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ITH the arrival of the Sabbath there enters perfect peace in

the heart, and even the humblest hut, of the pious Jew.

The Sabbath, like all Jewish holidays, begins and ends with sunset.

It was on a Friday evening, the time so anxiously awaited and welcomed by the toiler of the Ghetto, when Dobbtsha Yablowski sat at a window on the fifth floor of No. — Delancey Street. It was after the repast. Her father, at the kitchen table, was wrapped in a tractate of the Talmud; her mother, opposite him, sat devouring the “ Titshe-Chumish,” translation and commentary of the Pentateuch. Thus opportunity was afforded Dobbtsha to give full sway to her thoughts. She was awakened from her meditations by a fierce knock at the door, and before she had time to gather her thoughts together, her betrothed, Laizer Ostrolinski, stood before her.

“Mazeltov! Mazeltov!' — (Good luck! Good luck!)” cried he, trembling with excitement. “ This time I have sto it! It is you, your gentleness, your virtues, that have brought me luck! Two hundred dollars is my share! Two hundred dollars for twenty-five cents! Oh, how happy I am! My joy knows no bounds! This brings us nearer to our goal; in one month we shall be married!”

Dobbtsha's head fell upon her breast; she leaned heavily against the window, her right hand pressed against her heart, while with her left she seemed to try to chase away the intense pain from her finely shaped head. “Dobbtsha! My life! My love! Have

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