"Until lately," continued Veitel, humbly, “I have been Herr Ehrenthal's bookkeeper, but now, having inherited a little fortune, which Pinkus is kind enough to use for me, I am thinking of establishing myself in business."

"You cannot receive the money just now," interrupted the baron, more calmly. This helpless figure could scarcely be a dangerous opponent.

"Very good," said Veitel, "I will wait your honour's convenience; and he drew out a large silver watch. "I can wait until the evening; and, that I may not disturb your honour's servants by calling again, I will gladly stay upon your stairs. Your honour need not concern yourself about me in the least." And, with many grimaces, Veitel began backing himself out of the room like a crab.

Again a vague terror possessed the baron, and the warning recurred to his mind. "Stay!" he called out, "can you inform me how I can give you security for this sum for a few days, a week or two at the furthest?"

'Veitel's eyes sparkled like an eagle's, but he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders for some time. At last he said, "There is a method, and as your lordship asks me, you will excuse my suggesting it. There is a mortgage for twenty thousand thalers on your estate at Ehrenthal's office. If you will come with me to a notary's, and assign it to my friend, he will not only allow you to retain the ten thousand thalers, but will add ten thousand more."

"Probably you are unaware," answered the baron, sharply," that I have already assigned that instrument to Ehrenthal."

"Pardon me, my lord, not legally."

"But he has my written promise-my word of honour," said the baron, angrily.

Veitel shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry for it. If you could give him another mortgage, or satisfy him in any other way, all would be well, and in a few weeks, by the sale of this Polish estate, you might repay us all; and until then you can leave the deed in his hands, and no one will know that you have assigned it to us."

6.66

You propose an impossibility-can you think of no other means?" No, my lord. But it is only noon yet; I can wait until five o'clock;" and again he backed himself towards the door. There he stopped. "Consider, my lord. I offer you another loan-two thousand now, and the remainder when you hand me that mortgage. With your factory you will need it. You shake your head. Then I have one more request. Your lordship will not mention this to Herr Ehrenthal; he is a hard man, and would never forgive me." And he left the baron's presence.

What Itzig pro

The baron paced up and down the room in great agitation. posed would save him from many coming embarrassments, but he could never consent to it-that was impossible. And still he found himself calculating all its advantages. The document might remain with Ehrenthal until the baron received the money from the Polish estate, when he would redeem it, and transfer it to Itzig. Thus no one would know of this new arrangement; and if Ehrenthal should hear of it, he could give him a second mortgage upon his estate. He would have ten thousand more thalers at his command at a time when the possession of money was all-important. And still he banished the thought from his mind with contempt, only to find it return again and again.

It struck one o'clock; it struck two; and he rang the bell and ordered his carriage. He would make one more appeal to Ehrenthal. On his way down he passed Veitel Itzig, who bowed low.

The clock had struck four when he returned, a dejected, jaded, and broken man. A haggard figure, with keen, sleepless eyes, glared at him from the foot of the stairs as he staggered past.

'He threw himself upon the sofa, and stared into the future, dark and hopeless. He heard the quarters strike, one after the other, in quick succession. The time seemed to fly. The last stroke of five had scarcely ceased to vibrate in the air when the door slowly opened, and Veitel made his appearance-in his hand two slips of paper. He held out one to the baron.

"I cannot pay," he said, in a thick, hoarse voice.

He quickly exchanged it for the other. "Here, then, is the copy of a writ."

The baron started up with a terrible expression on his face. "Come with me

to a notary.

The serpent Itzig has now folded the luckless baron within his hideous coils. Still he does not deem himself sure of his victim without gaining possession of the mortgage-deed prepared, although not yet assigned, in favour of Ehrenthal, and the notes of hand held by him as security for the fulfilment of the promise. Accordingly, by means of his ame damnée, Hippus, he actually steals the document from his old master's house whilst the latter is waiting for the last breath of his dying son, Bernhard. This scene is very powerfully described. Bernhard Ehranthal is a noble character, and it is while he is urging restitution upon his father, with all the energy of one just about to stand before the Eternal Judge, that the theft is perpepetrated. The usurer descends to fetch the papers, leaving the baron and the wily Itzig in the room with his gasping boy, who is only waiting to see this act of justice done that he may depart in peace. He returns without them; and the shock, together with the loss of his son, who expires amidst the confusion caused by the discovery, renders him an imbecile during the remainder of his days. The ruined nobleman, on reaching his home, attempts suicide; but the pistol is arrested by the arm of his wife, and he escapes with the loss of his eyesight.

