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The morning star and Catholic messenger. (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, February 01, 1874, Morning, Image 2

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn86086284/1874-02-01/ed-1/seq-2/

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Moarnina Star and Catholls Messenger.
IFor the Morning Starand Catholic Messenger.
Oh! gentles tears, which Nature doth distill
PFrom all the ills which to repletion fll
The achlng heart Oh1 t gentle balm, which heals
Its feet'rlig wounds, which soothes the pala it feels!
When Sorrow holds communion with the soul,
Or grief for dear friends lost hath full control,
Thy fragrant drops, moat pare, do every traee
Of,lasting sorrow from the heart efface.
Andtofeniog Pity, too, which ever dwells
Within the source whence come thy gentle swells.,
Doth with a mild and tearful eye o'er blend
More touching grace than eloquence can lead.
Oh I magle end yet melancholy charm,
Which grieves and yet gives consolation warm!
All yields nuto the power of a tear
Love, Bate and Pride, and e'en debasiag Fear.
Oh ! tender Pity's gentle dauhgters fair I
Who from your melancholy homes appear
When summoned by her sympathetico call,
And on Affection's bosom softly fall.
" 'en Pleasure's self to flowing teare gives rise
They find their birth within her soften'd eyes,
And do-unto her melting moments lend
More charms than e'er upon her smiles attend.
Ye grateful tears, which memory recalls
At Duty's voice your generous tribute falls!
Oh I that I coold your eloquence so mute
Make vocal in the poet's faltering nluto
Oh I lost l'hatanon I' thou whose virtues great
My muse in vain doth strive to celebrate.
So deep my loo ! I shed above thy pall
The grateflul tear, more eloquent than all.
What rlan. of varied talents, like to thee.
Could worship pay with such tidelity I
Ye geu'rous cirtuen which in him shone bright,
Where rshall we find you now, to blese the sight i
Alas! he hearir me not, his cars are sealed,
To whom msay now my sorrows be revealed?
Oh ! let mny teare upon thine ashes fall,
Who once in thy warm heart received them all i
And thou art Ideadl Thy coundlug lyre, unstrung,
Upon the gloomy boughs of cypress hung;
Now musicless and dumb, enie and diatrest,
The sorrow'of larnusnsu doth attest.
Thou modest author, of friends the most sincere,
Whose talents and bright virtues shono so clear
These from oblivion's touch thy fame shall eavre:
Thy namle shall live, thoogh thou art in the grave.
t iabanon was an intimate friend and a great patreaon
nod beneiactor of the poet.
Mabeleth Cristalar was the daughter of a
Spanish Jew. 11er father had once been very
wealthy, and indeed until the age of sixteen
she had lived In princely splendor. The
beauties of her Spanish home were very dear
to her; shabe had many friends, and as much
time as she chese to spend in study.
But one day, her mother, a stately, handsome
matron, came into her little sitting-room,
looking pale and worn.
"Maheleth, my child," she began, in faltering
tones, "we have had some bad news this
morning. I am afraid we are in danger of
being totally rined.
The young girl looked up; she wan very
beautiful, and the spiritual expression on her
face intensified and heightened her beauty in
a singular degree.
" Ruined, dear mother? Is my father very
unhappy about it ?"
' He is more angry than unhappy; ithas
happened through thoe dishonesty of persons he
"Shall we have to leave home " asked
"I fear we shall; it is a heavy trial."
"It will be for our good in the end, mother
darling. I am so sorry for you and my father,
because you have always been usneed to riches."
" So have you, my poor child."
"But not for so long a time; and it ieasoier
to root up a sapling than a full-grown tree."
"Ah ! you hardly know what may be before
you, Maheleth; your sisters are mere children;
we have but few relations; with fortune, so
also friends will forsake us; the shock will be
very sndden, and we shall have to bear it
"You forget our God," said the girl gently."
A shade of impatience passed over the elder
woman's face.
"We do not hope for miracles now, child,"
she answered; "your father has worked hard
for his wealth, but Qod will not treat him as
lie treated Job."
"'Depend upon it, if he does not, mother
mine, it is because he knows what is best for
me. You would not have ns lose our hopes of
the hereafter for the sake of more or less com
fort in the earthly present ?"
" My child, you should have been a boy;
mnch sayings would tell well in a sermon, but
in practical business matters they are but cold
"Oh! they are comfort sufficmient, believe
me; besides, they do not debar uas from prudent
measures and precautions in a temporal point
of view."
"Well, child, you are a visionary, I always
knew that; it remains to be seen if you can be
a stoic."
" What need of that, dear mother ? 8toicism
is not obedience nor resignation."
Here a light step was beard, and the half
open door was pushed quickly back. A little
girl, about nine years old, ran in with flushed
face, and, holding in her hands a velvet
casket, cried out in gleefrl voice:
" O mother! sinter ! see II got leave to bring
this in myself. It has just come from the
jewellrr'u, just an my father ordered it!"
And she opened the casket, displaying a
wonder fil palrre of rpals and diamonds,
oxquisitely and artistically wrourght. Senora
Cristalar turned away imrpatiently, anyinrg to
the chilti:
"Thtrnir, I am enguged; elor't come fooling
here about these jewels; put thomr down, and
go into the next room."
