is, that Vincenzo no longer practically pursued the project he had once so warmly cherished, of creating between himself and his wife a community of views upon certain cardinal points.

Perhaps also regret upon this head was somewhat neutralised by another disappointment; this was a conviction he could no longer resist of the singular absence of all passion in his wife's nature. That she loved him as much as she was capable of loving, he had not the least doubt; but that much was too little for the cravings of his ardent soul. The same smooth brow and placid smile welcomed his return at their usual dinner hour, or at midnight, when he had been detained in town hours later than she had any reason to expect. Rose never showed any of those childlike impatiences or anxieties-shall we venture further?-never had any of those delightfully absurd fits of jealousy without any cause, which will now and then seize on the heart of a newly-married young woman. She never felt the want of those gently-whispered effusions of the soul, which hallow the twilight, nor of those still more expressive silences to which lovers are prone, as, hand clasped in hand, they watch the moon climbing the heavens. Not that she did not accommodate herself to her husband's moods and whims very graciously. He had only to say, "Come here, my little treasure, and let us have a talk," and she would at once sit down by his side, put her hand in his, and listen by the hour to the oft-repeated tale of the mingled joy and terror which had nearly choked him, when, by a well-meant indiscretion of Barnaby's, he first discovered that he was over head and ears in love with her, or of the agony of despair with which, after confessing his passion to her father, he had turned his back, as he thought, for ever, on the Palace; she would also readily saunter with him on a moonlight evening in the garden, echo his admiration of the gentle luminary, humouring his poetic enthusiasm to the best of her power; but no soul-stirring emotion heaved her bosom, moistened her eyelids, or trembled in her voice.

No. 42.-VOL. VII.

This want of responsive feeling in one so beloved, the severance from love's exalted joys which it entailed upon him, could not but clip Vincenzo's happiness, though without reaching its root. Vincenzo possessed one of those buoyant natures which hope against hope, and it was long ere he could or would admit to himself that the case was a desperate one. Rose, he argued, might have within her a mine of passion, which only needed the right circumstance to reveal its riches. He had read of positive wonders worked by a very natural crisis in the lives of young married women. And he already had visions of Rose, the same and yet transformed, Rose bending over a rosy thing in a cozy cradle, looking from the child to the father with eyes full of newly awakened passionate

earnestness.

And, even should this picture of the future never be realized, Vincenzo had no lack of arguments wherewith fairly to reconcile himself to his lot, such as it was. Taken altogether, it was surely an enviable one. Was not a calm, steady, always equable affection, better calculated to secure a man's happiness, especially if that man's life was one of study and labour, than the fits and starts of passion? Such were the reasons for contentment with which young Candia's elastic spirits long furnished him. Nature willed it so, that he might the better accomplish the task for which he was destined. It is rarely found that Nature does not force all other claims to yield to the ruling tendency of the individual character. Now, Study had become Vincenzo's ruling tendency, and Politics his favourite study-not politics in their abstract, but in their practical application. His inclination had always pointed that way, though never so decidedly as of late. The ease with which he had mastered the question entrusted to him to elucidate, the keen interest, nay, positive delight with which he worked at it, the ready solutions which seemed to crowd upon him, had given the young Consigliere a revelation of his peculiar and decided aptitude for this branch of study. The sense of his own

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powers in this respect had awakened a corresponding feeling of self-reliance, heightening his honest ambition to prove of use to his country. Perhaps the ardour of his nature, having been partly checked in love, had turned with redoubled intensity into this other channel.

Piedmont was just emerging from a period of patient preparation and incubation into one of activity. The mastermind of Cavour, which was now presiding over its destinies, had pretty nearly succeeded in inaugurating that policy of action and progress as he designated it-the aim of which was to win for the little sub-Alpine State the sympathies and confidence of all Italy. The great statesman was now engaged laying the foundations of those foreign alliances without which the achievement of Italian independence was all but hopeless. Two of the Government's boldest measures were yet to come-the one for the suppression of a certain number of convents, and the better distribution by the State of the revenues of the clergy; the second for a treaty of alliance with the Western Powers, and the active participation of Sardinia in the war in the East. To both of these bills-to the first especially a strenuous opposition was anticipated, in and out of the walls of Parliament; and their being brought

forward was confidently looked upon by the leaders of the extreme parties as the signal for the overthrow of the Cavour cabinet. The defeat of either of these bills-being, as they were, cabinet questions of necessity involved the resignation of the Ministry and the accession to power of the Opposition. Passions ran high, and the issue of the contest appeared doubtful. Cavour, it must be recollected, had not yet attained that preponderance which only a year after carried everything before it.

Vincenzo was a passionate admirer of Cavour and his policy, whose triumph or downfall was, in our hero's eyes, tantamount to the triumph or downfall of the national cause. This being so, we can form an estimate of the keen anxiety with which he watched and weighed the signs of the times, and the chances pro and con, of the impending struggle. Had Rose's husband drawn an omen from the colour of the opinions of those he habitually associated with, he would have despaired of success; but he relied on the patriotism and good sense of his countrymen on the other side of the Alps, and his torch of hope burned brightly.

