a day in his life but that unhappy warrior was made to remember
that a Hebrew damsel had been in love with him, and that a Christian
lady of fashion could never forgive the insult. For instance, if Gurth,
the swineherd, who was now promoted to be a gamekeeper and verderer,
brought the account of a famous wild-boar in the wood, and proposed a
hunt, Rowena would say, "Do, Sir Wilfrid, persecute these poor pigs: you
know your friends the Jews can't abide them!" Or when, as it oft would
happen, our lion-hearted monarch, Richard, in order to get a loan or a
benevolence from the Jews, would roast a few of the Hebrew capitalists,
or extract some of the principal rabbis' teeth, Rowena would exult and
say, "Serve them right, the misbelieving wretches! England can never be
a happy country until every one of these monsters is exterminated!" or
else, adopting a strain of still more savage sarcasm, would exclaim,
"Ivanhoe my dear, more persecution for the Jews! Hadn't you better
interfere, my love? His Majesty will do anything for you; and, you know,
the Jews were ALWAYS SUCH FAVORITES OF YOURS," or words to that effect.
But, nevertheless, her ladyship never lost an opportunity of wearing
Rebecca's jewels at court, whenever the Queen held a drawing-room; or
at the York assizes and ball, when she appeared there: not of course
because she took any interest in such things, but because she considered
it her duty to attend, as one of the chief ladies of the county.

Thus Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, having attained the height of his wishes,
was, like many a man when he has reached that dangerous elevation,
disappointed. Ah, dear friends, it is but too often so in life! Many a
garden, seen from a distance, looks fresh and green, which, when
beheld closely, is dismal and weedy; the shady walks melancholy and
grass-grown; the bowers you would fain repose in, cushioned with
stinging-nettles. I have ridden in a caique upon the waters of the
Bosphorus, and looked upon the capital of the Soldan of Turkey. As seen
from those blue waters, with palace and pinnacle, with gilded dome and
towering cypress, it seemeth a very Paradise of Mahound: but, enter
the city, and it is but a beggarly labyrinth of rickety huts and dirty
alleys, where the ways are steep and the smells are foul, tenanted by
mangy dogs and ragged beggars--a dismal illusion! Life is such, ah,
well-a-day! It is only hope which is real, and reality is a bitterness
and a deceit.

Perhaps a