officer at once. If you want me to help you, you must tell me the whole truth freely. Now, what have you done with the twenty-nine thousand dollars that old Sonnenschein left with you, to keep for him?”

"Ach, Fire Marshal, you're de hartest man I ever seen. You're fearful hart. What I done mit dot money? Good Gott, what should I do mit it? I kep it, Fire Marshal. I got it yet. I got it in my store."

"Well, now, Levinson, I'll tell you what I'll do. You refund every penny of that money instantly, and I'll do as much as I can to have them let you down easily."

"Every penny! Ach, Fire Marshal, for Gott's sake, don't talk like dot. Don't say every penny. I'm a poor man, Fire Marshal; I am, so help me Gott. You don't want to ruin me, Fire Marshal. You can't be so hart as dot. Say half, Fire Marshal. Say fifteen tousand dollars, and I do it."

"Look here, Levinson; I told you I'd have no fooling. You'll refund every penny of that money, or you'll go to State Prison for life. And you've got to make your choice quickly, too. I'm tired of beating about the bush. Will you or will you not go with me now to your store, and put every dollar of that money into my hands? I want an immediate answer."

"Good Gott!" cried Levinson, fairly writhing in anguish. Then, "Well, Fire Marshal, come along."

A procession was formed, Mr. Levinson and the Marshal leading, a policeman and myself bringing up the rear. In this order we marched to Levinson's shop.

Levinson handed a paper parcel to Mr. Sparks. We examined its contents. They were: twenty-nine one-thousand-dollar bills, one fivehundred-dollar bill, and two one-hundred-dollar bills, thus answering accurately to Mr. Sonnenschein's description.

"Now, officer," said the Marshal, addressing the policeman, "take

this gentleman to the Tombs. Good-by, Levinson. I'll see you

later."

A few days afterward, by the Fire Marshal's intercession, Levinson was allowed to enter a plea of guilty to a minor degree of arson; and the court sentenced him to confinement at hard labor in the State Prison for a term of ten years.

VII.

SCHLEMIEL'S GRATITUDE.

Mr. Sparks and I climbed up-stairs to Mr. Sonnenschein's tenement.

"Vail, my kracious, Saimmy, fat brings you baick again so soon?" was the old man's greeting.

As briefly and as clearly as I could I explained what had happened since my former visit.

"Mein Gott! You don't mean it!" he cried, when I was done. "Go 'vay. You don't really mean it! Mr. Levinson, he set fire to dot dwening-homent, and you got baick de money? Vail, if I aifer? Vail, degree, the ple record; it does, and no mistake. Talk about brains!

Fy, Saimmy, smartness ain't no vord for it. You got vun of de graindest haits on your shoulders de Lord aifer mait. And Mr. Levinson, he aictually set fire to dot establishment, so as to get my money! Vail, dot vas outracheous, dere ain't no use in talking. Vail, Saimmy, I cain't hardly belief it; I cain't, honor bright."

The Marshal was busy with pen and ink at a table hard by, drawing up an affidavit and a receipt for Mr. Sonnenschein to sign and swear to. After the old man had laboriously traced his name and vouched for the truth of what was written above it, the Marshal handed him the bundle containing his inheritance, and, covered with thanks from both of us, went away.

"Vail, now, Saimmy," said Mr. Sonnenschein, "now I tell you fat you do. You cairry dot poontle down-town mit you, and you go to your popper's office, and you gif it to him, and you tell him to make all de investments of dot money fich he likes. Dere's no two vays about it, Saimmy, I vas a raikular Schlemiel; and I guess maybe de best ting I can do is to let your popper mainage dot money shust exaictly as if it vas his own. No maitter fat investiments he makes of it, Saimmy, I tell you vun ting, I bet a hat dot vun vay or anudder dot money gets lost inside six monts. Vail, Saimmy, as I told you a great mainy times before already, dis is a fearful funny vorld; and I guess maybe now, aifter dis fire and aiferydings, I guess maybe you'll belief me."