Such, then, were the interests, occupations, and tempers of mind of our young couple at the beginning of the

month of December.

To be continued.

quent records of its fall, and the prophecies of its final restoration.

Children of Israel. Let me premise a few words about them. Once, remark

to a very worthy and exceedingly religious lady of my acquaintance that I had been to visit a Jewish school,"O!" said she: and within the circle of that magical letter was expressed a whole volume of surprise, pity, and even a certain amount of blame. As she

and I never should have agreed in our opinions, and our arguments would have been like those of the two knights over the double-sided shield, I quitted the subject immediately.

But it led me to ponder a good deal on the reasons why there is, and the secondary question, whether there ought to be, so strong a feeling still kept up among large masses of Christians against the Jews. Not merely against their faith, but personally against themselves. True, we do not now, like our medieval ancestors, make raids into their dwellings, attack their flesh with pincers, bent on extracting teeth or money. We neither confine them within the limits of miserable ghettos, nor refuse them the protection of our laws. Nay, we are gradually allowing them to enter into professions, and take their fitting share in the machinery of the State. But, privately But, privately and socially, the sentiment of not a few of us towards them is much as it was in Shakspere's time.

Excellent Will-in spite of his noble protest, "Hath not a Jew eyes?" &c.wrung, as it were, out of his own manly honest nature, which not all the prejudices of his time would wholly subduedid a cruel wrong to a whole nation when he painted the character of Shylock. Yet, in spite of himself, the poet, like many an intelligent actor succeeding, has contrived to put some grand touches into the poor old Jew. Mean as he was, you cannot but feel that the Christians were meaner-that they returned evil for evil in most unchristian fashion; encouraged swindling trickery, and domestic abduction, in a way that was not likely to advance their creed in an adversary's eyes and even when Doctor Portia's quibble triumphs, and Shylock is dismissed to ignominy, the most excited playgoer cannot but be aware, in that uncomfortable portion of his being called Conscience, of a slight twinge-suggesting that two wrongs will never make a right; and that a certain amount of injustice has been done to the miserable old man, cheated at once out of "his ducats and his

daughter," nay, of the very ring that "he had from Leah when he was a bachelor."

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Far be it from any one of us, earnest believers in whatever we do believe, to allege that creeds signify nothing that Jew and Christian, Brahmin and Mussulman, have an equal amount of truth on their side, and can harmonize perfectly; working and walking together like those who are entirely agreed. The thing is impossible. In all the closest relations of life there must be, on vital points, sympathy and union-at least as much as is possible in this diverse world, where Providence never makes two faces exactly alike, nor two leaves on the same tree of the same pattern. But He does make each tree "after its own kind," and each nation or person also; and it is the best wisdom of us all to seek and keep to our similarities, rather than our opposites. The grand harmonies of life are produced by us all holding firmly our own individuality— keeping in tune ourselves, without intruding discordantly upon the individualities of our neighbours. And when we find it distinctly written, "In every "nation he that feareth God, and work"ing righteousness, is accepted of Him," we dare not judge our brother, who, for all we know, may be "accepted' as well as we.

Besides, is there not something unfilially profane-like the act of a man who delights in trampling on the graves of his forefathers-in the intense dislike entertained by many good Christians towards Jews? They may be, perhaps always might have been, a race no higher than other races, and inferior to some; but they are an eternal testimony to the truth of Holy Writ: the keepers of the Divine revelations of old. From them, and them alone, came the belief in one God, that in its sublime verity has outlived all pantheisms and polytheisms, and become a river of eternal life, which, however the corruptions of successive ages may have dammed it up, defiled it, diverted it into petty and ignoble channels, has flowed on, and will flow, to the end of time.

Surely it is strange-passing sad and strange that the same excellent Christians who sing the Psalms of David, and believe implicitly in the Mosaic, historical, and prophetical books of the Hebrew Scriptures, should not feel a solemn interest in the veriest longnosed, cunning-eyed Hebrew who goes down our streets chanting his melancholy monotone, "Old clo', old clo'!" Is he not a perpetual monument of the dealings of the God of the Old Testament? Is not he, too, a son of Abraham There must have been some extraordinary twist in the mind of that good lady who is reported to have said, looking at Holman Hunt's picture of the Finding of Christ in the Temple, "Dear me! how exceedingly profane! "the painter has made our Blessed "Saviour exactly like a little Jew boy !" But enough of this. The days of religious persecution are over: we are coming to a belief that if truth be truth, it will prevail, without being propagated by fire and sword. Liberty of conscience -that right of every human being to serve God in his own way, provided that in so doing he does not trench on the rights of his neighbours-is every day more understood. The world has crept out of its swaddling-clothes, has survived the tumults of its impetuous youth, and is slowly growing into the full stature of manhood, as was meant by its Divine Creator. The law of reasonable, open-eyed duty is substituted for that of blind obedience-the religion of love for that of fear-the worship of the spirit for that of outward forms. And this-let us urge upon those of our Hebrew brethren who still deny it is our Christianity-the truth which originated with the Christian Messiahwhich, though taught apparently by one poor carpenter's son and twelve ignorant fishermen, has proved itself sufficiently Divine to revolutionize the whole world. Believing in this truth-and that the children of Israel will see it one day, as well as many a Gentile, moré hopelessly blind than they-we need not shrink from visiting twenty Jewish schools, nor from holding out the warm hand of

fellowship and sincere respect to those who support them-even though, as many bigoted religionists would say, they have "denied the Lord." Denied Him, in a sense; yet not more so than many of those same religionists who think that they only know Him, and that all the rest of the world are doomed to eternal darkness and perdition. Surely, a far deeper faith is that which believes He is able to justify Himself, and manifest His own glory, as He is doing every day in His own way and time.

