finds its appointed place, the mite as well as the
elephant.

"But I was going to tell you something about my domestic affairs,"
continued the little man. "You see, Herr Doctor, I have now been a
widower five years and seven months, but I cannot yet speak of my dear
wife without feeling, a perhaps unmanly or unchristian, but
nevertheless unconquerable grief. Therefore I will speak no further of
her, except that during the fifteen years I lived with her, there was
not an hour which I could wish effaced from my memory. She was a
Jewess, and I am a good evangelical Christian, but even that did not
cause a single moment of bitterness, for the God in whom we both
believed, was one and the same. As for our daughter, the mother agreed
that she should be educated as a Christian, and though she herself did
not wish to be baptised, she never tried to perplex the child. She was
buried in the Jewish churchyard, but that has never troubled me. The
spot to which this noble creature was carried for her eternal rest, is
_holy_, no matter whether it was consecrated by Christian minister or
Jewish Rabbi. Since she died, I can see that I have not been so pious
as when she was alive. The memory of her blends with all my thoughts of
heaven; I can no longer, as before, be alone in the presence of my God.
Ah well. He will not impute that to me as a sin."

The artist paused a moment. His voice seemed to fail him, but after a
moment he continued:

"She has left me a daughter, who in many respects is very like her; in
others not at all. She has far more independence, and often we do not
understand each other, and that never happened with her mother. The
child is nineteen years old, and--I will not praise her--but no one
could have a better heart, to say nothing of such a talent for drawing
and painting, that I only wonder how she came by it. In many things,
flower-pieces for instance, I am a bungler to her. I ought, long ago,
to have discountenanced her close application to it, that she might
have had more time for other things, I mean for intellectual culture.
But it gave her pleasure to think that she could earn something while
yet so young, and besides I was vain of her progress. Now, however, the
punishment has come. For some time she has been melancholy, because she
fancied that she was ignorant, or as she expressed it, that she had no
clear ideas. Now to me she seems clever and learned enough, and our old
friend, the widow of Professor