My father made such investments of "dot money" as would yield Mr. Sonnenschein an annual income of fifteen hundred dollars, which the old gentleman, still hale and hearty, is enjoying to this day. Though a Jew by birth and faith, he is as good a Christian as most of the professing ones; for after he learned of Levinson's imprisonment he insisted upon making a liberal provision for Mrs. Levinson and her children. Nor is ingratitude a vice that could justly be attributed to our Schlemiel. When my parents celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of their wedding, a few months ago, they received by express a large and luminous worsted-work picture, enclosed by a massive gilt frame, which represented in the primary colors the nuptial ceremonies of Jacob and Rachel. A card attached informed them that it came with compliments and best wishes from Mr. Sonnenschein and Nettie, and on the obverse of the card, in Mr. Sonnenschein's chirography, we read, "Nettie dun it Ole herself."

But his continued prosperity has undermined the old man's philosophy and upset all his established views of life. He calls at my father's office to receive his allowance on the first day of every month. "Vail, ainydings haippened yet?" is the inquiry with which he invariably begins. And when my father replies that nothing has happened, and proceeds to count out his money, "Vail, Gott in Himmel, fat kind of a vorld is dis, ainyhow!" he cries. "I gif it oop. I cain't make haits or tails of it. Here I been a Schlemiel aifer since I vas born already, and now all of a sutten I change ofer, and I ain't no Schlemiel no more. Vail, dot beats me,-it beats me all holler, and But de Lord done it, and I guess maybe he's Blessed be de name of de Lord!"

no mistake about it. got some reason for it.

VOL XLI.- 48

THE HOUSE OF HATE.

INE enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight;

But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite;
And the name thereof I set in the stone-work over the gate,
With a carving of bats and apes; and I called it The House of Hate.

And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair,
Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair;
That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue,
It must fall on mine evil work, and my hatred should pierce him
through.

And I said, "I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire
On my foe," and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with fire;
But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled

man,

And the hearth was cold from the hour that the House of Hate began.

And I called with a voice of power, "Make ye merry, all friends of mine,

In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store, and wine; We will drink unhealth together unto him I have foiled and fooled!" And they stared and they passed me by; but I scorned to be thereby. schooled.

And I ordered my board for feast, and I drank in the topmost seat Choice grape from a curious cup; and the first it was wonder-sweet; But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black, And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack.

Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows were each a fear,
And thinly I laughed, but once, for the echoes were strange to hear;
And the wind on the stairway howled, as a green-eyed wolf might cry,
And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man, or die!

So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked, and I saw it grown
(By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone;
And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my torch and fled;
And a fire-snake writhed where it fell, and at midnight the sky was

red.

And at morn, when the House of Hate was a ruin, despoiled of flame,
I fell at mine enemy's feet, and besought him to slay my shame.
But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and his eyes were calm and

great:

"You rave, or have dreamed," he said: "I saw not your House of Hate !"

AMONG MY WEEDS.

POETS as well as many other professed lovers of the beautiful have

But I

written books about their walks among the flowers and their pleasant play-work among their roses. And all this is well. have thought that maybe I could widen the reach of vision for some of my fellow-lovers of the beautiful things of this wondrously beautiful world by telling something about weeds.

From youth upward to this hour my path has led much of the time through these humbler testaments of beauty, and always close to the border of them: so you see I know the weeds well. And I say at the outset that it is not wise that the domain of man in his love and cherishing of the beautiful shall end where the roses and flowers leave off and the weeds begin.

For example, the precious waxen-like hyacinth, which you may find growing in thousands of windows in any city, is the one everpresent weed in Oregon. It purples and pinks and whitens tens of thousands of square miles of that vast State, from the mouth of the Columbia to the head-waters of the Willamette. The root or bulb of this weed was the one principal food of the Indians, and even of the early settlers of Oregon. It is called camas at home, and is good food.

