The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 19, 1904, Page 4

not gnswer; then he stammered: “It is no—nothing.” “I won't denounce you,” I reassured him. *“You may show me the littie book.” He stared at me dublously. Dut there really was but one course open to him—to take me into his confidence. He looked about fearfully, as if he did not he said in a Jow volee: “This is Push- kin.” And looking up to me he contir- ued: “Oh, perhaps you don't know who Push is. He is the atest Rus- sian poet, and his verses e 50 beauti- wild that they almost teAr my heart when I read, them.” 1 looked incredulous. 1 wished not disclose to him the fact that I had d Pushkin Pretending perfect ignor- ance innocence, 1 returned “t would not re: such poems.” P “Ah! it is because you do not under- stand them,” he rejoined warmiy, and his black eyes Ykled. *If you did you weculd forget eating and drinking and sleeping and do nothing but read his verses. It makes your heart throb and the Dblcod your veins run warmer, swifter, It is not like the Talmud—it is more inspiring, more elevating.” I stared amazed cranz's lips! 1 still feigned innocence: “But they are gentile books! How can you com- pare them to the Talmud?” He conc ed Pushkin in his trousers pocket and paused meditatively a few minutes, as if he were hesitating whether or not to speak. The dawn €hone through the long, arched win- dows of the seminary, and Rosen- cranz’s face grew paler and more greenish from the cold morning light. Then he clasped me by the hand and spoke impulsively: *“You are blind— you are blind. Do not remain in dark- ness and nebulous superstition. Flee from the narrow compass of the syna- gogue. There is a Jlarger, greater, grander sphere than that circumscribed by the boundaries of the orthodox faith. The world is not as gloomy and sordid as you have experienced it in the inclosure of our self-made Ghetto. Waste no more of your profitable youth and vigor of boyhood on the almost obsolete genius of ancient generations. Not everything that is old is necessar- ily sacred, and nothing is sacred be- cause it is old. Idolatry is the oldest worship, for that matter. It is the fee- bler element in man that reveres age; the more vigorous vitality sympathizes with old age, but never venerates,it.’ He spoke fervently; his eyes glowed with inspiration. I drank in every word that fell from his mouth, as if it came from the lips of a prophet. “Many youths,” he continued zeal- ously, who are endowed with. He- brew genius and who shculd be the torch-bearers of true civilization and enlightenment are rotting away in the swamps of the synagogue. Ah, how many brilliant gems—myriads of them —=sink in the bottomless Talmudic mire! Russia—Lithuania in particular— is an inestimable gold mine, but there are no speculators found to work it. Oh, the Taimud! the Talmud!" he cried out with real pain and agony, his lips trembling with agitation, “that golden chain that ‘throtties the Jewish youths of Russia! Does not the Talmud itself say, In commenting on the verse ‘He hath set me in dark places’ (Lamen- tations), that means the Babylonian Talmud? But our people are beginning to open their eyes now that the Czar has opened the schools to us. Ah! one decade of toleration and liberty, and our people will flourish as in the days of old. It takes other pations a cen- tury to make a progressive step, but it takes the Jews only a generation, a quarter of a century, if liberty be given them, to overtake them all. Awake, Israel! The hour is striking now. If you oversieep this chance, God knows when the hour will strike for you aga i He thus poured forth his feelings, tears glistening in his eyes. He laid bare before me the conditions of our faith, the absurd system of the yes- hiva, how much energy was wasted on useless studies while there were so many better, more useful, nobler things for which to spend one’s life. He told me of a secret society to which he be- longed, whose object was the promul- gation of liberal ideas, and he urged me to join it and come into the light. All this stirred the slumbering feelings of my soul, revived the dying recollec- tions of Russian literature—of Katia, and made me think and doubt. The door of the yeshiva opened soft- ly, and Rabbl Brill, clad in a leug, light robe, with tephiiim (phylacteries) on his head, stepped in like an appari- tion. He held his Mishna pocket edi- tion in one hand, with his index finger between the leaves, and with the other he was fondling the straps that hung down from the tephilim. He stopped in front of Nehemiah and: me, and smiling benignly sald in his fatherly, care-tuking, hoarse voice, “The yes- hiva is imposing a too heavy burden on you children—always Nehemiah and Israel,” and he tapped us on the sghoulders in a most paternal manner. And raising his eyes to the long clock that hung on the wall at the entrance, he added: “So late, and only two of you?" and in This from Rose CHAPTER XVIL I BEGIN TO DOUBT. Faith is like a heap of dry sand; un- molested it may lie for ages, but as soon as one graln of it is disturbed by the slightest wind, it crumbles away until there is