At one end of the table, in the seat of honor next to the rabbi, sat the bookbinder of Hort.  All had been his work, and, truth to tell, this was not the first happy couple he had been the means of bringing together.

When it was his turn to deliver a toast in honor of the bride and groom, he rose, filled his glass, and holding it in his hand, declaimed from his favorite poet Schiller, and with an enthusiasm worthy the occasion: 

  “Honor to women! round Life they are wreathing
   Roses, the fragrance of Heaven sweet-breathing!”

THE EGYPTIAN FIRE-EATER

BY

RUDOLPH BAUMBACH

From “Summer Legends,” translated by Helen B. Dole. 
Published by T. Y. Crowell & Co.

Copyright, 1888, by T.Y.  Crowell & Co

Next Easter he must go to N—­to school.—­Fact.—­It is high time; he is eleven years old, and here he is running wild with the street-boys.—­That’s what I say.”

He, that is, I, hung my head, and I felt more like crying than laughing.  I had passed eleven sunny boyhood years in the little country town, I stood in high esteem among my playmates, and would rather be the first in the ranks of my birthplace than second in the metropolis.

Through the gray mist, which surrounded my near future like a thick fog, gleamed only one light, but a bright, attractive light; that was the theatre, the splendor of which I had already learned to know.  The white priests in the “Magic Flute,” Sarastro’s lions, the fire-spitting serpents, and the gay, merry Papageno,—­such things could not be seen at home; and when my parents promised me occasional visits to the theatre, as a reward for diligence in study and exemplary conduct, I left the Eden of my childhood, half consoled.

Young trees, transplanted at the proper time, soon take root.  After a tearful farewell to my friends and a slight attack of home-sickness, I was quite content.  I was received into the second class at the gymnasium, and drank eagerly of the fountain of knowledge; a certain Frau Eberlein, with whom I found board and lodging, cared for my bodily welfare.

She was a widow, and kept a little store, in which, with the assistance of a shop-girl, she served customers, who called from morning to night.  She dealt principally in groceries and vegetables, but besides these, every conceivable thing was found piled up in her shop:  knitting-yarn, sheets of pictures, slate-pencils, cheese, pen-knives, balls of twine, herring, soap, buttons, writing-paper, glue, hairpins, cigar-holders, oranges, fly-poison, brushes, varnish, gingerbread, tin soldiers, corks, tallow candles, tobacco-pouches, thimbles, gum-balls, and torpedoes.  Besides, she prepared, by means of essences, peach brandy, maraschino, ros solis, and other liqueurs, as well as an excellent ink, in the manufacture of which I used to help her.  She rejoiced in considerable prosperity, lived well, and did not let me want for anything.