In this crisis of the affairs of the Rothsattel family, Anton is called in by the baroness to render his friendly aid. Not without reluctance he quits the counting-house of the merchant, who warns him of the thankless and hopeless task he is about to undertake. Our hero finds before long this warning verified. The baron, soured by misfortune, treats him from the first with aristocratic hauteur, and at length worries him with studied insults, for which the uniform kindness of his lady, and the fascinations of the bewitching, but, as he ultimately concludes, too flighty and masculine Lenore, afford him only a partial compensation. The hereditary acres have to be abandoned, and they go to reside on the Polish estate, itself heavily encumbered. This Anton does his best to improve, and manfully fights his battle with nature and with man in the endeavour to make the tumble-down mansion habitable, and the long-neglected fields and pastures productive. In the midst of his labours the Polish insurrection of 1848 intervenes to complicate his hard task, and here it is that Herr von Fink again appears upon the arena. His uncle having died, he had returned to America to take possession of his property, after having in vain besought Sabine to share his lot. But now, disgusted with transatlantic land-swindles, in which this property had involved him, he has come to seek a quiet and honest home among his German friends. He has sown his wild oats, and, without losing any of his native energy and spirit, has become a wiser and a better man, When the mansion is besieged by the insurgent Poles, he heads the defence with Anton, or, perhaps, we should say, Lenore, for his lieutenant, and the raging waves of revolt are driven back. He ends by becoming first the baron's tenant, and then his son-in-law; while Anton, feel

ing himself now released from his false position, which has by this time become intolerable, receives from the dying baroness her last injunctions to do his utmost to recover the stolen papers, and returns to the Schröters. As the fruit of his vigorous investigation of the mystery, we soon have the murder of the drunken Hippus by his grateful pupil, and then the suicide of the murderer through remorse-both described in a manner worthy of Dickens. The story now closes, and we must wind up our notice of it with the following passage :—

'In a few cordial lines, Fink announced to his friend Anton his own betrothal, and the death of the baroness. He enclosed a sealed letter for Sabine, which Anton, after a few minutes carried to the front part of the house.

'He found the merchant in his study, and gave him the letter. The merchant called Sabine in. "Fink is married," he said. "Here is a note for you."

'Sabine clapped her hands with delight, and opened her letter. It was very short, but it was satisfactory, for although she tried hard to look serious, she could not suppress a smile.

"You will spend the rest of the evening with us, my dear Wohlfart ?" said the merchant.

"I was going to ask you to favour me with a few minutes' conversation. I shall not keep you long." He glanced uneasily at Sabine.

"Let us hear. Stay, Sabine; you are good friends. Herr Wohlfart will not mind your presence. Speak, my friend."

66

'Anton pressed his lips together, and looked again at the beloved one who leant against the door-post, and looked down before her. "May I ask," he said, at last, "if you have found the situation which, in your kindness, you undertook to seek for me?"

'Sabine moved restlessly; even the merchant seemed astonished.

"I believe I can offer you something; but is there so much haste, my dear Wohlfart?"

"Yes-yes," said Anton, with agitation. "I have no time to lose-not a day. I long for rest, for regular occupation, in a strange place, away from here, where nothing will remind me of the past.'

"

"And can you not find rest with us?"

"No," replied Anton; but his voice was scarcely audible. "I ought to take my leave of you to-day."

"Take leave!" exclaimed the merchant, in astonishment. "I do not understand this haste. You are surely not uncomfortable here. I fear the ladies have not studied your wants enough. Sabine! Wohlfart complains of you; he looks pale and ill. You and your aunt should not allow this."

"Oh, Herr Schröter-hush!-hush! I must leave you. I have closed my account with the past. The future is a sad one, but it is my fault. I have made it so. But I must begin it at onee, and far away from all I love. I must keep away from you for years-years. Every day I stay here my strength fails me, and the parting grows more difficult." His voice trembled, but his manner still was calm. He stepped to Sabine and took her hand. "I may tell you now, in your brother's presence, what you may hear, for you have long known it. It is the parting from you that wrings my heart. But farewell." His emotion unmanned him; he turned away hastily to the window.

After a pause, the merchant continued: "Your wish to leave us so hastily may inconvenience my sister. She has long wished to ask you a favour, which a merchant's sister may fairly ask of you. I, too, trust that you will not refuse her request; it is to look over a few accounts, and see how her interests have profited in my hands. It is no great labour."

'Anton bowed, and the merchant continued: "First, you must know that since our father's death Sabine has been a partner of the firm. Her advice and opinion have often determined matters in which you were unconsciously interested. She

has been your chief, too, Wohlfart." He took his sister's hand, held it for a few minutes with a fond look, and left the room.

'Anton gazed with astonishment at his chief in the bright, dazzling dress, and braided hair. Blushingly she approached him. "Yes, Wohlfart, I too have had some claim upon your life. And how proud I have been of it! I knew of the Christmas-box that was sent to Ostrau. I saw your father when he came to beg a situation for you, and I decided Traugott to accept you, for he feared you were too old to learn with the rest. It was I who promised your father to take charge of you; I was a mere child myself, and Traugott called you my apprentice; and when I saw how pleased he was with you, I, too, was proud of my apprentice." 'Anton buried his head in his hands; he dared not look the speaker in the face, as she continued: "It was I who begged my brother to take you with him; and, Wohlfart, on that fearful night when you struggled for the waggons, they were my goods, too, you helped to save. And therefore, my friend, for these, and many other reasons, I ask you to look through these accounts for me."