A few summers ago I was a guest at one of the finest of the many fine summer homes of New Bedford. The gentle and cultured hostess took the earliest occasion to show me her wonderful little forest of rhododendrons. And beautiful it was, too,-one of the most beautiful things to see in all the beautiful environs of wealthy and aristocratic New Bedford. The gardener told me one day, in a gush of mixed-up confidence and enthusiasm, that this little half-acre of rhododendrons cost about five hundred dollars, to say nothing at all of the annual expense of keeping it alive and in order away up there on the edge of the iceland.

But let me inform you that the hunter as well as the small farmer in the Sierra of California finds the rhododendron so dense and general on the mountain-slopes, where it has flourished as a sort of forest-tree for all time perhaps, that it is a great nuisance.

In fact, no amount of culture or patient employment at New Bedford can make this glorious bush half so rank and beautiful as it is willing to make itself in the Sierras. The same may be said of the camas, or hyacinth. And I am sure that to those who are careful of the economies both in art and nature, I need demonstrate no longer on this point than to suggest that ever so much would be saved if the farmer in the West, as well as wealthy people in the East, would let the camas and the rhododendron flourish in their native places entirely. In this age of the annihilation of space New Bedford would find it far more economical to go to the Pacific and look upon these fields and forests of native weeds and bushes. And this economy would enable

her to admit many of the despised and down-trodden weeds that have knocked at her garden-gates for admission all these years, while she has been trying, against the consent of soil and climate, to make such unwilling prisoners as these I have mentioned flourish and feel at home.

I have only set down these two examples in order to indicate in a general way what I should like to teach in this lesson on weeds. I do not quite know what weeds or wild flowers New Bedford or any other like rich city of the North could take to her heart from out her lanes and fence-corners and by-ways, but I remember seeing cranberries growing in the road by the sea-shore, trodden under foot and quite despised in the lowly struggle and patient effort to make this beautiful world more beautiful. And I suggest that New Bedford take this useful as well as ornamental berry to her bosom, among others, and see what can be made of it. Surely, surely the cranberry of New Bedford would not be quite as sour if my sweet hostess there should smile upon it.

When I sat down here on the summit of Meridian Hill at Washington I found myself on the most barren bit of earth in all this region. And that is saying that this portion of the worn-out land is barren indeed. And there has been great reason for this. General Washington, the story runs, indicated this spot as the place in which to set up the meridian stone, saying that our independence of England would not be completed until the nation established its own meridian. And here the meridian stone was set up during the administration of Jefferson. Of course this did not enrich the stony soil at all, but the attrition of many feet through all the years brought the stones to the surface and kept the place bare and barren. Then during the war the soldiers dug up the stony earth and made breast works, and this left not a shrub or spear of grass. As evidence that war and barrenness instead of peace and flowers flourished here of old, I have several Indian arrow-heads on my mantel-piece, and a rusty and ugly old cannon-ball in a fencecorner, all dug up from the stony surface of my limited plot of ground on Meridian Hill.

Did you ever hear of a "crop" of stones? I employed an old black man when I first came here to gather up the stones-" nigger-heads,” as they are called by some-and pile them up in the fence-corners. I paid him well, for I was glad to get them out of my way, and thought this was the end of it. But the old man turned the silver in his hands, twisted his hat, and said that he should like the job of gathering the next "crap."

Sure enough, each year about the same number of stones insist on coming to the surface. The old black man has gathered his fourth "crap" of stones for me on Meridian Hill. He firmly believes, and so do all the numerous negroes here, that they grow up out of the ground the same as anything else. We know, however, that it is the washing away and the settling down of the earth that lays the stones bare, and, besides that, the pick and spade bring some to the surface that otherwise might not be seen.

The first signs of life here in the spring, after I had got my cabin and fences up and the visible stones in the corners, was a sudden raid