children, starting away from him, "how your eyes are blazing! You are not going to hurt my father?"

"For your sakes, I will not curse him," said the old man, in a low, tremulous voice; "but accursed be the spirit which influences him, and my unfortunate, perverted people! I shall shake the dust from my feet at the threshold of your door, my son, and never more shall you behold my countenance in this world; but, in your last moments, you will remember this hour. I will wander defenceless among our enemies; I will bare this grey head to their insults, stand amidst their showers of stones, and peradventure be torn asunder by their violent hands, before my own child shall pluck out the beard from my aged cheeks, or turn me out of his house as a beggar."

66

Stay!—are you mad?" cried Samuel; "you will not pass alive through that mob outside. Hold him, some one!" he exclaimed to those around. "He is deranged, as you see, and is going into his dotage. I should be sorry if anything were to happen to him, or he were to meet with any injury."

But old Philip Moses went away, like Lot, from the doomed Sodom, and never once looked back. No one attempted to detain him, for his denunciations, and his terrible look, had frightened them all. With his snow-white locks uncovered, and in his torn dark silk talar, alone, and without his staff, he went forth, and shook the dust from his feet as he stepped from the door.

When the Hamburg populace perceived him, a group of children began to abuse him, but no one took up the cry, and not a hand was lifted against the silent, venerable-looking old man.

"Let him go in peace!" said the one to the other; "it is old Philip Moses. He is a good man; it would be a sin to hurt him, or to scoff at him."

"But if we had his son Samuel in our clutches," said others, "he should not get off so easily; he is the greatest bloodsucker among them all!"

II.

IT was late at night-the tumult in the streets had ceased. No more carriages rolled along from the theatre, or from parties at the houses of the rich Hamburg merchants. The promenade on the "Jungfernstieg" had been over long before, and the pavilions were locked up. Lights glimmered faintly from the upper windows of the large hotels, and only here and there a solitary reveller was to be seen, humming an air, as he was wending his way homewards from the "Sallon d'Apollon," or was stopped by some straggling night-wanderer of the female sex. The moon was shining calmly on the Alster, and the watchman had just called the hour by St. Michael's clock; but two strange-looking figures still walked up and down the "Jungfernstieg," and seemed to have no thought of home, though the sharp wind scattered the leaves of the trees around them, and the flitting clouds often obscured the moon on that cold September night. A dark-haired young girl walked, shivering with cold, alongside of an old Jew, and seemed to be speaking words of comfort to him, in a low, sweet voice; and that Jew was the aged Philip Moses!

"You are freezing, my child," said the old man, as he threw the skirt

of his torn talar around her shoulders. "Let me take you back to the house of your mother's brother; but I will not cross his threshold again. I made that vow the day he was seduced into wedding the artful Christian girl. On this day has my third son closed his door against me, and I have no more daughters on this earth. But yes, I have you still-you, the daughter of my dear and excellent Rachel! Come, let me take you home. It is hard enough upon you to be an orphan-fatherless and motherless-and a servant to your Christian aunt; you shall not become houseless for my sake. Poor Benjamina!" he exclaimed, as a bright beam from the moon, that was unclouded for a minute, enabled him to see her lovely youthful face distinctly, and to observe how tears were gathering in her long dark eyelashes. "Poor Benjamina! you are indeed kind to care so much for your rough old grandfather, and not to be afraid to come and wander about with him, in our day of persecution, when he was thrust out alone among our foes!"

"Ah, dear good grandfather!" replied Benjamina, "how could my uncle Samuel behave so ill to you! But all my uncles are not so bad as he is. I am tolerably comfortable at uncle Daniel's every other week, and they are kind to me now at uncle Isaac's, since I have grown stronger, and am able to assist my aunt in the kitchen. Do go with me to one of them. Their wives and new connexions do not hate us as the other Christians do; and you must go somewhere. Since uncle Samuel has become so rich, he disdains all his poorer relations, and will not associate with them. Why did you choose to live with him, rather than with either of your other sons? I am sure neither of them could have found it in his heart to have treated you as Samuel has done to-day. You never took a vow not to enter Isaac's house, therefore do go with me to it. I shall reside there with you, and attend upon you; and the pretty children will become fond of you. They can learn from you the history of Joseph and his brethren, and hear about little Benjamin, my namesake. You can teach them as you taught me at my poor mother's, when I was a little girl. Come, dear grandfather, come!-before day dawn, and our persecutors awake. In these times of tribulation we must cherish each other-we unfortunate and persecuted fugitives."

