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 honour. 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 grey 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 liable 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. There were instances
when mercy so predominated that persons who had wronged him were
allowed to go free, and when a helping hand was held out to men who
had sinned against 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 colour in
her cheeks, she is in good 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 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 indestructible. To him his mother is a
saint, his father a man without blemish. Were he asked, to express his
most earnest wishes, he would have answered, "When I am my father's
age may I be honoured 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 every one 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 towards her; jealous of the good
name of those whom she serves with devotion. Of Aaron Cohen she stands
somewhat in awe, he is so far above her in wisdom. She does not
trouble herself about religious matters; questions of theology come
not within her domain, her waking hours being entirely filled and
occupied with the performance of her domestic duties. She listens
devoutly to the chanting of Hebrew prayers, not one word of which does
she understand, and is none the worse for them. Her master and
mistress are the representatives of a race for which through them she
entertains the profoundest respect; it is more than likely, if the
choice had been hers and if she had deemed herself worthy of the
distinction, that she would have elected to be born in the Jewish
faith. She carries her allegiance even to the extent of fasting with
the household on the Day of Atonement, and of not allowing bread to
pass her lips during the Passover week. This is Prissy, the ever true,
the ever faithful.