That the pen is mightier than the sword was, at an earlier period in the world's history, open to dispute, but the contention exists no longer, and although the day is far distant when the lion shall lie down with the lamb, the press is now the pre-eminent dictator of peace and war, and can effectually hasten or retard the conflict of nations. It is an open question whether its invasion of the arena of private life is a beneficial feature in the power it wields, but it is useless to resist its march in this direction, and earnest as may be a man's desire to hide his light under a bushel, he does not live to see it gratified. When a movement was set afoot to make some sort of semi-private, semi-public recognition of the remarkable position attained by the hero of this story he did not receive it with any kind of pleasure, and he made an effort to avoid it. That his effort was not successful was not so much due to the perseverance of the leaders of the movement as to a few simple words uttered by his wife. "It will give me pleasure," she said. He did not argue with her; he yielded immediately, and allowed himself to be carried with the stream. Never in the course of their happy married life had he failed to comply with her lightest wish; never had there been the least conflict between them; to each of them the word of the other was law, and it was love's cheerful duty to obey. Remarkable, indeed, was the position he had won. From the day of his return to England there had been no break in his prosperity; every enterprise he undertook flourished, and the old saying was applied to him, "Everything he touches turns to gold." His reputation, however, was not based on the fact that he was a lucky but that he was a just and charitable man. No appeal for any good purpose was made to him in vain; his purse was ever open, and he was ever ready to respond. Among his co-religionists he was a power, and his advice was asked and taken by high and low alike. His character was so well-known that the poorest Jew, in an hour of difficulty, did not hesitate to go to him for counsel, and only those held back whose conduct would not stand the searching light he threw upon all worldly matters. He did not confine his labors and charities to the Jewish community; his name was to be found among the administrators of all their benevolent funds, and it was also to be found on the lists of numberless Christian charities. In so generous a spirit did he meet the appeals that were made to him, and so devoid of narrowness were his benefactions, that he grew into the esteem of all classes of society as a large-hearted, honorable, and benevolent gentleman. Of course he was sometimes beguiled into bestowing money upon unworthy objects or persons, but when this came to his knowledge it did not affect him. "It is but human nature," he would say. "Where lives the man who does not make mistakes?"