no trace of it left. Neither my stay with Judge Blal- nick nor the flery arguments of Ephraim had shaken my belief in the lea: The exulting talk of Rosen- cranz would likewise have had no per- manent effect upon me had he not im- mediately begun to take advantage of the impression he had made. The fol- lowing day he gave me Spinoza's Ethics. That book shattered my peaceful belief in a theological God. The next book—which he borrowed for me and brought to my lodgings hidden under his coat—wag ““The Blunderer in — the Paths of Life.” My heart throbbed violently as I glanced at its titie. Yhis novel, which had just appeared, was the dread of the rabbis and fanatics and was condemned by?the Jewish clergy. The vital genius of its author ghook the very foundation of Judaism. It. was a bock filled with graphic de- scriptions of our gordid Jewigh life and caustic criticism of our absurd reli- gioug customs. 1 aiso found myself a blunderer in the paths of life. I raced feverishly through volumes of philosophy, hist and literature. As 1 plunged deeper and deeper into modern studies (as I called everything that* was not Talmudie¢) a scorn for theology and for Jewish learnihg in particular arose in my heart. Finally 1 accepted two philosophic truths: “By good, 1 understand that which we knew is positively useful to us. By e . 1 erstand that which positivel know hinders us from possessing any thing that is good.” And I asked my- Am I pursuing good by the study Talmud? Do 1 not positively kpow that this hinders me from p sessing evervthing that is good? shuddered as 1 a ered myself. I told Nehémiah of my thoughts, he smiled, ing: “Weil, ready sav The knowledge ignorance Is wisdom.” we you are of one's CHAPTER XVIII BETRAYED spent 1 AM As Shmunke hours daily in the my new studies in our fear of detection. Shmunke's fanati- cism reached the point where religion and barbarisin meet. He would guot look into a mirror because he regarded such an act effeminate, and he would not pass between two women on the ground of immorality. He not only bore the yoke of orthodoxy, but he even hated with the zealous hatred of a savage any one who did not bear it. However, I little suspected that he was spying upon me. One cold, rainy spring morning, eral months after I began my new studies, I was brooding over a big folio of Talmud, though my thoughts were for from the subject before me, when the mashgiach’'s assistant came up to me and whispered in my ear that I should forthwith appear before Rabbl Brill. I followed him out of the yes- hiva into the rabbi's study, my brain filled with wild fears of evil. Rabbi Brill sat in his large armchair, his face clouded with sadness. His young wife stood haughtily in the doorway be- tween the library and the adjoining room. Behind the rabbi's chair stood the mashgiach and his scouts. The looks of all of them pinned me as I stepped over the threshold; the bigotry of a Torquemada was stamped on each face except that of the rosh-h'shiva. One of the scouts held a bundle of books under his arm. At the sight of these a chill went through me. I knew my fate. “You are Israel Teploffker, and you have your lodgings with Menke the tailor, hey?” inquired the mashgiach in his hissing, whistle-like voice. I made no answer. “Are these books yours?” he de- manded, pointing at the bundle under the scout’s arm. 1 still made no reply. There was such a whirl of emotions within me that I could not have spoken had I wanted to. Rabbi Brill held his sad, piercing eyes fixed on me and sighed softly. “So you confe; Teploffker,” hissed the Mashgiach again, “that these ‘Ep- icurean books' are your property and that you have read them?” My hatred of orthodoxy suddenly flamed up. I was on the point of an- swering the Mashgiach by bursting in- to a fierce denunciation of Judaism, but Rabbi Brill ordered them all out of the room by a wave of his hand. I was following, knowing well my sen- tence, when the rabbi's voice, hoarse as If choked with tears, checked me. “Listen, my child. 1 accepted you in this institution when no other place was open to you. I allowed you a stipend almost beyond my power. I did this all for you with the under- standing that von shonld study the Talmud. But you have devoted your time to other things—to Haskolo; you are worshiping strange gods. Modern culture is like poison—a cure to one, death to another. To Judaism it is death.” He rcse from his seat, and laying his hand gently on my shqulder he con- tipued: “Ah, the young generation! Our young men do not realize the pre- clousn: of the Talmud. It is now, as it has been In centuries past, our stronghold and a pillar of light that has guided us through all darkness. But for it what would become of our Jewish brains, dulled by gentile cru- elty and persecution? Anpd what would our moralg be but for its mighty in- fluence? What became of the Kar- raites after they abandoned the Tal- mud? Talmud is like salt, which must be preserved, if not for its own sake, for the preservation of the Jew. Its beautiful legends, its instructive pre- cepts, its ethical fables, its brilliant sayings, and the vigorous genius that permeates