Twenty-Fourth Evening"I will now give you a picture from Frankfort," said the
Moon. "I especially noticed one building there. It was not the
house in which Goethe was born, nor the old Council House, through
whose grated windows peered the horns of the oxen that were roasted
and given to the people when the emperors were crowned. No, it was
a private house, plain in appearance, and painted green. It stood
near the old Jews' Street. It was Rothschild's house.
"I looked through the open door. The staircase was
brilliantly lighted: servants carrying wax candles in massive
silver candlesticks stood there, and bowed low before an old woman,
who was being brought downstairs in a litter. The proprietor of the
house stood bare-headed, and respectfully imprinted a kiss on the
hand of th
