It is not to be expected that intimate relations will be established between Jewish and Christian communities until both become so far rationalized and humanized that their differences are comparatively unimportant.  But already there is an evident approximation in the extreme left of what is called liberal Christianity and the representatives of modern Judaism.  The life of a man like the late Sir Moses Montefiore reads a lesson from the Old Testament which might well have been inspired by the noblest teachings of the Christian Gospels.

     Delilah, and how she got her name.

Est-elle bien gentille, cette petite?  I said one day to Number Five, as our pretty Delilah put her arm between us with a bunch of those tender early radishes that so recall the rosy-fingered morning of Homer.  The little hand which held the radishes would not have shamed Aurora.  That hand has never known drudgery, I feel sure.

When I spoke those French words our little Delilah gave a slight, seemingly involuntary start, and her cheeks grew of as bright a red as her radishes.  Ah, said I to myself; does that young girl understand French?  It may be worth while to be careful what one says before her.

There is a mystery about this girl.  She seems to know her place perfectly,—­except, perhaps, when she burst out crying, the other day, which was against all the rules of table-maiden’s etiquette,—­and yet she looks as if she had been born to be waited on, and not to perform that humble service for others.  We know that once in a while girls with education and well connected take it into their heads to go into service for a few weeks or months.  Sometimes it is from economic motives,—­to procure means for their education, or to help members of their families who need assistance.  At any rate, they undertake the lighter menial duties of some household where they are not known, and, having stooped—­if stooping it is to be considered—­to lowly offices, no born and bred servants are more faithful to all their obligations.  You must not suppose she was christened Delilah.  Any of our ministers would hesitate to give such a heathen name to a Christian child.

The way she came to get it was this:  The Professor was going to give a lecture before an occasional audience, one evening.  When he took his seat with the other Teacups, the American Annex whispered to the other Annex, “His hair wants cutting,—­it looks like fury.”  “Quite so,” said the English Annex.  “I wish you would tell him so,—­I do, awfully.”  “I’ll fix it,” said the American girl.  So, after the teacups were emptied and the company had left the table, she went up to the Professor.  “You read this lecture, don’t you, Professor?” she said.  “I do,” he answered.  “I should think that lock of hair which falls down over your forehead would trouble you,” she said.  “It does sometimes,” replied the Professor.  “Let our little maid trim it for you.  You’re equal to that,