The chiled, hurt arid ostonished, looked
blankly at her sister. Maheloth reached out
her hand for the casket, nrrd half rose from her
" I will come to you presently, little sister,
if you wait in there; never mind the pretty
gems Just now."
And so saying, she kissed the little eyes that
were ready toorerilow with obildeshn tears, ant,
setting lbejewels on a table outof sight of her
mnother, resnmed her seat.
"There are the llrst-frnitsof ouroircumetan- I
ces," said the mother bitterly. "The man
expects to be paid for those to-day, and I shall I
have to tell him to take them bach !"
"Come! if there were nothing worse than P
that! Now, mother, we will both go to my
father, and pray together, and then consult 0.
among ourselves."
Mabeleth'e father was very fond and very "
proud of his eldest daughter, and this Indeed g
was hie beet trait. Shrewd and clever in fi.
worldly affaire, yet strictly honest in his "
dealings, be was not devoid of that hardoess SI
that too often aoompanies mercanti'esuocoes, I
and as oftens turns to weakness when that Al
euceees disappears. m
One thing seemed to sustain him, but it wae bc
only a hollow prop after all-hi. pride of race. Le
For generations his family had been well
. known and bonored: he could trace his ances
try back in an unbroken line ofdescent from one
of the exiles from devastated Jerusalem.
Rabbis and learned men bad borne hin name,
and though in latter times no opening save
that of trade and banking bad been available
to those of his race, yet ble blood yielded it in
nothing to that of the proverbially hanghty
nobles of Spain. It mattered little that by
some he was shunned as of an inferior extrao
tion or lower soolal status: his own wealth,
his wife's beauty, his lavish hospitality, his
daughter's chbarms, were strong enough, he
knew, to break the barriers of prejudice, at
least as far as appearanoes went. As to mar
riages, he did not covet for bie children the
alliance of a poor foreigner, and poor most of
the proud families were whom he daily enter
tained at his splendid house-poor in braines,
poor in beauty, poor in energy and strong
And yet, though he almost despised his
neighbors, this shook was very galling to him.
They now would tarn from bhm, wonud forget
his opeu-handedness, and remember only his
raee and oreed; woald pity him perhaps, but
with the pity that in almost contempt. And
this seemed to paralyze him, for all his Aercely
expressed consciousess of superiority to bin
Mabeleth tried to persuade him to take the
trial calmly; for even in a temporal aspect
calmness would sooner show him how to re
trieve his fortunes.
"For," she said, "you know that, with your
abilities, you can, if you will, gain enough for
my little sisters' dowry by the time they will
be grown up; and that I. the first thing to be
considered, and after that we shall even have
enough to live in comfort."
"And what is to become of you, Mabheleth f"
asked her father fondly. 1
"Oh! you and I will be co-workers. I will
look after those two until you can marry them
well, and so we will both have a definite
object in life. We can keep my mother in
some degree of comfort from the very begin
ning, if we only look things in the face."
The opals and diamonds had to be retgrned
to the jeweller's; the pleasant home was
broken up, and what with the sale of his
property,- and various other legal arrange
ments, Ephrainm Cristalar was able to pay all
his creditors, with a few trilling exceptions,
for which lie bound himself by solemn promise
to provide shortly.
Then the banker and merchant disapppeared,
and the nine days' wonder was forgotten by
his former circle of aquaintance.
One day, a young Englishman, traveling or
rather sauntering about Europe in a way un
like the usual useless rush of touriste from one
point to another of Morray's Guide-Book,
arrived at- Frankfurt and settled there--for
how long he, least of all, could have told.
At the hotel, nothing was known of him but
his name, Henry Iolcombo, and that he had
an come with a black portmantean containing a
number of books, lie went slowly to see the
sights, one by one, as if he had plenty of
leisure and wanted to enjoy it; and, when he
E did go, he never uncasured the length and
breadth of saloons, the height of towers, the
utunmber of statues in the cathedral-niches; nor
did he over disgrace his name by carving it
side by nide with the ambitious Joneses or the
heaven-souring Smiths on the pinnacle of a
a temple, or the bark supports of a summer
y house; wheo he went out with a book in his
n hand, it was neither the obtrusive Murray nor
,e the ostentatione Byron; and, in fact, he de
r parteui altogether from the standard of the
h regulation British tourist.
He was walking one day down the Juden
me Strasne, the picturesqueness of whose media
,, val-looking houses had a special attraction for
him, when it came on to rain very suddenly.
g and the sky seemed to threaten a storm in good
is earnest; tihe street was soon deserted, and the
,f narrow roadway became a miniature stream.
Presently he heard a step behind him, and a
y slight tigure half hidden by a large umbrella,
,r pressed quickly past him. It was a woman,
I and, he thought, a very young one, but more
than that he oould not tell, because shabe was
, veiled and muffled, and held the dripping um
brella very close down upon her head. She
, had not gone a dozen paces before him before
Sshbe dropped something white like a roll of
musaic, and stooped slowly to pick it up. The
,I cloak and long skirt she was holding fast to
keep them from the mud embarrassed her, and
the young Englishman had time to spring for
ir ward and restore the white roll of paper to
r, her hand before she had grasped it.