every line of it—ah! the Talmud, and the Talmud only, has ’m-('le the Jew indestructible, everlast- ng!” ? Thie rabbi's voice had become mourn- ful, and tears were trickling down his face. “The gaudy. appearance of Eu- ropean civilization is dazzling the eyes of the young. The same was true when Greece was in its glory; then the Jews wighed to shine as Hellenes, not as Jews. The same happened a short while ago in Germany; the sam going on now in our own land. Ah he sighed deeply, and a stream of tears gushed forth over his already wet cheeks—'‘it is either to remain a Jew in the old sense or give up Juda- ism entirely, The inherent faculty of criticism in oyr race In a scientific age will not tolerate Judaism or any other religion. The gentile can be cultured and still remain true to his faith, but the Jew is too critical for.that. It is either belief and dogma or science and infidelism. What has become of most of the followers of Mendelssohn, who planned so wisely and sincerely? The great rabbi and philosopher would re- thrn to his graye had he risen to be- hold the result of his arduous labor. Only Moses Mendelssohn could be learped in philosophy and be a Jew. Woe! Woe!” and the rabbl's tears about eighteen 1 pursued room without veshiva .and in dread of tl THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. streamed down faster and faster. “Even his own offspring, his sons and daughters, turned their backs on the faith of their noble father. The in- vention killed the inventor.” I listened to all this with a droop- ing head. When he had finished he delivered the sentence I expected—I must leave the Yeshiva at once. I hurried to my lodgings. Entering the houee, I found my landlord, Menke, &t his working-table, with a disen« gaged needle in his hand, his spectacles lowered almost to the very end of his nose, one leg thrown c¢ver the other in reflective forgetfulness. His wife, at his side, had the litile finger of her left hand between her lips, her right hand supporting the elbow of the left, and when I came in she moved slightly forward and heaved a deep sigh. My appearance evidently discon- certed them. After Menke swallowed a lump and feigned a faint cough, he began to say something, but a glance of his heipmeet silenced him, and with- any one in particular E ! what ve we come to in these days!” and her “Oi!" seemed to find an echo in her husband’'s heart. “Oi!"” he also intoned, and the 0 mained sitting and looking abstractly with the disengaged needle in his hand. “He!" she proceeded dismally, sway- her heavily bewigged head. “Who ever heard of sudh gzaeires (faial decress) Who ever heard of Nu! nu! what an age to live Would that my had not seen it! We took nim (th her husband) into our hom: i to Shmunke, who and now at fulls 1Into ! what an age we live i again about to 3 < silenced by an- My trunk, that served as I came into my ro rather tne wooden | a trunk, was broken ope:, and all my books and papers were gone. As 1 gtood gazing at my few pieces of un- derwear that had been thrown out of the box and now lay scattered about the rcom, Shmunke appeared. “Epicurean. renegade, apostate, sin- ner in Israel,” he accosted me in his nasal voice, *“you have polluted our house with your unclean books. - The Talmud in Sanhedrin says: ‘He who reads sacrilegfous bocks will not enter the kingdom of heaven.’ 1 watched pu for a long while,” he continued alously, swinging his long arms like the revolving wings of a windmill, un- til, thark God! I could .inform the authcrities in the properstime. And you get out of this house this very minute."” I did not answer a word. 1 gathered’ my few belongings from the floor and rolled them inta a bundle. ‘“Indeed, this very minute,” added Shmunke's mother, who had followed him into cur room. “I cannot keep you in my house a half second. Oh! oh! the chorem (ban)! Only four years ago the two daughters of ‘Avrenni der Schwarze' died in cne night because Rabbi Brill put the ban on them, and the Mashgiach told me I must drive you out of the house without a sec- ond’s delay or the ban will follow."” Groone wrung her hands as she de- livered this monologue. “Oh! oh] the chorem!” Menke also ventured the remark, but a glance from Groone seemed to put him off again, and he went on stitching the stiff lining on his lap. Like Adam and Eve “some natura tears I dropped but wiped them soe¢n,” and “with wandering steps and sl T took my solitary way from the - dise, whtched by the plercing 812%." of the /cherubim, inke. and Groane, - flaming sword, Shmunke, “which turned every way to keep the way of the tree of life.” CHAPTER XIX. I WANDER AGAIN, When driven out of my Garden of Eden I repaired to the synagogue. In Lithuania the synagogue is a lyceum where the most erudite of the Jewish community come tcgether of an even- ing to vie in advancing hair-splitting arguments and technical rigmarole of the Talmud; a board of trade where business men discuss market prices and competition; a club where friends meet to chat over a cigarette or a pipe; a center of gessip where everybody talks of everybody else; a place of refuge for the poor against whom every other