"It is five years since I have entered my son Isaac's house," said the old man, slowly. "How many children has he now ?"

Ah, you

do not know that, dear grandfather, and yet he is your own son! His fifth boy is an infant in its cradle."

“Is his Christian wife kind to him? and does she not turn his feeble spirit from Jehovah, and the faith and the customs of our forefathers? I have not seen him lately at the synagogue, but he never misses going to the Exchange."

"Only come with me to him, grandfather, and you will see that he is better than Samuel, though he may not go to the synagogue, and only puts the shop-door on the latch on Saturday, instead of shutting it up. You will like his nice little boys, though my aunt rather spoils the eldest. They have all light hair and pretty blue eyes, like their mother. Many Christians visit the house; and the good Mr. Veit, who is a painter, sometimes teaches me to draw when I am there. You do not hate all Christians, do you, grandfather, because some of them treat us cruelly? You do not condemn them all so much as these-our uncharitable persecutors ?"

"No, my child," replied the old man. "I admit the general philanthropy of the Christians, which they believe they learned from their wise but unfortunate prophet; though, in their present conduct towards us, they give no proof of it. Yet far be it from me to blame them for this. Our law tells us to make our own hearts clean before we judge others; that so we may find forgiveness in the day of atonement. But stay not out here longer, so late, my daughter; your good name may be made the prey of the tongue of the backbiter and the slanderer, although it is only in a work of mercy and of love in which you are engaged, and for which the Lord God of Sabaoth will bless you in future days. Leave me to wander out into the solitary paths! The Lord can send to me-even to me-a raven in the desert, if he think fit. My tent is now the great Temple of the Lord, where the sun and the moon are lights in the high altar, and the four corners of the earth are the pillars of the tabernacle. Hark! from thence shall it seem to me that His mighty cherubs are singing praises to His name, when the wild storms of nature are playing around my head. Let me go, my child, and weep not because I am a lonely wanderer! I would rather roam, houseless, through the world, than seek a refuge under the roof where I am an unwelcome intruder. I would rather be stoned by the Christians than be disdained as a pauper by my own kindred-my own children—and perhaps hear that I am so, when the infirmities of age compel me to listen in silence."

"Well, then, so be it, dear grandfather, and I will remain with you. The Christians may stone me in your arms if they will."

The old man was silent for a time, and he appeared to be fighting a hard battle in his heart.

"Come then, my child," said he at length, seizing Benjamina by the hand, "for your sake will I endure disgrace, and ask shelter from a son, who cared more for a strange woman than for his father's blessing."

They then proceeded in silence to the "Hopfenmarkt," and rung at the clothier Isaac's door.

"Is that any of our people?" whispered an anxious voice from a window. Philip Moses answered in Hebrew, and a little while after the outer door was opened.

Isaac received his deserted old father, who had thus taken refuge with him, with sincere pleasure; yet this pleasure was damped by the perplexed and uneasy feelings which came over him when he thought of the daily reproaches which he foresaw he would have to encounter, and the many disturbances in his domestic life which he feared the unbending rabbi would occasion. But their common grievances and danger drew their hearts together. Though Isaac's house was, at present, exempt from all damage (since, through his marriage with a Christian, and his frequent intercourse with Christians, he seemed almost separated from his own people), he lived still in constant terror, on account of the inimical disposition evinced towards the Jews, which had now actually broken out in open persecution of them; and he sought in vain to conceal from those with whom he associated the interest he secretly took in the fate of his unhappy nation.

He was extremely indignant when he heard how his rich brother, Samuel, had behaved to the old man; and he begged his father to forget all the past, and make himself at home in his house. But he resolved, at

the same time, not to permit his domestic peace to be disturbed, or the habits of his daily life to be disarranged, by the old man's prejudicessuch at least as could not be borne with easily, and might not give cause of complaint. "He must accommodate himself, as my guest, to the ways of the house," thought he to himself. "He will be accustomed to them in time, and there would be no use in beginning as we could not go on.