S " Oh! thank you, mein Herr!" said a low,
rich voice, in very soft German. And, as
ar Henry took oil his hat in silence, the girl made
a pretty sweeping inclination, and left him,
re walking as quickly as before.
k But hie had seen more this time, and he knew
, she was beautiful, and had a dainty, graceful
1e hand. Curious and interested, he wataced the
it dark-clad figure down the street, quickened
hie own steps as it hastened on, slackened
" them as it paused to clear a crossing without
r splashing the long and rather inconvenient
garments. He saw it stop at last, and ring a
bell at an old forlorn looking door, where he
d might have expected to see the face of a
Sgnome appear, as guardian of unsuspected
treasures within.
H lie was dreadfully romantio, this young Eng
,r lishman, but in a subdued quiet way that sel
Sdom shabowed itself in words, and was specially
repelled by the gushing style too much followed
jnust then by some of his fair countrywomen.
The door was opened and shubt, and, except
Sthrough his notice of the number over- it, 25,
d hisrelation with the beautiful stranger was
cut off.
e lie thought of it day after day got a direct
Sory, and found out that in the house No. 2a
Sthere lived three families of the names of
Zimmermann, Krnmmacher, and Lowenberg.
The ocenpations of the heads of the families
were iven thusa: "money-lender," "banking
clerk, and " lace-merehant," respectively ; no
Sclue, whatsoever, of course; and, unless tn a
regular and reoeived manner, Mr. Holcombe
could not-think of entering the house. Still
the face he had seen veiledunder the prosaico
toot of a wet umbrella kept between him and
hbis thoughts, and would not be driven away.
Then, too, what business was it of his to go
and throw himself in the way of a girl who
mnost likely was a Jewess? Yet reason as he
might, the mysterious face ,rould visit him, and
it seemed to him as the face of an angel. Very
often he passed the house, and once or twice
even made a pretence of sketching it; but he
iever saw the figure again. Once a young B
face looked out over the flowers in the window
of the grontil floor room, a merry face fell of
health and mischief-not his dream. The blinds t
were always drawn on the first floor, even
when the windotrs were open, and he began to
fancy she most be hidden behind those discreet a
shronders of privacy. A friend of his met him
at his hotel one day when he came home from
the J,,dei-Straeee, and surprised him by tolling
him he was going home in a fortnight to get
" I've been half over the world, my dear fel-ly
low," lie said, "and enjoyed myself immensely
And I've got each a pile of things goiog home
to my fia,,ec, for our house. She rill be de- t.
lighted, she is so fond of queer, foreign thiogs
not like what other people have, you know.
I'll show you some, but most are gone in pack
ing cases through agents from the difierent
parts of the world I've been in."
zAd thbe trwoong men went up stairs to
examine the bridal gift..
"Look here," said Ellioe to his quieter friend, E
"It was a pasha's wife sent me these," drag
giug out a handful of Eastern jewelry, golden
fillet. and embroidered jackets and slippers. fa
" A cousin of mine I. the wife of the consul at g
Smyrna, and she got them for me, for of course ac
I was not allowed to go near the Eastern lady!
And look here, these are carved shells, and
mother-of-pearl orucifxes from Jerusalem, and
boxes made from Olivet trees and cedars of to
Lebanon; yes should valae those." he
" I hope your future wife will," gravely said di,
- ,youtng Holoome, ' the wood of the olives of
e Gethesemani is almost a relle in itself."
i. "Oh! Miss Kenneth will appreiate them
i, jost as much as you do, Holombe, she is very
e reverential. Seelere Is some alabaster, Na
Sples Coral, and Bysantine manuscripts, and
n marble ornaments from the Parthenon. Ab!
y here is the fligree silver of Genoa; that is one
y of my last paunhases, except these pictures on
I china from Geneva; see the frames, too, they
,, are Swiss."
Is Then he turned out a huge tiger-skin, and
e eaid: "All my Indian thinge except this were
it cent from Bombay, and a year ago I cent home
r- all kinds-of jolly things from North America
e fre sand skins antlers, and other curiosities.
if By-the-bye, I have soame old point from Venice,
r- bat some people had been there before me and
a, cleaned the shop out pretty nearly, so I shall
g bbre to get me more. Belgium is a good
I~place. sn t t t'
Ia Hofoombe looked thoughtful; his truant
a. mind was at No. 95 again, and he did not an
st awer. Hie friend went on:
is "I'll j ost ask the landlady, she'll be likely to
it know if there Is any place here, just for a soen
id venir of Frankfort.'
s "Yee said Holcombe, "I suppose she
is now, d, as he apoke, the phantom face
was di l In his mind' eye, and he could
e net drive the vision away."
ot " Aud now, old fellow soppse you show me
s- the lions here," amid Elice: "you have been
here longer than I have."
