to me that it was by no honorable means.  Be that as it may, he married her when I was four years of age; and from that date my miserable story begins.  The first incident of my life after this second marriage which I remember most vividly was this.  A year after my father’s marriage to Rebecca, business of importance called him to England, and a long-cherished desire to see his aged parents took him to Bohemia, where they lived, after the business in Liverpool was transacted.  How I fared while he was gone, I dimly remember; but well enough, I suppose, as I was still partially under the care and control of my faithful nurse, a colored woman of kind and tender heart.

“Poor, dear old woman, she is dead long ago!

“This visit of my father to his parents proved to be the last, as they died a year or two afterward.  Among my father’s relatives in the old country, was a cousin who lived in wealth and luxury somewhere in Saxony.  This cousin had been as a brother to him in his young days, and on my father’s return from Bohemia, he passed through Saxony and paid this cousin a visit; He still speaks occasionally of that delightful event.  I must not forget to tell you that this cousin was a baron—­Baron von Rosenberg.  He was not born to the title; it was conferred on him for some heroic act, the circumstance of which I do not now remember, during an insurrection.

“At parting with my father at the close of his visit, the Baron made him many costly gifts; among others, one of an elegant pipe of rare and exquisite workmanship.  How distinctly I recall it now!  It was in the shape of an elk’s head, with spreading, delicately wrought antlers.  The eyes were formed of some kind of precious stones, and on the face of the elk were the Baron’s initials inlaid in gold.

“The stem, I remember well, was of ebony, richly ornamented with gold.  I suppose it was a magnificent thing of its kind, and prized beyond measure by my father.  He used it only on rare occasions, and for the gratification of our guests.  But at length an event occurred that called forth the treasured pipe from its casket, never to be returned.  It was on the occasion of the third anniversary of my father’s marriage to Rebecca Hartz—­an occasion that richly deserved sackcloth and ashes instead of feasting and merriment.  But the day was one of grand demonstration, and many guests and friends were in attendance.  All the articles of value and luxury belonging to the family were brought into requisition, and among the number, the treasured but ill-fated pipe.  The guests ate, drank, and were merry, I suppose, till all were sated, and at a late and lonely hour they left my father’s house deserted, with disorder reigning supreme in every apartment.

“‘Forget not my elk’s head, Rebecca,’ was my father’s last admonition, as he retired to his bed-chamber, after the revel was over.

“But Rebecca did not heed his command, and being fatigued herself, hurriedly retired, saying, ‘I’ll wait till morning.’