'Well," said Meadows, "what you are, I am; what I do on the sly, you do on the sly old thirty per cent.' seen in every nation and read in books that never lie. Goliath defied armies, yet he fell like a pigeon by a shepherd-boy's sling; Samson tore a lion in pieces with his hands, but a woman laid him low. No man can defy us all, sir. The strong man is sure to find one as strong and more skilful, the cunning man one as adroit and "The world is wide enough for us both, stronger, than himself. Be advised, then : good sir." do not trample upon one of my people. "You are hard to please," cried he. "I gesture, he said, "I have been driven to think you will find it is enmity." "I'll trust you as far as I can fling a bull by the tail. You gave me your history; take mine. I have always put my foot on whatever man or thing has stood in my way. I was poor, I am rich, and that is my policy." and fro like a leaf these many years, and now I long for rest. Let me rest in my little tent till I rest for ever. Oh, let me die where those I loved have died, and there let me be buried.' Age, sorrow and eloquence pleaded in vain, for they were wasted on the rocks of rocks— a strong will and a vulgar soul. But indeed the whole thing was like epic poetry wrestling with the Limerick Chronicle or Tuam Gazette. I am almost ashamed to give the respectable Western brute's answer: What! you quote Scripture, eh? I thought you did not believe in that. Hear t'other side. Abraham and Lot couldn't live in the same place, because they both kept sheep; and we can't, because we fleece 'em. So Abraham "It is frail policy," said Isaac, firmly. Some man will be sure to put his foot on you soon or late." "What do you threaten me?" roared Lot warning, as I give it you. And, as Meadows. "No, sir," said Isaac, gently but steadily; "I but tell you what these old eyes have gave for dying on my premises, if you like to hang yourself before next Lady-day, I give you leave, but after Lady-day no more Jew ish dogs shall die in my house nor be buried | he parried a blow that would have stopped for manure in my garden." the old Jew's eloquence perhaps for ever. As it was, the corn-factor's stick cut like a razor through the air and made a most musical whir within a foot of the Jew's ear; the basilisk look of venom and vengeance he instantly shot back amounted to a stab. Black lightning poured from the old Jew's eyes, and his pent-up wrath burst out like lava from an angry mountain: "Irreverent cur, do you rail on the afflicted of Heaven? The Founder of your creed would abhor you, for he, they say, was pitiful. I spit upon ye, and I curse ye. Be accursed!" and, flinging up his hands like St. Paul at Lystra, he rose to double his height and towered at his insulter with a sudden Eastern fury that for a moment shook even the iron Meadows. Be accursed!" he yelled again. Whatever is the secret wish of your black heart, Heaven look on my gray hairs, that you have insulted, and wither that wish. Ah ha!" he screamed; "you wince. you wince. All men have secret wishes Heaven fight against yours. May all the good luck you have be wormwood for want of that-that-that-that! May you be near it, close to it, upon it, pant for it, and lose it! May it sport and smile and laugh and play with you till Gehenna burns your soul upon earth!" The old man's fiery forked tongue darted so keen and true to some sore in his adversary's heart that he in turn lost his habitual self-command. White and black with passion, he wheeled round on Isaac with a fierce snarl, and, lifting his stick, discharged a furious blow at his head. Fortunately for Isaac, wood encountered leather instead of gray hairs. Attracted by the raised voices and unseen in their frenzy by either of these antagonists, young George Fielding had drawn near them. He had, luckily, a stout pig-whip in his hand, and by an adroit turn of his muscular wrist "Not if I know it," said George, and he stood, cool and erect, with a calm, manly air of defiance, between the two belligerents. While the stick and the whip still remained in contact Meadows glared at Isaac's champion with surprise and wrath, and a sort of half fear, half wonder, that this, of all men in the world, should be the one to cross weapons with and thwart him. "You are joking, Master Meadows," said George, coolly. Why, the man is twice your age, and nothing in his hand but his fist.-Who are ye, old man, and what d'ye want? It's you for cursing, any way." "He insults me," cried Meadows, "because I won't have him for a tenant against my will. Who is he? A villanous old Jew." "Yes, young man," said the other, sadly; "I am Isaac Levi, a Jcw. And what is your religion?" He turned upon Meadows. "It never came out of Judea in any name or shape. D'ye call yourself a heathen? Ye lie, ye cur! The heathen were not without starlight from heaven; they respected sorrow and gray hairs." "You shall smart for this; I'll show you what my religion is," said Meadows, inadvertent with passion, and his fingers grasped his stick convulsively. light of an old man's tongue; why, it's like a woman's it's all he has got to hit with. Leastwise, you mustn't lift hand to him on my premises, or you will have to settle with me first; and I don't think that would suit your book, or any man's for a mile or two round about Farnborough," said George, with his little Berkshire drawl. "He!" shrieked Isaac. "He dare not! See! see!" and he pointed nearly into the man's eye. "He doesn't look you in the face. Any soul that has read men from east to west can see lion in your eye, young man, and cowardly wolf in his." old are you, daddy, if you please?" added he, respectfully. 