they are by no means well-paired. From between the two middle Corinthian pillars, a pier projects inward about twelve feet, whose termination is pillar-shaped. At the middle of the northern end of this hall, is an oval pillar, whose diameters are six feet eight inches by four feet six inches, in the midst of a flight of steps once extending the whole breadth of the room; but now only to be seen on its western half, those on the eastern side being concealed by some large blocks of Jewish stones, and a modern Turkish wall. The entire workmanship of the vaulted passages is characteristically Jewish, with the exception of some trifling Turkish additions and alterations. But the lower room or vestibule to the passage has been considerably Romanized, and the entablature on the exterior must also be referred to Roman architects. The idea is entertained by some, that much of the furniture and treasures of the ancient Temple lie concealed on one side or the other of this passage, and a closed door on the eastern side of the vestibule seems to indicate that there is vacant space between this passage and that of the Triple Gateway.But none of the keepers of the Haram are of that opinion; nor had they even heard that there is any void space westward of the passage.

An attempt to penetrate the wall on the west of the vestibulum has been made, and half a dozen large stones removed from the interior face; but whether the remaining thickness of the wall was found too firmly fixed to be removed and (no vacuity being found) was replaced, I could not learnthe attempt not having been made in modern times. The suggestion that hidden treasure might be concealed in that unknown place, so excited the good Effendi's curiosity, that he expressed his intention to explore it, should it not prove utterly impenetrable.

God only knows what those poor women have to undergo who have been placed by education on a level with the best of us, and who are placed by adverse circumstances in a position which very often is not half so good as that of a cook or a housemaid; and in estimating the effects of their influence upon the literature of the times, if sometimes as critics, we are disposed to call for bell, book and candle and solemnly to excommunicate the offenders, let us also, as men, remember the trials which many of them have to undergo, and the desperation which drives some into slavery of the pen, as others, still more unfortunate, are driven into slavery of the needle.

A SINGULAR COURTSHIP,

OR

THE MINISTER'S SECOND WIFE. From the German of Wildenhahn.

TRANSLATED BY REV. G. A. WENZEL. (Continued.)

AT

CHAPTER II.

T noon on the following day, the table at the merchant's house was as usual set for three; for, his wife having some years ago gone to her rest, the family of Mr. Silberschlager consisted now only of himself, his daughter and book-keeper, an old bachelor, verging on seventy, who had ever been so busily engaged with his day-books and ledgers, and whose mind was so continually occupied with accounts and figures, debtor and creditor, debit and credit, and such like stereotype mercantile phrases, that he had never found time to take into consideration the declaration : "It is not good that the man should be alone." These three then composed the accustomed dinner-party at the house of Silberschlager.

About ten minutes before the hour of twelve (for Silberschlager could not be prevailed upon to discontinue the practice of eating his dinner at the usual hour,) he entered the room and addressed his daughter, by saying, "My child, set another plate, for we shall have a guest to dine with us to-day."

"A guest?" exclaimed Catharine in astonishment. "Why did you not inform me of this sooner? I am not dressed for company."

not matter; in a few moments he will be here in person, when you may see and examine with your own eyes."

"But what does he want here?" continued the daughter, with increased curiosity and some anxiety: "Why is he to dine here; and is he a stranger or does he reside in the city?"

'Have patience, my child ;" replied Silberschlager; he will himself give the information you ask."

Just then the clock struck twelve, and with the last stroke of the hammer, Mr. Zisselmeier, the aged book-keeper stepped in. For a period of thirty years he had entered that room neither one minute sooner or later; his invariable custom being to lay his hand upon the door-handle simultaneously with the last stroke of the clock. This was unalterable.

Mr. Zisselmeier was a serious, almost morose looking man, somewhat thin and slender, and greatly averse to converse on matters which could not be expressed in figures. He, of course, felt some surprise on seeing an additional plate upon the table; but contented himself by giving his head an almost imperceptible shake, and by casting a hurried look of inquiry at his principal.

"We shall have a guest to-day!" said he now to Zisselmeier, as he had previously to his daughter.

"A business friend, I suppose?" said the book-keeper.

"Hardly," responded Silberschlager, when a knock was heard at the door. Catharine appeared frightened; for the whole affair had assumed such an air of mystery, that it was not surprising, that she should be as curious as she felt anxious and perplexed. But now, as Steffenson entered, the same individual with the unfashionably cut coat of black, whom to her greatest vexation she had, no later than yesterday, encountered thrice, her pretty face assumed a most unpleasant look. With an air of contempt, and in defiance of the laws of hospitality, she turned her back towards him, and even showed signs

of leaving the room. But suddenly changing her mind, she again faced the stranger, but cast upon him such a sneering look, that it was not difficult to perceive what was the nature of the reception and treatment she had prepared for the poor minister in her heart.

"The reverend Mr. -," now commenced Silberschlager, and stopt short, not knowing the name of his visitor.

His guest, therefore, came to his aid by saying, "Steffenson, from the small village of Helferau, about two leagues distant, towards the west."

"My daughter Catharine, and my bookkeeper, Zisselmeier," continued the host, finishing the ceremony of introduction. "My child, will you say grace?"

Now, Catharine had performed this duty for a number of years, and had become so perfectly familiarized with it, that she needed only to part her lips, when, the words would flow like the purling water from the fountain. It is true, her heart took little or no part in it, for it generally happened, that whilst her lips moved in prayer, her eyes were engaged either in counting the buttons on Mr. Zisselmeier's coat, or in casting a rapid glance at her own person, to see whether every plait was in its proper place. On this occasion, however, it was otherwise. After she had folded her hands, sparkling with many and precious rings, and opened her lips, the fountain refused to flow; whilst vexation and shame, caused her face to become suffused with a crimson glow.

"Well, my child," said the father, "will you not ask the blessing?"

"I do not know how it begins," she at length replied in a trembling voice. "All eyes wait upon thee, ed the father, assisting her.

repeat

And now, as the choked up fountain had again been opened, the words were sputtered out in such rapidity, that none, not acquainted with this beautiful passage from one of the psalms, would have been able to have understood a single syllable of what she said. The father, without

speaking, gave an angry shake of the head, and then invited all present to be seated.

Now, Catharine was, by no means, one of those who are easily discomfited. It is true, she had somewhat exposed herself in the presence of the stranger, but in this she rather gloried, because the circumstance gave her some cause for venting her displeasure upon the poor clergyman. Setting him down, as a morose and narrowminded man who, in all likelihood, would not speak approvingly of the fashionable amusements, prevalent in the metropolis, but rather regard them as an abomination, she at once determined to assail the despised man, who had had the immeasurable hardihood to encounter her thrice in the public street, at this point with the missive-weapons of her anger and

scorn.

"Your reverence," she therefore began with unusual boldness, "has doubtless visited our city with the intention of attending the theatre; the harlequin will appear to-night in his best character."

"No!" replied Steffenson, quite calm and innocently. "Methinks the streets and market places of this city, afford a much better opportunity of becoming acquainted with the follies of men, than even the theatre."

"Oh, no," continued Catharine, warmly and almost in a tone of offended pride: "the harlequin assumes a tenfold variety of characters, and he never looks droller and never creates more merriment than when he appears dressed in a black coat, a three cornered hat, and a white cravat." 'And what does he say then?" inquired Steffenson, with his accustomed calmness. "O, he says nothing at all," responded the young lady. "He only gesticulates with his arms, hobbles about so very comically upon the stage, and struts up and down with his large yellow cane with an air of such mock gravity, that the whole audience is convulsed with laughter. Moreover, his silence is far preferable, for whatever he might say while personating such a character, could not be otherwise