the lawyer, the surgeon, and a fourth official, all Jews, and none but the corpse was German. Behold a picture of the present!" The success is won fairly enough, by qualities which his rivals might display, if they had them, - by intelligence, effort, and readiness to accept all inevitable conditions. The only advantages Jews possess is their cosmopolitan character, which is an accident; their mutual sympathy, which, though sometimes carried rather far - as in the feeling which the Jews of all countries have displayed for Lord Beaconsfield - is natural in an oppressed race; and a certain limitation of sympathy to their own people, which makes all Christians deem them hard. Read Lord Beaconsfield upon Irishmen or on English politics, and then read him on his own people, and mark the difference of the passion. Trades' unionism, however, even upon a large scale, is not in itself immoral, and in Asia " men hold together against dark men quite as strongly as Jews have ever done against the Gentiles among whom they dwell. ties the world does not attribute to Jews, It is more easy to explain why Jews succeed than why they fail, but in one respect they certainly do fail. They genuinely desire to be liked by the peoples among whom they sojourn, and they are not liked, either in Asia, or America, or Europe. This is not due to their creed, for Asia tolerates all creeds, and their cultus, depending on pedigree, gives no offence by proselytism, while in Europe whole classes hold a faith hardly distinguishable from theirs. Nor is it their conception of life which is offensive. Jews have become an adaptable race; they do not reverence asceticism, and their idea of luxury, apart from a certain love of splendor, which the East thinks magnificent and the West vulgar, differs very little from that of their competitors. The rich German, or Frenchman, or Englishman has not much right to talk about Jewish profusion, or his hunger after material comfort, or even his fondness for display. Still, the Jew is disliked, as his rivals, living like him, are not disliked, and in all Western countries things are pardoned to successful natives which in successful Jews arouse the bitterest resentment. The reason is alleged to be want of patriotism, but though the Jews are often cosmopolitan, and in countries where they are persecuted distinctly hostile to the oppressive régime - a hostility rising in states like Roumania to a passion - they often can be and are patriotic. There are no more decided Germans, | their importance felt. They all, if they Frenchmen, or Italians than the Jews of grow rich, ask rank at the sovereigns' those countries; and the English Jews hands. They all, not without reason, are would be English, too, were they not so full of the pride of pedigree, and look few, and so impatient of the English down on other races as both parvenus temperament. The main reasons, we be- and stupid. They assert themselves lieve, for the dislike are two, the first strongly, with a certain triumph, as of being that the Jews in all countries remain people to whom justice has been done at Jews, that is, distinctive, and thereby ac- last; and as self-assertion has till r I recently quire the dislike with which any foreign been difficult, their manners have often race whatever similarly successful would become, as a witty American said, "a litbe regarded; and the second, that they tle large in proportion." Their method are an exceedingly pushing people. They of asserting themselves is not their fault, are not more disliked than the Scotch for all Orientals not of the highest type were, and the Greeks are, in England, or pursue it, a wealthy Baboo, or Parsee, or than the Poles are in those districts of Persian asserting himself in just the same Germany where the races come in con- way, with a certain swell and fuss, but it tact. The Jews say, of course, every makes them prominent; and, granted a where, that they are merely citizens with separate people, very successful, very cona distinctive creed; but citizens with a spicuous, and very vain, planted among distinctive creed rarely refuse to inter- another people much more numerous, marry, do not live so completely among much less successful, and rather proud themselves, do not help each other so than vain, the two understanding each markedly, and are not separated from the other's language perfectly, and being close majority by so unmistakable a difference enough to differentiate each other at a of appearance. They are separate, and glance and follow each other's nuances of with the mass of mankind separation im- manner, we have all the materials of popplies hostility, more especially when, as ular dislike. We doubt its being very in this case, separation is not accompa- deep, even in Germany, where, after all, nied and palliated by seclusion. The Jew there is a rooted respect for the intellecis everywhere except in the open fields, tuality which is the Jew characteristic; in all societies, in all marts, in all streets, and believe that with the existing distress, and everywhere is the least secluded of which embitters the country against all men, the man, in fact, who makes him- who are rich and extravagant, it will pass self the most visible. He is gregarious, away, if not as completely as in France, not solitary; a man of society, not a re- at least as much as in England, where cluse; a pushing man, not a retiring, and Jewish blood is no bar at all, and where far less a humble one. There, we sus- Jews of the synagogue reach every kind pect, we arrive at the final secret of pop- of office at least twice as easily as Roman ular dislike. My people," said one of Catholics. There is here, as in Germany, the most accomplished and best-born of a philosophic distrust of the influence the their number to the writer, "have all one Jewish mind, which is very separate, may foible which breeds trouble. All Jews exert on politics, journalism, and theolare