ir So they walked out and of course in due
ir time eame to the high, irregular houses bor
11 dering the oarious Judea-S-rasse. It was Fri
,e day evening, and the street wase full of people
'e hurrying to one spot; the air was balmy
and told of aummer; the scene was very stri
" king. The stream of people disappeared under
the archway of a splendid Moorish-looking
11 building, with HIIebrewcharacters carvodebove
as the portal. It was the new synagogue. The
is two friends followed the men; the women
.n were lost to view in the stair-cases leading to
a- the galleries. A gorgeous lattice-work defoend
ed thesoe galleries, and the assemblage in the
,d main part of the temple were men with their
eI hate on and light veils or shawls across their
is shoulders.
e- The service began; low, plaintive chants re
il sounded through the boilding; sometnimes the
a, congregation joined. It was very solemn. and
eto Henry Ioleombe seemed fascinated. Some
one passed him a book and found the place for
1, him. And now came the prayer for the mourn
iy ere, the mourner's Kaddisch, as ho saw it printed
before his eyes. There was a stir among the
tr people, and he could hear the women's clothes
n- rustling in the gallery. Those who had re
ie cently lost friends and relations stood up dur
k, ing the intercession, and then another prayer
sr was offered up in German. Holeombe thought
the monud of the old Hebrew was like the
it passing of water through a narrow rocky
d channel; it was soothing and flowing, sad and
a majcstic, and he wondered if the girl lie had
e seen onceus thought and felt about it as he did.
f When the crowd dispersed, he tried to linger
i0 at the entrance, watching the women as they
d passed out. His friend was hardly so patient,
e and reminded him of the table duole they had
ir most likely already missed.
it " I am afraid," he said, " your people would
e scarcely approve your adoniration of the pretty
a Jewesses."
r " Holconmbe blushed and moved away, and
a just as he came out on the sidewalk, a girl in
r black passed him slowly, with an anxious, ab
sent look.
e "By Jove! that is a pretty face," exclaimed
Ellice; but the other said nothing. For the
" second time he had seen the face he was always
dreaming ef. "She looks like an angel," he
r thought, "and yet she is not even a Chris
i " I never saw a Geroian Jewess like that,"
e his friend went oni to say. " She looks like a
t. Spaniard,"
a The next day Ellice had got an address writ
, ten down, and said to Holcombe:
, " If you care to go with me we will go and
a look after this lace merchant this morning."
a Holombe's heart gave a great throb as he
i- asked carelessly to see the addresa: " Jacob
e Zimumermann, 25 Juden strasee."
e "I don't know muooh about laces," he an
if swered, " but I will go with pleasure."
a "It feels like going on an adventure, like
o something you read of' in a book," said Ellice,
d "this penetrating into tbhe privacy of those
tumbledown dens of the Juden strasse."
o "Well." returned Holcombe quietly, "it does
give one the idea."
r, They rang at the door No. 27, and the merry,
a mischievous face he had seen once at the win
e dow greeted Henry as he entered. They in
q, quired for Herr Zimmermann.
"Oh l" said the girl, laughing and looking
w astonished, "he is up on the third floor. Shall
11 I show you the way Bat he is ill, and as he
a lives all alone, he has got into very queer
d ways."
i They went up, guided by the laughing girl,
t who rattled on as she preceded them.
it "Gentlemen like you most often inquire for
a us, for my father, I mean, and no one ever
e comes to see old Zimmermann except some
a wrinkled old ladies, and heaven knows how
d they find him out; and as to Herr Lowenberg,
he is a stranger and has no friends."
The two yonag men then knew that she was
the money-lender's daughter, and Holcombe
thought his dream companion must bear the
name of Lowenberg.
"But is not Zimmermann a rich old mer
Shobant, and is he not well-known in the town f"
asked Ellice. "My landlady named him at
s once when I asked for laces."
"Oh! yes; rich he is; so rich that he won't
sell generally but then an Englishman is an
other thing! se lives like a rat in a hole, and
ctarves himself."
By this time they had reached the door of
the miser's room ' a low, subdued voice was
heard within roadilng.
Their knock was answered by a noise of light
footsteps, and the door was drawn ajar by some
one inside.
" Rachel, what is it You know Herr Zim
mermann is ill."
Holoombe knew that voice must belong to
the girl he had never forgotten. Just then the
light from the door fell upon the men in the
darkened, narrow passage, and the slight fig
ure drew back a little.
" They are English gentlemen," said Rachel.
"They want to buy."
"To-day, Rachel? It is the Sabbath."
Rachel shrugged her shoulders, and Ellice
stepped forward.
"I beg your pardon. I forgot that. unt I
mince we are here, perhaps you will let us see i
the laces, and we can comeback and choose on I
The girl looked uneasily back into the room, I
and then said, in a very low voice:
" No; please do not ask to come in to-day;
he is liarilly coiiscious, and he might ferget it ]
was the Srhbath in.hbs excitemilen."
"Very well," said Ellice politely, and IIol- I
comboe whispered to him: " Come away; don't K
yeo, understand ?"
The doer was closed gently, and Henry said,
"She was afraid be could not resist the temp
tation of a good offer, if it were made to him, i
and she wanted to prevent his doing anything
" How stupid I aml," said Ellice. "Of course
that's it. Bt, I say, is sbe not pretty I" n
"Beautiful !" answered Holcombevery quiet- a
"Is that Fraulein Zimmerman?" asked a
Ellice of Rachel.
