lost. He’ll become the greatest
hero of our time, and whatever fall may come
later for his people, if he minds now, he ll not
see it, and we shall be secure. Oh, once back
in Palestine, what would we not be? Think,
dear Israel, our money, our cleverness, our tal
ents, our united action, and the old blessing on
us; we would briDg forth a new, a powerful
Messiah, who shall govern the world! And thou,
dear Israel, with all the traditions of our ancient
race in you, thou sbouldst become our first
king. Israel Torriano, king of the Jews! Man,
I would rather be that than king of the universe.
Israel, dear Israel, disappoint me not! When I
hail thee as king in Jerusalem, my eyes shall
have seen the Lord’s delight, and I can depart
in peace. No, first I’ll help thee to be secure
in thy possession. Haarest thou, Israel, hearest
thou me, thy prophet’—the old man snatched
at Israel's hand; ‘canst thou understand the
greatness of that which I propose?'
Israel stood there, his eyes directed up to hea
ven, his soul going right into divine realms,
searching there for the words to quiet this eo-
static old man. He looked entranced. Old Tor
riano call out:
‘Israel, Israel, the Lord’s spirit is coming up
on thee, thou lookest already a kiDg of the Jews.’
But Israel bent down his head; mournfully
his eyes looked into the old man’s. ‘Uaole Tor
riano, you have painted the picture of the temp-
tor, but not for me; I have no money, I have
never owned that trash. Take it, if you will;
you, as the eldest, have the best right to it; but
you cannot have me—I belong to mysflf and to
Him; I want no worldly kingdom. Whenever
our race is again to be reunited, it will be by
other means. Never by those of blood and re
venge.’
‘And pray, by what others ?’
‘By the teaching of the Nazarene’s true words
—not by what they call Christianity now; but
by that mutual understanding that will let us
see in our fellow creature's interests our own,
and tbat will make our souls purer to exult in
admiration and adoration of the creation we in
habit.’
‘Man, Israel, thou followest the Nazarene.
Thou, thou, thou? Quick tell me.’
‘Yes, I do—I am asincere, true follower of His
word, but not as it is flimsily taught nere; no.
as I have found it and put it together for my
self. Not slavishly, but quickening me daily to
new life and right understanding, making me
see more and more wbat he meant, when He
threw the teaching of His seeing soul among the
multitudes, to find it distorted in shape two
thousand years later. The Nazarene never said
what I find many of these Christians believe,
and long will it be till we have understood
Him at all. Even I, earnest searcher as I am,
even I shall not know His motives quite. Go
on, revile Him, Jew of th > same race as He was;
go on, misunderstand Him, so-oalled Christian
of the modern race; go on, despise Him and
sneer at Him, philosopher , who dost not even
take the pains to look for His meaning under
the deceptive dress of an earnest, little under
stood language, and the misrepresentation of
oentnries. We can still look no higher than let-
ti ig our brother’s interest be like our own and
extending civilization by making all fit for wor
thy existence in their various places. We still
can look no higher than loving this dwelling
place, its mutely speaking plants and animals
of lower development, a id in them loving the
i.ighest existence. Christ taught no more—
nothing else is possible. I would rather devote
myself to mere contemplation, my soul is not
with man; but still I am learning to subdue even
that, if He wills it, and for it I am making my
journey. Take my money, uncle, you are wel
come; take it and let me go! said Israel, mourn
fully.’
‘And thou art a Nazarene, a follower of Him
whom the Jews detest!’ The old man hid away
his faoe: ‘Then leave me; no, this instant; go,
go, go. I’ll have none here; none but those of
the pure old faith shall tread my house. Be
off! be gone ! thou defilest my room in which I
worship.’
‘Worship Mammon and God ! I go uncle.’
Israel left the room.
Within a few minutes Pedro had packed what
there was to pack and had left the place with
Israel; as they passed the door of the old man’s
room, Israel heard a few broken sobs. But he
knew there was no help, old Torriano must be
left to himselt 1
‘Bless the Madonna,’ exclaimed Pedro, as they
stepped into the close, narrow street, *1 have a
horror of this house.’ Pedro’s earnest feelings
always employed Italian for expression; he kept
close to Israel, as if for protection.
‘Where must we go, maestro ?’ he asked of
the young Jew.
‘To the railway-station;’ answered Israel, in
French.