vain." They like to be at the top, to ogy; but it is not a popular dislike, propbe great in society, to be en évidence erly so called. If it were, it would be everywhere, to be important, and to make exhibited at the hustings. NOVEMBER DAYS. THAT time of year thou mayest in me behold, Bare ruin'd quires, where late the sweet birds In me thou seest the twilight of such day Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. To love that well which thou must leave ere SHAKESPEARE. FROM THE SICILIAN OF VICORTAΙ. THE FUGITIVES. DEAR love, we have left them behind us ! Listen! that is the voice of the forest, It is whispering us words of cheer : Why do you cling to me, darling, And bury your face in my breast? You may well be at ease where the starling Has grown a familiar guest. The forest and the mountain And I are old, old friends, And the wild birds and the fountain And the sky that over them bends; And the friends of my youth and my childhood, Thou maiden of the sea That hidest thy face in the wild wood, How could they be foes to thee? Look up, my own heart maiden! But I am nearly forgetting 'Tis sixty years since he brought her And the boy became a soldier And marched to the wars away: And the old couple grow still older In the wood here where they stay. How brightly your eyes are shining, They sit far up on the mountain Beside their clean-swept hearth, Where the river is only a fountain And heaven is nearer than earth. The goodwife knits her stocking, And Philip should trap the game; But he's old, so the birds are flocking And the blue hares are quite tame. The mother thinks of her daughter There is none, you know, to advise her, So the mother knits and fondles How far to their cottage is it? - So now, sweetheart, if you're rested, It's grand in the wood in the sunlight Look back! she is floating yonder When their fringes were drawn asunder How naked and forsaken She shrinks through the blue day-sky! At night, never fear, she'll awaken And lift her horn on high. Look up through the boles before us, And the long clear slanting lines Where the light that shimmers o'er us Is sifted through the pines! It's a good hour yet till gloaming, Give me your hand, my darling! In the world beneath us there's snarling - SERENADE. AWAKE, beloved! it is the hour The moon looks from her cloudy bow'r, Our steps shall be by the dreaming sea, Arise, my fair! a strange new wind mind so limited, and conditioned by senses which tell us of nothing but sensations how can such knowledge be accepted as substantial? Is it not plain that our conceptions of creation and of a Creator are all mere "anthropomorphism"? Is it not our own shadow that we are always chasing? Is it not a mere bigger image of ourselves to which we are always howing down? It is upon suggestions such as these that the Agnostic philosophy, or the philosophy of nescience, is founded - the doctrine that, concerning all the highest problems which it both interests and concerns us most to know, we never can have any knowledge or any rational and assured belief. It may be well to come to the consideration of this doctrine along those avenues of approach which start from the conception we have now gained of the unity of nature. If this terrible misgiving had affected individual minds alone in moments of weariness and despair, there would have been little to say about it. Such moments may come to all of us, and the distrust which they leave behind them may be the sorest of human trials. It is no unusual result of abortive yet natural effort and of innate yet baffled curiosity. But this doubt, which is really nothing conscious of its own limitations. Such to us. more than a morbid effect of weakness and fatigue, has been embraced as a doctrine and systematized into a philosophy. Nor can it be denied that there are some partial aspects of our knowledge in which its very elements seem to dissolve and disappear under the power of self-analysis, so that the sum of it is reduced to little more than a consciousness of ignorance. All that we know of matter is so different from all that we are conscious of in mind, that the relations between the two are really incomprehensible and inconceivable Hence this relation constitutes a region of darkness in which it is easy to lose ourselves in an abyss of utter scepticism. What proof have we it has been often asked that the mental impressions we derive from objects are in any way like the truth? We know only the phenomena, not the reality of things. We are conversant with things as they appear, not with things as they are "in themselves." What proof have we that these phenomena give us any real knowledge of the truth? How, indeed, is it possible that knowledge so "relative" and so "conditioned" relative to a Nothing, certainly, in the human mind is more wonderful than this - that it is consciousness would be impossible if these limitations were in their nature absolute. The bars which we feel so much, and against which we so often beat in vain, are bars which could not be felt at all unless there were something in us which seeks a wider scope. It is as if these bars were a limit of opportunity rather than a boundary of power. No absolute limitation of mental faculty ever is, or ever could be, felt by the creatures whom it affects. Of this we have abundant evidence in the lower animals, and in those lower faculties of our own nature which are of like kind to theirs. All their powers and many of our own are exerted without any sense of limitation, and this because of the very fact that the limitation of them is absolute and complete. In their own nature they admit of no larger use. The field of effort and of attainable enjoyment is, as regards them, co-extensive with the whole field in view. Nothing is seen or felt by them which may not be possessed. In such possession all exertion ends and all desire is satisfied. This is the law of every faculty subject to a limit which is absolute. In |