"No; Fraulien Lowenberg," said the girl. b
"She in very kind to the old man. Her own g
father is ill and can't work, and she is very h
good to him. She reads to old Zimmermann
and looks after him, too, when he is ill. She II
has two little sisters also."
" And how do they live 7" asked Ellice. ye
" She keeps them, I think. The father nued
to be clerk in Hauptmann's bank' but he haa w
been laid up six months now, and the mother I
died two months after they came here." at
)t "Are they Germans " said Ellice, really
a "Their name is, but I fanoy they are for.
' eigners. Maheleth speaks like a foreigner."
"Maheleth ! A curious name."
d " Yes, an unusual one; so is her sister's
I Thamar."
e They were at the street door now, and Ellice
n bade the girl good-morning, saying they would
7 come again on Monday.
" What a carious chancel" he went on. " It
d is the same girl we saw coming out of the
re synagogue last night. Did you notice?"
ie "Yes," said Holcombe.
" You don't seem very much interested, any
h. bow."
e. "My dear fellow, I never could get up an
id ecetacy 1'
11 "Still waters ran deep, Holoombe. I suspect
Id that is the case with you, you ely fellow."
Monday came, and the two friends were
at again at No. 25. Rachbel admitted them as be
n- fore, and showed them into the old lace mer
chant'e den. He was alone, and looked very
to eager; but his wasted, wrinkled hands and
s- dried-p oe spoke his miserly character, and
froze the sympathy he so little cared to re
1o ceive. He laid out his precious wares with
Be trembling fingers, and it was curious to see
id these cobweb treasures drawn from common
drawers and boxes, and heaped on a riskety
re deal table near the stove that was just lighted
in because he was still so ill. Everything about
the room looked cold and hngry; the floor
1 was bare- the paint on the walls dirty and
r- diseolores, and an untidy assortment of tin
i- pans and cheap crockery littered the neighbor.
10 hood of the stove. The window looked into a
1 back-yard, and what panes were not broken
i- were obscured by dirt. In strange contrast to
Br all this was a bouquet of fresh lowers on a
g chair.
e While Ellice and the old man were bargain
e ing. Holcombo fastened his eye on the flowers,
n conjectoring well whose present they were.
o The old Jew asked enormous prices for his
laces, and gave marvelloeus accounts of the
idifficulties he had sustained in proconring them
as an excuse for his exorbitant demands. So
rthe time seemed long to Henry, wh knew
little or nothing about such things, when esud
┬░denly Rachel appeared at the door with a basin
i of soup. "Frau lein Lowenberg sent you this,"
d she said to the old man, and then to the stran
rgers: "You must exouse us; he is too weak
Sto do without this at the accustomed time, and
d the fraulein is gone out."
"Gone out " querulously said the miser.
0 " Gone out without coming to see me!"
s "She knew you were engaged," retorted
' Rachel. "You will see her again to-pight."
r She spoke as to a spoiled child.
it ""Well, well, business must be first, and she
has business as well as I have." And he went
Son with his flourishing declamations over his
Slovely laces.
d Holcombe understood why she had omitted
her morning's visit to her old protege, and in
deed it woould have been unlike his ideal of
ir her had she acted otherwise.
y " Have you nearly done, Ellicet" he said,
:, coming up to the table.
d " Yes; all right. See, I have chosen the
nicest things I could find, as far as I know;
d but the fellow asks such confounded prices."
y "Well you had only that to expect," was the
smiling answer, and then the young man turn:
1 ed to the lace merchant.
n " Have you been ill long ?"
- "Ouly a month; and I should be dead if it
were nut for Maheleth. I cannot do without
I her."
e "But she is poor herself; she cannot bring
s you what you want, can she?"
e " No, she cannot; she is poor, andi her father
1- s poor, and so ani 1. I seil nothing now; I
have no customers."
" Holcombe smiled slightly, but he went on:
a " Are you fond of flowers t"
" Yes, but I cannot afford them."
S " Then it would be cruelof me to ask a violet
beart's-ease of you; buit if you would give me
d that, I will send you more flowers, and bring
you something you will like to-morrow."
" Yes, you may take one; but if you want
b towers, Maheleth can give you some; she has
some growing in her room."
I- " No, this one is enough. Good-by, and I
will try and see you again."
:e As they left the house, Ellice said to his
s, friend:
is " Well, Holcombe, you are green ! You don't
mean to say you believe he is poor?"
is " No, I don't believe it; but be will be none
the worse off for a few flowers and some good
g, food, if he won't get them for himself."
I- " I suppose you remember that there is an
s- other invalid in the house, and the same per
son nurses both ?"
g "I know what you mean, Ellice, and I wish
I11 you wouldn't joke; it is not fair."
ie " Very well, old fellow; but if you were
ir anybody but yourself, I should say 'take care.'
You always were the very steadiest old chap
1, going."