"Your brother Samuel has not honoured his father, and he cannot succeed in worldly matters," said Philip Moses, as he seemed endeavouring to read in the countenance of his son what was passing in his mind. "But may the Almighty give him, and all our people, grace to repent, and let not His angry countenance be turned upon us to our ruin! My days will not be many," he added, earnestly; "but had it not been for my faithfully attached Benjamina's sake, I would rather have gone forth to wander over the wide world than have exposed your heart, my son, to a trial which, I fear, is beyond your strength."

Isaac's wife was quite out of humour when Benjamina went to her bedroom to tell her what had taken place.

"It will never answer," said she, "to have that old instigator of strife here in our house. He hates me already, because I am not one of your nation. It was on my account that he has never hitherto chosen to put his foot within our doors."

"No, my grandfather does not hate the Christians," replied Benjamina, cheerfully. "If he lives here, he will bring good luck and a blessing to the house. Dearest aunt, may I not get the little blue chamber ready for him? I did not dare to go near him when he was with my uncle Samuel, and yet he was so kind to me when I was a child."

"Well, I suppose I can't help his staying, for the present at least," replied the aunt, peevishly, "so you can put the blue chamber in decent order for him, Benjamina. But if you make too much fuss about him, or give me any additional trouble with this new pest, I will send you back to Daniel. You may stay for the present; but keep him as much as possible away from the children and the rest of us. We shall have quite annoyance enough with him at the dinner-table."

"Poor, poor grandfather!" sighed Benjamina, as weeping silently she left her unkind aunt, who had often before spoken harshly to her, but had never wounded her feelings so deeply as now.

Isaac had afterwards an unpleasant matrimonial scene, and a sharp battle of words with his wife, in reference to the old man, to whom he could not deny an asylum in his house, however many scruples he himself had as to keeping him.

MORE OF THE OHIO.-THE MISSISSIPPI AND NEW ORLEANS.

BY J. W. HENGISTON, ESQ.

WITH the new year, a sudden and most welcome thaw comes on with the wind from the balmy south; the river is breaking up its icy bondage, and the whole town is astir.

It is astonishing what general joy it diffuses. The whole waterside and in the streets, everybody as busy as bees; steam getting up on board twenty boats bound up and down; and for my part I rushed to the strand to secure a berth on board something, anything, overjoyed at the chance of escape.

The language of the puff advertisements is quite overpowering— where choose when such stunning excellence besets one in everything. I shut my eyes on the daily press and go straight over the inviting planks on board one of the many loaded steamers caught here on her way down -the Paul Anderson-loaded to the guards, loaded to sinking, loaded to death! but no matter. After that, and after I had paid my fare with my eyes shut (one should never be too precipitate), they found room for six hundred bushels of coals, seventy horses, and eight hundred turkeys and fowls, which poor things had been kept in cellars half dead, during this tremendous frost, and were now transferred to the hurricane-deck, or upper roof of my chosen steamer. Of all things in the world I should have avoided this particular Noah's ark.

This boat was already full loaded, but, at the last moment, and two hours after they had solemnly promised (like the fibbing "one, two, three" of the auctioneer) to be "gone," these unhappy horses and turkeys appeared on the wide strand. They could not be resisted. What! refuse dollars! what signifies going down in the middle of the river! or any additional misery to silly sentiment, or no sleep for the highlyfavoured cabin passengers for a whole week or ten days.

Well, only eight hours after the last horse had been coaxed on board, and while the steam valves had been for so many hours snorting and roaring in aid of advertisements and solemn promises, then a few more coals— only six hundred bushels-might as well fill up all round the boilers, and leave not an inch to plant your foot on the deck, and not an encouraging inch of seeming spare safety for the rushing river and rock ice bursting and crushing with the headlong stream-at last, I say, we push off, and night closes round us as we sweep round the south and pretty wooded point and hills below Covington. We bid a kind adieu to the queen city for letting us go. Surely we are always more grateful for any change of any particular misery than for any positive pleasure, or any positive good, if we ever do really know what is for our good!

There was I, delighted to get away, even for a good chance of sinking in the river before we could pass the first lower reach, the night dark as Erebus, with various pleasant opinions as to whether we weren't "somehow, I guess, a sight overloaded!" The boat was a capital one, but it is certain we were abominably loaded, dangerously loaded. Often the small