lrich Schwab.

The famous artist-guild of Antwerp soon proudly numbered him among them,
and even at the present day his pictures are highly esteemed by
connoisseurs, though they are attributed to other painters, for he never
signed his name to his works.

Of the four words, which illumined his life-path as guiding-stars, he had
learned to value fame and power least; fortune and art remained faithful
to him, but as the earth does not shine by its own might, but receives
its light from the sun, so they obtained brilliancy, charm and endearing
power through love.

The fierce Eletto, whose sword raged in war, following the teachings of
his noble Master, became a truly Christian philanthropist.

Many have gazed with quiet delight at the magnificent picture, which
represents a beautiful mother, with a bright, intelligent face, leading
her three blooming children towards a pleasant old man, who holds out his
arms to them. The old man is Adam, the mother Ruth, the children are the
armorer's grandchildren; Ulrich Schwab was the artist.

Meister Moor died soon after Ulrich's marriage, and a few years after,
Sophonisba di Moncada came to Antwerp to seek the grave of him she had
loved. She knew from the dead man that he had met his dear Madrid pupil,
and her first visit was to the latter.

After looking at his works, she exclaimed:

"The word! Do you remember, Meister? I told you then, that you had found
the right one. You are greatly altered, and it is a pity that you have
lost your flowing locks; but you look like a happy man, and to what do
you owe it? To the word, the only right word: 'Art!'"

He let her finish the sentence, then answered gravely "There is still a
loftier word, noble lady! Whoever owns it--is rich indeed. He will no
longer wander--seek in doubt.

"And this is?" she asked incredulously, with a smile of superior
knowledge.

"I have found it," he answered firmly. "It is 'Love.'"

Sophonisba bent her head, saying softly and sadly: "yes, yes--love."

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS OF THE ENTIRE "A WORD, ONLY A WORD"

Among fools one must be a fool
He was steadfast in everything, even anger
No one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor
Once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point
To expect gratitude is folly
Whoever condemns, feels himself superior

THE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE, Complete

By Georg Ebers

Volume 1.

Translated from the Germa