A day or two afterwards, Holcombe was left
r alone again; be had sent things to Zimmer
r mann as he had promised; but as yet he bad
e not revisited the Juden strasae. On Friday
w there was a special service at the Catholic
I' Cathedral at eight o'clock, and the young man,
hardly knowing why, determined to go.
a The church was only partially lighted, ex
* cept the chancel, which was dazzling. The
e music was good, the congregation devoot and
the German sermon as interesting as conid be
r. expected. The whole effect was very beauti
" far, and seemed to Henry a peoace-iving and
it heart-soothing one. A rush of voices came
breaking in upon his reverie at the Tatuml
't Zr,, and the surging sound was like a mighty
u- utterance of his own feelings. As the priest
a raised the Host, he bowed his head low, and
prayed for peace and guidance and when be
f lifted itagain the firstobject his eye fixed on
Swas a slight, dard-robed igure, standing aside
in the aisle, drooping her head against one of
t the columns. He knew the I nre well; but
e with a strange thrill be asked himself why
was she here ? For the mnusio ? For the beauty
- of the eight ? For love of a creed she was
half ashamed to embrace Or from the ourl
> oeity of a chance passer-by?
┬░ He watched her as she moved behind the
s shadow of the pillar, and waited until she was
Senticed from her biding-place by the quick
desertion of the once croaded churob. Now
. the light from a lamp streamed down on her;
the face wus anxious and troubled, as if weary
with thought.
' Friday, too !" he said to himself. "And she
has come here on the very Sabbath. Perhaps
she has been to her own service frat. But what I
can it mean, if she only were what this would I
point tot"
The next morning lie went to the Juden
strasse before the hour of the synagogue ser
vice, and walked up unannounced into old i
Zimmeri,,ann's room. As he had hoped, so it
proved-ole was there, reading the Psalus toi
the old Oman lie wondered if she reumcmbered
him, if she had noticed him when he had stood f
upon the landing last Sabbath morning- Zim- L
mermanm,, greeted him with a nod that had not la
much recognition in it, hut said: h
"tMeheleth, give the stranger a chair. Muim t
SHerr, this is my good little nurse." c
I Holeombe bowed, and the girl looked at him
in silenue for a few seconds.
"I remember," she then said, "you picked si
no my music fur nie in a storm nearly a month re
"I thought you would not have known me v
again," IHoliombe stammered. b
"Oh! yes, I am not forgetful. You have y<
bees very good to my patient, and I am very
gratefol, for he has caten more this week than sc
he has for a whole month." at
"I think I heard your father was ill, frau
lein ?"
" Oh I he has been so for many months. Is
your English friend gone ?"
"Yes; he has gone home tobe married. I E
wisb, fraulein, if you could suggest anything, ra
I could be of some nse, besides bringing fruit vi
and fowers to this house. Do you know, since a.
7 I have been in Frankfort I have never fonnd
anything to dot"
"Do you mea," shabe asked very gravely,
" "yon wish to be of nue to us t"
"I mean, if I could come and sit with Herr
- Lowenberg, and read or write for him, while
you are away; for they tell me you are ont all
a day and it must be lonely for him."
d "That is very kind of you," she answered,
looking at him in calm wonder; "it is true he
[t has no society, for the litttle girls hardly
e count."
"Has he any books T" asked Holoombe. "Be
cause I have plenty, and they might amuse
r- him and I have English newspapers, too,
coming in regularly. Does he speak Eoglish t"
n "He understands and reads it; but you are
a stranger, and why should we place our bur
it dens on your bshoulders ?"
" Oh I you most not mind my way; this sort
b of thing is a mania with me, you know.
- " It is a mania seldom found," coreaked out
r- the old man.
S"I think," put in Maheleth, " it is time for
d me to leave you. How can I thank you Mr.
d Holeombe t Perhaps, when you leave my
' friend here, yon will stop at the next landing,
h and go in and see my father."
" will, and you most not think I am in a
a hurry."
SThe ice thus broken, many visits followed,
Sand at night, when Maheleth was at home,
t Henry read to the family in the little plain
r room that was so beautiful in his eight. More
d than once had be again seen the girl in the
n eathedral, always standing, and separated from
the worshipers, always with that same sad,
a anxious look. One night he noticed a certain
n constraint in the father's and daughter's man
0 ner, and Lowenberg was lese cordial to him
a than usual. After that, Maheleth seemed yet
more troubled, and grew paler and thinner,
- He asked old Zimmermann if he knew of any
'a fresh tronble in thebo family, but he could learn
nothing from him. Rachel, who always an
s swered the bell, detained him one evening and
e said:
a " I would not go in to-night, if I were you.
o Don't be offended, mein Herr."
v "Why, Rachel, what is the matter.'
- " Fraulein Lowenberg went to the Catholic
a Church last night, and her father found it out,
" and he says it was your fault."
S"Well, I will go in all the same; I had noth
It ing to do with it, and my friend must not be
d angry with his daughter."
Lowenberg was alone, and the room had a
r. tossed look about it, very different from the
cosy aspect it usually wore. The invalid lay
1 on a couch, with a discontented expression on
" his dark, thin face.,
"Are you worse to-night?" gently asked
e Holcombe.
t "Ay, worse indeed, and you must add to my
a troubles after I had treated you as a son!"
"I! My friend, do yoq think that of me ?
d Don't you know me better?"
- "Ah I" said the invalid irritably, "don't try
if to deceive me. You know I have nothing left
to care for but my daughter, and you have
I, been trying to convert her, I know why, too,
but you shall not see her any more."
e "You wrong me, Herr Lowenberg. I have
Snever spoken to your daughter about religion,
because I did not know whether it might be
e agreeable to her or not, and she never started
kI the subject."