* “ I will, Fraülein,” said Anton, still turning from her, "but not in this hour." 'Sabine went to the table, and fetched two books bound in green leather. Then, taking Anton's hand, she said, "Come, look at these ledgers." She opened the first, and amid many flourishes were the words, "With God. Private Journal of T. D. Schröter."

'Anton fell back. "This must be a mistake."

6.66

"Nay, I wish you to examine it; it is no mistake."

"Pardon me, Fraülein; you must have misunderstood your brother's wish. No eye should see the contents of that book, except the master of the business. These pages can be for no other eye than his."

'Sabine held his hand firmly. "Still look, Wohlfart, look! At any rate, see the title-page." She threw the cover back again. "See here; this is T. D. Schröter." Hastily she turned over the leaves. "You see this book closes with the old year." She took the second book, and opened the cover. "And this book," she said, "is for the future; but look here-here is another firm." 'And Anton leant over and read, "With God. Private Journal of T. D. Schröter and Company."

'Sabine pressed his hand again, and said softly, beseechingly, “And you, you will be the new partner, Anton."

'Anton stood motionless, but his heart throbbed violently, and the blood rushed to his cheeks. Sabine still held his hand closely, he saw her beautiful face close to his, and felt her breath like a warm kiss upon his lips. He threw his arm round the beloved one, and pressed her to his heart in one long, silent embrace.

The door opened. The merchant stood upon the threshold.

"Hold him fast, Sabine," he exclaimed; "hold the fugitive fast. Ah, Anton, for years I have longed for this hour; ever since you knelt by my side, and bathed my wounded arm, I have wished to unite your life to ours. And now we have you, rover."

"You have chosen a poor partner."

866

No, my brother. Sabine has acted as a prudent merchant should. You bring us enterprise and energy, without which mere capital is useless. Welcome

to our home and our hearts.'

And, radiant with joy, Sabine held the hands of her brother and lover. "I could scarce have borne it much longer," she said; "you looked so pale and ill. I thought long ago I must have told you you belonged to us for ever. Blind one! you did not notice what was passing in my heart; and yet Lenore's bridegroom did."

"Fink! I never mentioned your name to him."

"Look here," and she held out his letter; it contained but five words, "Fraulein Wohlfart-my dear sister."

Decorate yourself, old house-rejoice, busy aunt-dance, happy house-spirits! The dreams which the boy Anton in his father's home indulged in, were honourable. They are accomplished. Whatever has disturbed and tempted him, he has conquered with manly courage. The old account of his life is at an end-no one heeds the balance. And on a new page of Time he begins a new "Debtor and Creditor" account" With God."'

796

Wishes for the Common Birth-day.

'O Thou, who in the garden's shade
Didst wake thy weary ones again,
Who slumbered at that fearful hour,
Forgetful of thy pain,

Bend o'er us now, as over them,

And set our sleep-bound spirits free,
Nor leave us slumbering in the watch
Our souls should keep with thee!'

NEW Year's Day is everybody's birthday, and
Will you accept a string of birth-day wishes?
WISH, for you, this next birth-day,

WHITTIER.

will soon be here. Give me leave to

I. That you may have grown in Christly stature. Not that I would imply, as the necessary alternative, that you must have gone back if you have not gone forward. It is commonly said, that there is no standing still in moral and spiritual life; but this is surely very gratuitous. There is, perhaps, no absolute stillness anywhere but in the I AM, in whom past, present, and to come, being and doing, and all the lines of division in human thought, meet and lose themselves. All, perhaps, is oscillation, and for ever will be so, save in God himself. But it seems quite arbitrary to say, that the human soul cannot keep the same arc of oscillation for a given period. Practically, it is a common-the commonest case, in the Christian life. Year after year, a friend here and a friend there will appear to occupy about the same ground. You can see that the arc of oscillation is pretty much the same. The conscience seems to have rested in a warfare purely defensive, instead of going out to conquer fresh country from the enemy. Two causes suggest themselves, as very commonly tending to this inactivity of soul. One is, the considering Christianity almost exclusively as a scheme for 'my' salvation, with a prohibitory code attached; instead of regarding it as a life, starting from the point of personal salvation, but ever tending to dispense with prohibitions in proportion as its original force increases. To be always thinking of my own escape from condemnation, and what I must not do, is just living under the law. Some sense of being compacted into Christ I must win, if I would not stand still; and I can only win that by giving my soul breathing-time from cark and care, not only for communion, but still more for Christ-work of some kind. And this suggests the other cause; a perpetual trying to escape from circumstances, and promising one's self better things when this or that is remedied. The breathing-time spoken of is not to be found by any such attempts to escape from my lot, with all its little accidents; but it is to be won, and must be won, in spite of my lot. Indeed, I can hardly fail to observe, after a short struggle with the impossible, that what I call trying to alter my circumstances (after which I hope for indefinite improvement), is neither more nor less than trying to run away from myself. It should not seem