nephew insists that his uncle shall remain at the head; the old gentleman does not wish to do so.  A part of the councilman’s estate, which he inherited, he has reserved for himself for his lifetime; everything else, and that is by no means little, for Herr Nettenmair is considered a rich man, he will give over to his nephews; what he has reserved for himself will go at his death to the new town hospital.  He has made good his word; he will go down to his grave with unsullied name.

The future bride protests against accepting all that her mother-in-law wants to give her.  There is but one thing that the old lady wishes to keep for herself; it is a little tin box with a withered flower, and it lies with her Bible and hymn-book, as sacred to the owner as these.

The bells still call.  The roses on the tall bushes are fragrant as of yore; a white-throat sits on the bush beneath the old pear-tree and sings; a gentle breeze steals through the garden and even the box around the circular beds rustles its dark leaves.  The old gentleman looks musingly at the tower of St. George’s; the beautiful matron’s face peers through the trellis at him.  The bells call it, the white-throat sings it, the roses breathe it, the gentle breeze whispers it, the beautiful aged faces speak it, from the tower roof of St. George’s you may read it:  “Men tell of the happiness and unhappiness that heaven brings them!  What men call happiness and unhappiness is but the raw material.  It lies within man himself to mold that material as he will.  It is not heaven that brings happiness; man prepares happiness for himself, and raises heaven in his own breast.  Man need take no care to go to heaven, if heaven but comes to him.  Who carries not heaven within himself may search in vain for it through all the universe.  Be guided by reason, but encroach not upon the sacred bounds of feeling.  Turn not disapprovingly from the world as it is, but seek to be just to it, and it will be just to thee.  In this sense let thy path be

BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH.”