" You know she goes to your church ?"
"Yes, I have seen her thore several times;
t she never saw me, however, and I never hinted
t to her that I had seen her."
" You speak very fairly about it; but I know
g how unscrupulous you Chrietians can be in this
matter. You would think it a grand thing to
ir convert baher."
I "Undoubtedly, if I could do it by sheer con
viction. But you should know me too well to
believe I would do it by any andne or secret
"You do not know how dear she is to me;
it you do nut know how her defection from our
e ancient faith would break my heart; how I
g should have to renounce her for my other chil
dren's sake!"
it "And how you would stain your soul with
ia the blackest ingratitude, Herr Lowenberg, if
you did I" interrupted Henry exoltedly.
I " So you think that, do you ? You don't know
who she is, and how sauch a thing would be so
is unpardonable in her that no consideration
could inofluence me. I never told you before,
't but she is of another blood than you are-she
is the descendant of martyred rabbis, and her
e race is as pure as that of the old Machabees.
d We are not Germans. We are Spaniards, and,
though ruined, our family pride is as great as
1 it ever was-as great, too, as our love for our
r- faith."
" How long ago was it you were ruined ?"
h "Only a year and two months, and I fell ill
six months ago; my wife died almost as soon
ae as we came here, and my Mabeleth has earned
'our daily bread, and taught her sisters, and
p managed the housekeeping, all alone. It is
enough to make one course God !"
' "Hush, hush!" said Holcombe. "Yo do not
r- mean that-you know you have too many
d blessings to thank him for."
y " And the beet and only one you are seeking
c to take from me."
, "I swear to you that much as I should wish
and pray for it-for that I will not conceal
: from yon-yet I have never influenced your
e child in any way."
a " You have, because you love her."
e Henry was staggered at the euddenness of
his words.
I " You cannot deny it," continued the invalid.
e "No," answered the young man; I have no
Scrt deny It, but your daughter never
heard it from my lips, and never would."
t "Never would!" ecboed Lowenberg, firing
I up. "And do you, too, despisae her for her
s race-she that is as far above you as you are
I above your lowest peasant"
" God forbid I" said Henry, solemnly; " for I
f think of her as of one of whom I am not
worthy. But my faith forbids our uonion, and
love her though I shall to my dying day, my
love should never cross my lips to stir and
wound her heart." (
"You shall see her no more; you have seen F
her too much already; if you love her, as you
Ssay, desist at least now."
"Do you mean that she knows-perhaps re
turns-my love I"
" I have said enough, and shall not gratify IR
your vanity. But promise me you will not see
her agaio, and I will even believe that you did (
not try to proselytize her."
"No, I cannot promise that. Circnuetances
might arise under which it would be death to
keep that promiise, and yet I sbould have no w
ho e of inducing you to give it me back." 9'
You mean she might become a Christian7" '"
"Even so, as I pray she may."
"And you will marry her then, and she feels 1
it, and yet you pretend yon use no inilnence
"I would marry her if she would not think
ae nnworthy."
"I need say no more. You have been my Oi
friend, and I thauk you for your kindness;
but henceforth our paths are separate. If I
lose my child, I shall know you robbed me of
her. I only ask you now to consider what I *t,
told yon of our family and fortunes as a sacred
confidence." o
" My friend," said Henry, sadly, as he rose,
' I will obey you, and you may consider your
secret as saored as if it were my own. But
remember this is your own act, and if ever you
wish to call on mJ friendship again, my ser
vices will be as willingly yours as though this L
breach had never been. God bless you and
your daughter Maheleth!"
He left the room as in a dream; Rachel ~.
soanned his face curiously as she let him out
at the crazy door.
lConcladed next week.1
The liver, bowels, blood and kidneys are the
great orgaan of the blood over which Maguire's Canda. 171
rasgo Bitter, bold such powerful control, thereby ptea
v'ntlng all forms of disease. Sold by all drggists.
Agency, coarr of Kagasie sadgw Osmat suts
No hambsg of peisone whisky and bitter drags,
"with intent to deew.ve." but spirits pare as Coiau
Brandy. e =c menelcum to impart the medicinal virtues
of theeleberated
Delghtflly cordial. it is preerbed by all the aleN.
ing physiciaau - the beet invigorator of the systemi
giving man bt and digeetieon. reguatin the bowelsr
eaaacng h tyateon to the iver. kidnje and hert,
and a certain enottble to e malaria.r e
D8.JOSEPH TIIKNR, Proprietor.
Much re, As.
Body W. HENING9~ & CO.
New Orleans,
jeabs ly and by ail Groeere and aDrugget everywhere.
Efficacy, Pleasantness and Cheapness.
1. It loso palatable that even children take It wit
much relish.
2. Owing to its peculiar composition, it never for
ments. and can be used with eafety to the last drop
after several months standing, which is a great eaving
to the pockets.
And last, though not least, it is sovereign in Colds
Coughs, Catarrho, Bronchitis. Laryngitis, Sore Throat,
Whooping Congh, Spitting of Blood, and even in Con
eumption, when timely resorted to.
