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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.