AFTER MANY YEARS.
A man upon whose face all that is noble and steadfast seems to have
set its seal, to give the world assurance that here was one who, had
his lot been so cast, would have ruled over men with justice, truth,
and honor. He is of a goodly height, and his features are large and
clearly defined. A sensitive, resolute mouth, calm, well-proportioned
lips, which close without restraint and are eloquent even when the
tongue is silent, a nose gently arched, with curved, indented
nostrils, a massive forehead, almost oval at the top, and with
projecting lower arches, the eyebrows near to the large brown
eyes, the chin and cheeks clothed in a handsome beard, in which
gray hairs are making themselves manifest. Powerful, benignant, and
self-possessed as is his appearance, there is an underlying sadness in
his eyes which could be variously construed--as born of a large
experience of human ways, and of the errors into which mortals are
prone to fall, or, maybe, of an ever-abiding remembrance of one moment
in his own life when he also was tempted and fell. But no such thought
as the latter ever entered the minds of those who knew him personally
and those who judged him by the repute he bore, which could only have
been earned by a man who walked unflinchingly and unerringly in the
straight path, and was just and merciful to all who came in contact
with him. This is Aaron Cohen, now close upon his fiftieth year.
A woman whose tranquil eyes never see the light of day, but in which,
nevertheless, there is no sign of repining or regret. Purity and
sweetness dwell in her face, and as she stands motionless, in a
listening attitude, her white hand resting on the table, no more
exquisite representation of peace and universal love and sympathy
could be found in living form or marble statue. She is fair almost to
whiteness, and although her figure is slight and there is no color in
her cheeks, she is in perfect health--only that sometimes during the
day she closes her eyes and sleeps in her armchair for a few minutes.
In those intervals of unconsciousness, and when she seeks her couch,
she sees fairer pictures, perhaps, than if the wonders of the visible
world were an open book to her. Her dreams are inspired by a soul of
goodness, and her husband's heart, as he gazes upon her in her
unconscious hours, is always stirred to prayer and thankfulness that
she is by his side to bless his days. Not only in the house is her
influence felt. She is indefatigable in her efforts to seek out
deserving cases of distress and to relieve them; and she does not
confine her charity to those of her faith. In this regard Jew and
Christian are alike to her, and not a week passes that she does not
plant in some poor home a seed which grows into a flower to gladden
and cheer the hearts of the unfortunate and suffering. Grateful eyes
follow her movements, and a blessing is shed upon her as she departs.
A ministering angel is she, whose words are balm, whose presence
brings sweet life into dark spaces. So might an invisible herald of
the Lord walk the earth, healing the sick, lifting up the fallen,
laying his hand upon the wounded breast, and whispering to all: "Be
comforted. God has heard your prayers, and has sent me to relieve
you." This is Rachel Cohen, Aaron's wife, in her forty-fourth year.
A younger woman, in her springtime, with life's fairest pages spread
before her. Darker than Rachel is she, with darker hair and eyes and
complexion, slim, graceful, and beautiful. It is impossible that she
should not have felt the influence of the home in which she has been
reared, and that she should not be the better for it, for it is a home
in which the domestic affections unceasingly display themselves in
their tenderest aspect, in which the purest and most ennobling lessons
of life are inculcated by precept and practice; but a profound student
of human nature, whose keen insight would enable him to plumb the
depths of passion, to detect what lay beneath the surface, to trace
the probable course of the psychological inheritance which all parents
transmit to their children, would have come to the conclusion that in
this fair young creature were instincts and promptings which were
likely one day to give forth a discordant note in this abode of peace
and love, and to break into rebellion. There is no outward indication
of such possible rebellion. To the friends and acquaintances of the
household she is a lovely and gracious Jewish maiden, who shall in
time become a mother in Judah. This is Ruth Cohen, in the eyes of all
the world the daughter of Aaron and Rachel.
A young man, Ruth's junior by a year, with his father's strength of
character and his mother's sweetness of disposition. He is, as yet,
too young for the full development of this rare combination of
qualities, the outcome of which is to be made manifest in the future,
but he is not too young to win love and respect. His love for his
parents is ardent, his faith in them indelible. To him his mother is a
saint, his father a man without blemish. Were he asked to express his
most earnest wishes he would answer, "When I am my father's age may I
be honored as he is; when I marry may my wife be as my mother is."
This is Joseph Cohen, the one other child of Aaron and Rachel.
A tall ungainly woman of thirty, working like a willing slave from
morning to night, taking pride and pleasure in the home, and
metaphorically prostrating herself before everyone who lives beneath
its roof. Esteemed and valued by her master and mistress, for whom she
is ready to sacrifice herself, and to undergo any privation;
especially watchful of her mistress, and tender toward her; jealous of
the good name of those whom she serves with devotion. This is Prissy,
the ever true, the ever faithful.