It is a standard medicine which time has only mad
more popular. It is an old friend in every household in
Lounnisiana, where it has been in use for the last forty
years with unfailing nuccess and its reputation is now
spreading with great rapidity throughout Alabama
Georgia, Misslssippi and Texas.
For sale, with foll directioces, by Wheelock, Finlay &
Co., Ball, Lyons & Co, E. J. Hart & Co., Frederickeson
& Harte, E. Montense & Co.. St. Cyr Fourcade, Aieix
& Gaudet, George Meyer, P. Bartho, Joe. Pfeffer
H. Curtins, J. Gourdon, P. Marchand, and generally by
all respectable druggists.
A. CARROUCIIE, General Agent,
notem 39 Chartree street, N. O.
Ayer's Ague Oure,
o C)
For Fever and Ague, Interoittent Fever,
Chill Fever, Remittent Fever, Dumb
Ague, Periodical or Bilious Fever, &c..
and indeed all the affections which arise
from malarious, marsh, or miasmatico
No one remedy is louder
clled for by the necessities of
tic Amociercn people than a
sure anid afe cure for Fever
WaI Agule. Such we aro now
enabled lio offer, with a perfect
certainty tihat it will eradicate
the (diecise, and with assur.
ance, founded oin proof, that no harm can arise
froth its use In any quantity.
That which protects frin r or prevents this di.
order must be of itmelsc service In the com
nunities w.here it prevICs. I'reretis Is bettor -
thou cure, for the patent es'apes the risk which
tie must run in violent attacks or this baleful ils.
teNper. This "CALL " expels the miasmatic
proison of FEVER Ats AorE from the system
and pirevents the develolment of the disese, if
taken on the lirot approacr of its premonitory
svmpttoms. It is not only the best remedy ever
yet discovered for this cta0ss of comrnpaints, but
asto the chef st. The large qtuontity we sup
ply for a dollar brings it within the reach of
everybody; and in bilious districts, where
FEVER AND) AGUR prevails, everybody should
hace it, and use it freely, both for cure and pro.
tection. It is hoped this trire will place it within
the reach of all-the poor as well as the rich.
A great superiority of this remedy over ai
other ever dsscovereil for the spleedy and certain
cure of Intronittente is, that it contains no Quti
nine or mineral; consesuently it produces ro
nuinism or otherinjuritous effects whateveriipon
the constitution. Thios ctired by it are lei1 .as
healthy as if they hal never hod the dlisease`
3Fever and Ague to not alone the consequience
of the miasmatie poison. A great variety of tis
orders arise from its irritation, among which
are Neuralgia, lhetmnntismt, (.out, Iteadache,
Blindness, Toothache Enrache, Catarrh, Aith
ma, Palpitation, PainI'iil Affectios of the Spleen,
Itysterics, Pain in the Bowels, Colic, I'arstvo,
ant derangement of tte Stomacht, ail of which,
when originatinig in thtis catse, tint ott the in.
termittent type, or become periodiral. Titis
CURE" expels the poisonl from the titood, and
consequently cures them all alike. It is an in
vatitalile protection to Immigrants anti persons
travellIng or temporarily residing in the mnta
riolts districts. if taket occasionally or daily
vhile exposed to the Infection, that wviii be ex
creted from the systetn, ant cannot arccmulate
in sufficient qutaintity to ripen into disease.
Hience it is even more valuahie for protection
than cure- anti few will ever suffer from Inter- -
mitlents if they avail themselves of the protect
tion this remedy affords.
For Lirer Complaints, arising from torpid
ity of the Livor, it Is an excellent remedy, etim
utlating the Liver into healthy activity, and pro
ducitg masy truly remarkable cures, whore
other medicines 101.
Dr. J. C. AYER& CO., Lowell, Mace.,
Prseiteel end Asealytioca Chemists,
- sets'136y
Pitteburg, Virginia, Cannel and Anthracite
Delivered to all parts of the city at lowest market
rates, by W. G. COYLE & CO..
Office No. 139 Oravier street.
Yard-Corner Julia and WaNter streets, and head of
Race atreet. no2 3m
COAL ................COAL...............COAL
H. & C. TYLER,
9..-.........Carondelet Street...........9
will Sell Pttsbarg,, Anthracite and CannelCOAL. Ia
qnantities to suit c'utomers, at the lowest market
ol2 3m H. & C. TYLER.
- ovylca AD YARD -
On the Levee, at the Foot of Robln Street,
Orders can be ielt at my resdenee, corner of Clara
and Cypress atrecia. anda J 0. Dymart's, 117 Common
Dealer in Coal and Wood, wholesale and retail, at the
lowest market ratese
Ordern filled and families mupplied at short notice.
jySOS m
(Sucoenor to A Mapnier.)
S.. T.......T. CEARLES ST EET............54
Near Graver street, New Orleans.
Personal attention paid to all orders. Beeps eon
etealy on hand a choice assrtment or Hats. no2 73ly
D. F N
173...E-......Poydrae Street...........172
awtwaem St. Charim anl Oarandelet, New Orleans.
OataleStwlaabZa eaee ueatot FINE EATS
nag 73 1y

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