‘My poor Zillah, when shall I see you ?’
‘Pedro, leave me—’
‘No, no, no—maestro, maestro; I am yours.’
Through Frankfort’s narrow streets they wan
dered till they reached the station; a porter had
easily been found for the two moderate port
manteaus they carried. Israel had become a
little desponding; his money seemed a load
stone, dragging him down from every unselfish
aspiration, and being continually in his way.
Wherever he went it was not he who was want
ed, but the cash he represented; it obliterated
him as man altogether, opposite man and wo
man. Under whatever pretext it was done:—
the Jewish family affection in Naples, the asso
ciation with the Gentile and gipsy in Spain, the
care of the Caristian nuns, the pretended love
of the French countess, the rash marriage offer
of the gamester, the exaltation for which his oid
German relative had destined him—money,
money, and money was the moving principle of
welcome, dastardly attack, social amenities, and
political rising. He felt it, like a curse it would
cling to him, who positively knew not what to
do with it, for had he employed it in any great
concern for ihe benefit of humanity at large,
and given it out of his hands, his whole people
would have risen against him and called him
insane 1 Aye, perhaps locked him up as a luna
tic ! Well, he mus: see England, his mother’s
birthplace, the land whose name had an all-pro
tecting influence in the East. Here perhaps,
money took another shape, and was nsed rather
as a means to greatness, than greatness itself;
and here, he was sure, that Christian light which
Eaglish missionaries were said to carry to the
most distant lands would shine brighter than
elsewhere. The glimpse his uncle had given
him into German politics had disgusted him,
and he was positively afraid logo to Berlin and
Vienna, and be hawked about for what he was
worth.
With such thoughts, Israel occupied himself,
as he sat outside the station on the bench, wait
ing for the train to take him to the Rhine; sud
denly Rebecca’s image came hefore him. Bit
terly as he felt the money influence of her gor
geous home, he saw her before him, stately, no
ble, beautiful, ardent—his heart was not touch
ed, and yet be should have liked to be with the
cousin who was so far above ber oonditien. He
would not have left her so easily now, the crust
round bis heart was melting iu contact with the
world: Israel was beooming sympathetic.
Suddenly a sharp, lond cry was heard, a child's
cry: Israel sprang up. Where, what was it?
Another, sharper still, and then a moan. Israel
looked right and left, the outside of the station
was deserted at the time; Pedro had gone off to
fetch some refreshment for himself, and the
young Jew was alone. He hurried round the
corner of the building, and there beheld such a
pretty picture. A young lady was holding a
child to her, from whose forehead blood was
streaming: quick as lightning Israel was by her
side. The young la!y was well dress’d, the
child poorly clad, and not very clean. It clung
to its rescuer, and moaned and sobbed; Israel
took up the child in his arms, said ‘Come with
me,’ to the lady, and found his way to the wait
ing room. Here the wound was washed and
dressed, and some restoratives ns id to the little
fellow, who was very pale. The moment, how
ever. he felt his strength revive he sprang up;
•Es war die Krote, die Marie; ioh word's ihr
geben.’
Knitting his little fist, he started off. leaving
both Israel and the young lady in astonishment
at such a sudden transition from helplessness
to revenge. The lady laughed ouright, and
wiped carefully some soots of blood from her
glove. Israel seemed affected by that hearty
laugh—he, who smiled so seldom, scarcely ever,
could neither help laughing. How much true
human harmony there is in a laugh 1
They looked at each other; the lady blushed,
Israel trembled. ‘The little fellow soon recov
ered himself,’ he said, in French.
‘Oh; I am not French;’she answered, ‘Iam an
English girl; do you speak English?’
•Yes a little; my mother was English.’
‘And you are an Italian, are you not ?’ inquir
ed the lady, naively.
‘I come from Palestine.’
‘From Palestine? Oh, tell me something
about it. How beantifal it mast be: the very
name bas a sonnd all its own.’
They had walked ronnd, and now sat down on
the bench outside. Others might have called
the young girl unlady like, to converse so speed
ily with an utter stranger: Israel did not notice
it. He felt only the undefined charm of having
beside him an ingenuous, unaffected human be
ing, whose outer appearanoe was pleasing in the
extreme.
‘Do you live in Palestine, or have you travelled
there ?’