Christians generally know so little of the inner life of Jews, that they are unaware how very much of the Christian element has introduced itself gradually and imperceptibly into modern Judaism; not only as regards social possibilities, but in modes of thinking; in a general, liberal, enlightened tone of mind, which has grown up among them since wiser legislation allowed that a Jew might be fit for something better than making money by old clothes or usury. The oncedespised nation has lifted up its head, and shown what an extraordinary amount of latent power still lurks in the seed of Abraham, only wanting proper cultivation to find its fair level among the races of the earth. And though we may not agree with Disraeli, that every wonderful genius-musical, artistic, histrionic, or literary-must be either a Jew, or of Jewish descent, still, that a great number are-is undeniable.

In this imperfect world we can only judge men by their deeds, and things by their results-clinging to and upholding good wherever we find it, knowing the Source from whence alone all good can come; and therefore I think many devout Christians would be interested to hear of this school, concerning which my friend-who, I repeat, is a most generous-hearted and religious woman-gave such a doubtful, if not condemnatory, "O!”

It is the Jewish Free School, at Bell Lane, Spitalfields, London-the very heart of the Jewish quarter, and therefore comparatively little known to us Gentiles. You approach it through a wilderness of narrow and not over-sani

tary streets, over every shop of which are inscribed such names as Salomans, Levi, Jacobs, Emanuel; while peering out of every door are faces-I must own, rather grimy-bearing the unmistakeable Jewish physiognomy, as it is after centuries of degradation. They stare at you in unmitigated curiosity, as wondering what on earth you are doing there; unless you happen to come in a carriage, and then they break out into grinning welcome, for they know that no carriages are likely to pass down those foul and narrow streets, except those of the wealthy and charitable among their own people. Some of these-so well known that I do not need to name themgentle-hearted women, of gentle breeding, go about among the dark haunts of Houndsditch and Spitalfields as familiarly as City missionaries, devoting time, thought, and substance, in almost unlimited degree, to the poor and miserable of their nation; providing schooling, clothing, food; visiting from house to house the sick and the dying, and carrying on a system of unobtrusive, deliberate, personal benevolence, to an extent that would put to shame thousands of us, who consider ourselves followers of Him who said, "Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in."

Entering the school, the first impression is that of passing into an entirely new world, or rather the ancient world revivified. Such a sound of strange tongues-for every child is taught Hebrew as well as English; such a mass of strange, foreign features, from the strongly-marked, sallow, almond-eyed Asiatic countenance, such as, variously modified, we may trace on Egyptian sculptures and Nineveh marbles, down to what we are accustomed to class as "the regular Jewish face," with long nose, sharp, beady eyes, full mouth-as little like the original type, in its purity, as the St. Giles's Irishwoman is to the thoroughbred Celt.

Great as was the mixture, and low the class, of these children of Israel, there were among them faces that absolutely startled one by their beauty:

little Rachels, Abigails, Hannahs; youthful Samuels, Davids, and Isaacs-faces that you might have pictured playing about under the palm-trees of Mesopotamia; or else, in their half-melancholy sweetness, sitting by the waters of Babylon, trying in vain to "sing the Lord's song in a strange land." Nay, so fine was the expression of some of them, that they might have sat as models for Holman Hunt's "little Jew-boy"-as divine a child's face as ever was painted by mortal man.

So much for the artistic and poetic phase in which the school first presented itself. Now to give some idea of its practical workings.

Its 1,860 children are divided into three schools-infants, girls, and boys; the two latter being again subdivided into classes, the higher ones studying in separate class-rooms; while the juniors are taught together in large, lofty schoolrooms, of which the boys' is shortly to be enlarged, being found quite inadequate for the number of pupils who attend.

But to the infants first. As all must allow, the ideal infant-school is a villagecommon or field. One would always rather see the little people cramming their hands with massacred daisies than their heads with the alphabet. But we must take what we can get and to see these tiny creatures, well washed, well fed, well looked after, in a warm and admirably ventilated room, was far better than to meet them crawling about London streets, run over by cabs and omnibuses, or burnt to death in locked-up rooms. Probably their learning-which was shouted out in true infant-school chorus, following the instructions of a twelve-year-old damsel, with a gigantic "A B C" board and a wand-is not so deep as to endanger the health of the young students; and, I was glad to hear, they are allowed an almost unlimited amount of play.

The girls' schoolroom, in which the pupils number 800, is ingeniously divided into compartments; every alternate compartment being occupied by a sewing-class, so that the noise of those