constantly practised rule of life. Yes, Nordheim, I loved thee well, and I love thy memory. I loved thee for thy simplicity, for thy natural goodness, for the true and unpretentious way in which thou didst lay stress upon that which is pure and noble, and didst reject that which is base and vile in human life; for the picture which thou didst show me of the beautifying and sanctifying effect of a simple, sincere, and honest Judaism, simply and sincerely lived. Thou wast one of the forces which did lead me to love and uphold the Torah, and to cleave to the faith which my and thy ancestors received at Sinai from Sinai’s God. Oh, that this tale of thee might work likewise upon the hearts of others like me, children of an unbelieving and irreverent age, and stir them to love for Israel’s God and devotion to Israel’s sacred heritage! THE LITTLE HORSERADISH WOMAN. How many of my readers know the little horseradish woman? Many, I have no doubt, are more or less acquainted with her; and those who are not can make her acquaintance without any difficulty. Almost any afternoon and late into the evening, except on Sabbaths or Jewish holidays, she may be found at her post in one of the blocks of upper Third Avenue, New York, standing behind her improvised little table, industriously rubbing away at her acrid merchandise, with only occasional pauses to wipe away with the corner of her snow-white apron the tears which her lachrymose occupation forces from her eyes, or to give customers extraordinarily liberal portions of her finished product. The size of the portions she sells is quite astonishing to the customer; but the little horseradish woman is scrupulously honest in matters of weight and measure, of mine and thine, and would not think of giving less. [Illustration: THE LITTLE HORSERADISH WOMAN _Page 84_] Her tears, too, are quite remarkable. Indeed, I believe that horseradish tears have not been appreciated as they should be, for they are a species entirely _sui generis_, and not to be confused with any other tears that are shed on earth. Ordinary, every-day tears indicate sorrow and produce weakness; crocodile tears indicate hypocrisy and produce disgust; but horseradish tears are born of industry, and their offspring are energy and good-humor. Such, at least, is the case with our little horseradish woman; for, no sooner has she wiped away one of her periodical outbursts of tears, than she begins to rub away again with the utmost energy and the best humor in the world. My observation of the tears the horseradish woman sheds has made me their confirmed admirer. I have no liking for the lachrymose ebullitions of love-lorn maidens, of snivelling swains, or of wheezing or wheedling Pecksniffs. Give me horseradish tears; they are the honestest, cheerfullest—I had almost said—manliest tears in the world.