‘Both; nights and nights I have wandered on
its Hills; have slept on Olivet, and made it my
home, my natural home, not what yon call here
a home.’
•Ah, yon are a little romantic; so am I. I
wonld not give up my romance for anything; it
is so beantifal to look at the world with one’s
own eyes, not with everybody else’s. But there
is my papa, and there comes the train; I mnst
go. Thank you for yonr assistance with the lit
tle boy; it was very kind of yon.’
A tall, stately man approached them: the
yonng lady hurried up to him. At the same
moment the train appeared, they entered it; so
did Israel impulsively, bat in the erowd that
oame from the carriages he got into another car
riage than that of his companion. Pedro, flash
ed, ran up and just caught his master, while two
little children rushed forward; one a little boy
with bandaged bead dragging along a little girl,
who was screaming vociferously. The boyoanght
sight of Israel at one window, of the yonng lady
at the other and bawled out to him at the top
of his voice. The train started off with Israel
and the yonng English girl in it.
Reader you will think Israel Torriano a very
imaginative character; he is not so. He is but
the reflex ot what you and I see every day, the
power of money; he is the possessor of what the
world values, himself not valuing it; himself
seeking ground higher and sounder. He will
become the martyr of that possession, for believe
ns, reader, the old saying is still true: ‘Sooner
can a camel pass throngh a needle, than a rich
man go into heaven.’ It means, that life is a far
harder matter to encompass for a rioh man than
a poor one. The world does not think so; the
world is mistaken. Money, the possession of
money, not gained by ourselves, is a dreadful
responsibility, a responsibility it is better not to
have; for money can buy man and woman ev
erywhere and among every creed 1 Let ns fol
low onr hero, whose fate we have sketched; sin
gle-minded as he comes from regions of thought
and life into which the value of money had not
entered; let ns follow him, how little by little
he enters upon the European world and its va
rious conditions, and how everywhere there
greets him the eternal ory for ‘Money, money,
money,’ How everywhere the world is so im
bued with the power over means, that the means
have become the end and have confused onr
ideas. How everywhere these means are nsed
as incentives to straggles and efforts that create
either crime and dishonesty, or heroism and
honesty; how the latter often fail, when the for
mer conquer ! Let us follow our hero as he seas
money worshipped and Christianity misunder
stood—treated as a dry rule, that represents
forms, not principles—the living principle to
commiserate the weak and leave the strong to
themselves. Reader 1 come away fora time from
all the pretty mannerisms in which the ways of
the world are described, and look with ns' into
the truth of its principles 1 Forgive onr style;
forgive onr peculiarities—we meant to show you
a man whose mind was free from worldly taint,
perhaps selfish in being self-absorbed; and who
has to learn a heavy lesson, when he comes into
actual contaot with the world—though the pos
sessor of untold heaps of money!
Israel Torriano passed into Belgium and came
to England; he had missed somehow the yonng
lady on his way; and had never again seen her.
Again and again the bright face, would peep at
him, and the pret.y, fall mouth ask: ‘Are you
Italian?’ He, so nnimpassioned to great beauty
before; he who had remained callous to Rebec
ca, to Zillah, to the handsome young nun, to the
seductive French Countess, he began to feel the
charm of a plain child of nature, who said what
she meant and said it boldly; not courting him,
not caring whether she caught his attention or
not.
Israel was not a man spoilt by too much con
tact with women; his feelings once engaged,
they were fresh and strong, they carried him
away from himself, they overpowered him. That
young face haunted him; it sat by him, spoke to
him, smiled at him; he heard its merry laugh,
and saw its bright eyes. Israel tried to think of
other things, and coaid not. Toe ecstatic po
litical visions of his old uncle disappeared in
the distance, and there in the foreground she
stoed, that simple young girl. Oh, must we say
it? Human ieelings would have their way; even
Olivet, even Palestine, disappeared—and still the
pretty figure kept its place, and obstinately
stood before him.
Israel became taciturn, and Pedro was unhap
py. The strong personal tie that kept him to
his master could not be broken, but his being
was elsewhere; these northern countries were
unbearable to his southern nature.
[to bx continued. J
In a lecture recently on the subject of ‘Evo
lution in Marriage,’ Mrs. Dr. Sara B. Chase
told how for 120,000 years savagery and barbar
ism had prevailed, and related the history of
marriage during the past 5.000 years.