"Are you a saint then?" retorted she. "You must have a Hebrew name; what are you called?"
"Baruch."
"Bahruch!" exclaimed Olympia, shaking with laughter. "Bahruch! ugh! it makes me quite ill and frightened, it is so like a conjuration. The name would sound lugubrious in music; I should accompany it with F minor; listen!" She went to the organ, and sang " Bahruhcn !*' over and over again, accompanying it with the dreary note. "For Heaven's sake, give up the name, or something bad will happen to you," she continued. "I had a dear friend whose beloved was named Balthasar Prompronius, who was very unfortunate. 'Dear Balthasar!' no, that will not do, that cannot be said expressively, it will not come out of your mouth, and cracks your ear; my friend was very unhappy, for she was always obliged to say 'dear,' alone, and at last meant some one else by it. The bad taste of the name had a great deal to do with her misfortunes, it is my firm belief."
"You are not such an infidel as you represent yourself," said Baruch.
"Bahruch!" chanted Olympia again, and put forth the full power of her deepest notes to lay the most melancholy stress on the name. "Baruch! no, that will not do; for your future wife's sake, take care that she does not meet the fate of my
