brought help when all else despaired, and the
power of his eloquence and his pleading words silenced even the rough
insolence of the enemy's soldiers. A hundred times did he expose his
own life to save some unfortunate. In the New Frederick Street he
rushed through the flames into a burning house to save a child which
had been forgotten.

Elsewhere he fought singly against twenty Austrian soldiers, who were
about to carry off two young girls in spite of their heart-rending
shrieks and entreaties. The rescued maidens sank at his feet, and
bathed his hand with their tears.

Gotzkowsky raised them to his heart, and said, with an indescribable
expression: "Should I not have compassion on you? Am not I a father?
Thank my daughter, for it was she who saved you."

But now, at last, exhausted Nature demanded her rights. After two days
and nights without rest, Gotzkowsky tottered toward his own house. As
he crossed the threshold he asked himself with an anxious heart--"Will
Elise come to meet me? Has she cared for me?" And trembling with care
and love, he went in.

Elise did not come to meet him. No one bade him welcome but his
servant Peter. Gently at last, indeed almost timidly, he ventured to
inquire after his daughter.

"She is in the large hall, busy nursing the wounded who have been
carried there."

Gotzkowsky's countenance expressed great delight and relief at this
report. Elise had not, then, buried herself in the solitude of her
room in idle complaint, but had sought, like himself, comfort for her
suffering in helping and sympathizing with others. In this moment he
appreciated the infinity of his love. He yearned to take her to his
heart, and pour out to her all his unappreciated, doubted love, and
convince her that she, his daughter, the only child of his wife, was
the true end and object of his life. But unhappy, oppressed Berlin
left him no time to attend to the soft and gentle dictates of
his father's heart. He had scarcely got into his house, when two
messengers arrived from the town Council, bringing him six thousand
dollars in cash, with the urgent request that he would take charge of
this sum, which would be safe only with him. The town messengers had
scarcely left him, when there arrived the rich manufacturers, Wegeli
and Wuerst, with a wagon-load of gold and silver bars which Gotzkowsky
had promised to keep in his fire-proof cellars.

His house had become the treasury of the whole of Berlin; and if
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