66 My son, I am threescore years and ten, a man of years and grief-grief for myself, grief still more for my nation and city. Men that are men pity us; men that are dogs have insulted us in all ages." Well," said the good-natured young man, soothingly, "don't you vex yourself any more about it. Now you go in, and forget all your trouble a while, please God, by my fireside, my poor old man." Isaac turned; the water came to his eyes at this, after being insulted so. A little strug Lady-day! Lady-day!" snorted Mead-gle took place in him, but nature conquered ows, who was now shaking with suppressed rage. prejudice and certain rubbish he called religion. He held out his hand like the king of “Ah!” cried Isaac, and he turned white all Asia; George grasped it like an Englishand quivered in his turn. 'Lady-day!" said George, uneasily. "Confound Lady-day, and every day of the sort. There! don't you be so spiteful, old man. Why, if he isn't all of a tremble! Poor old man!" He went to his own door and called, "Sarah !" A stout servant-girl answered the summons. "Take the old man in and give him whatever is going, and his mug and pipe;" then he whispered her, "And don't go lumping the chine down under his nose, now.' "I thank you, young man," faltered Isaac. "I must not eat with you, but I will go in and rest my limbs and compose myself, for passion is unseemly at my years." Arrived at the door, he suddenly paused, and, looking upward, said, “Peace be under this roof, and comfort and love follow me into this dwelling." man. He "Isaac Levi is your friend," and the expression of the man's whole face and body showed these words carried with them a meaning unknown in good society. entered the house, and young Fielding stood watching him with natural curiosity. Now, Isaac Levi knew nothing about the corn-factor's plans. When at one and the same moment he grasped George's hand and darted a long lingering glance of hatred on Meadows, he coupled two sentiments by pure chance, and Meadows knew this; but still it struck Meadows as singular and ominous. When, with the best of motives, one is on a wolf's errand, it is not nice to hear a hyena say to the shepherd's dog, "I am your friend,” and see him contemporaneously shoot the of a rattlesnake at one's self. eye "Thank ye kindly," said young Fielding, The misgiving, however, was but momena little surprised and touched by this. "Howtary. Meadows respected his own motives and felt his own power; an old Jew's wild | That might my country prejudice, or thee, fury could not shake his confidence. Isaac Levi said to himself, "He will not keep faith with me.' But he did not know his man. Meadows had a conscience, though an oblique one. A promise from him was sacred in his own eyes. A man came to Grassmere and left a hundred pounds in a letter for George Fielding. Then he went on to Levi and gave him a parcel and a note. The parcel contained the title-deeds of the house; the note said, "Take the house and the furniture, and pay me what you consider they are worth. And, old man, I think you might take your curse off me, for I have never known a heart at rest since. laid it you Were he the greatest or the proudest he That breathes this day, if so it might be found That any good to either might redound, GEORGE WITHER. EARLY LOVE. AH, I remember well (and how can I first on me. And you see how our case is altered: Our flame began, when scarce we knew what you have a home now, and John Meadows has none." was The flame we felt; when as we sat and REPRESSION. ID you ever, in a raw, chilly day, just before a snowstorm, sit at work in a room that was judiciously warmed by an exact thermometer? You do not freeze, but you shiver; your fingers do not become numb with cold, but you have all the while an uneasy craving for more positive warmth. You look at the empty grate, walk mechanically toward it, and, suddenly awaking, shiver to see that there is nothing there. You long for a shawl or cloak; you draw yourself within yourself; you consult the thermometer, and are vexed to find that there is nothing there to be complained of it is standing most provokingly at the exact temperature that all the good books and good doctors pronounce to be the proper thing, the golden mean of health; and yet perversely you shiver and feel as if the face of an open fire would be to you as the smile of an angel. Such a lifelong chill, such an habitual shiver, is the lot of many natures which are not warm when all ordinary rules tell them they ought to be warm, whose life is cold and barren and meagre, which never see the blaze of an open fire. I will illustrate my meaning by a page out of my own experience. I was twenty-one when I stood as groomsman for my youngest and favorite sister, Emily. I remember her now as she stood at the altar-a pale, sweet, flowery face in a half shimmer between smiles and tears looking out of vapory clouds of gauze and curls and all the vanishing mysteries of a bridal morning. Everybody thought the marriage such a fortunate one, for her husband was handsome and manly, a man of worth, of principle good as gold and solid as adamant, and Emmy had always been such a flossy little kitten of a pet, so full of all sorts of impulses, so sensitive and nervous, we thought her kind, strong, composed, stately husband made just on purpose for her. "It was quite a providence," sighed all the elderly ladies, who sniffed tenderly and wiped their eyes, according to approved custom, during the marriage ceremony. I remember now the bustle of the day-the confused whirl of white gloves, kisses, bridemaids and bride-cakes, the losing of trunk-keys and breaking of lacings, the tears of mammaGod bless her!-and the jokes of irreverent Christopher, who could for the life of him see nothing so very dismal in the whole phantasmagoria, and only wished he were as well off himself. And so Emmy was whirled away from us on the bridal-tour, when her letters came back to us almost every day, just like herself, merry, frisky little bits of scratches, as full of little nonsense-beads as a glass of champagne, and all ending with telling us how perfect he was, and how good, and how |