place is closed; and sémetimes an arena where knotty fingers and matted beards come in close contact, and hats, like comets, fly in the alr. S0 to the synagogue I went to spend the night. Now while I write I see myself sitting in a corner between two tali bockcases crammed with ancient volumes, and near the Dutch oven that reached to the high ceiling. My eyes are so blurred with tears that every- thing about me is watery and dark. I stare stupidly in front of me without thinking of anything in particular, Fragments of the past come and go like small tatters of clouds in a stormy sky; they shift and float and drive one another, but 1 see nothing ' clear, nothing definite. One moment I think of the present, and my heart swells with deadly hatred against the Jews and their religlen and their rabbis, Another moment my anger against my own people is allayed. I recall Judge Bialnick; I think of the peasant's con- fession; 1 vaguely reflect upon the in- cidents of my father's death, And again my sore heart smarts and burns with hatred—not against the Jews, but against the world that enslaved and degraded them. And again the Jew— the old generation—the, young genera- tion—prejudice; and again my brain burns with fever at the cruelty of their fanaticism. Ah, Katla! Katia! like a flash of lightning that splits the clouds asunder, her face, her voice, the vivid recqllections of her charm- ing ways recurred to my mind. Ah, HKatia! Katia! the lapse intervening between her and the present vanishes, and my heart i yearning, craving, burning with anguish and desire to ;efi her, to talk to her, to ask her for elp. Toward morning one desire took definite shape amid the chaos of my mind—a desire to emancipate myself from the Jewish bondage, to become free—free, and cast off the yoke that crushed my father, my grandfather, and his father before him—to wdrk and work and work and become—not a great rabbi, who sinks In the mire of superstition, and fanaticism—but a great man such as Katia wished to see m:!, like Pushkin or Gogol or Lermon- toff. Thus my whole past flashed through .my mind, and the present stood before me in all its grimpess. My heart be- came oppressed with bitterness. I wished I could cry aloud, so that the big synagogue, the marketplace, the town and the surrounding fields and i A forests and brouks and ponds echo again and again the great guish of my soul. At daybreak I took my little bundie under my arm and left the synagogue. I had decided to go to’ Vilno. Vilno was the Lithuanian Jerusalem, where the Jews ware already awakening from their fanatical slumber. There, perhaps, I might finéd means to con- tinue my “modern studies” in the gym- nasium. L had noc money to hire a coach, so I made up my mind. to walk. The distance was only a hundred versts, and I could get there on foot in four days. At the close of the day I arrived at a smali town wholly inhabited by Jews. As I came Into the princtpai thorough- fare. the beadle, with His head threwn back and his hands over his ears. rushed through the streets proclaiming in stenterian volee, “In Shool #erein!” which was the signal for merchants to clege their places of business and go to the synagogue. I was reminded that it was Fridey. As I was hungry and fatigued from my leng trip, I decided. if 1 eould get a piace to stay, to remain here over the Sabbath. 1 went to the synagogue and inquired for the shammes (sexton). 1 found standing on a high chai with assistants around hi ghting es of the traditicnal menorah « tlestick). He was a dwarfish man with wet peiis and a shiny forehead. In e to my question as to whether he cauld procure me a place in which to stay over the »bath, he <hrugged his shoulders and grumbled: Too late now—too late However, after I' had incidentally infeimed him that I cahe from Javolin Yeshiva a certain defercnce came into his manner “Stay here till after vould an- not a person do when he is tired and hungry, without a farthing in his pocket? After service the dwarfish shammes invited me to follow him to . entrance hall. I took my stand side him at the door and patiently ted. Gut Shabbos—Gut Shabbos,” the worshipers saluted each other, every face wearing a look of contentment: “Gut the children greeted their father: Gut Shabbos,” the poor sively greeted the rich: “Gut the humble beggars greeted A “Gut Shabbos—Gut Shab- bos,” kept on buzzing in the synagogue as the large crowd passed through the narrow hallway. Presently the shammes, who had baen scanning the passers by, stopped one of the worshipers—a venerable- looking man with a fine, broad, jet black beard and happy, smiling eyes, who was fcllowed by two men, one on .crutches and the other with an empty, dangling sleeve. “Gut Shabbos, Reb Dovidle—Gut Shabbos,” the shammes greeted him. “Gut Shabbos, Reb Samson,” turned Reb Dovidle. “Reb Dovidle,” proceeded the sham- mes respectfully, and scratching the back of his head, “a—Reb Dovidle—a— a young man—a—a—a student from Javolin—a—' “Indeed! indeed!" the good-natured Reb Dovldle interrupted him. “I al- ways like to have mezumen (three men to the benediction) at my table. Why, certainly, let him come.” Samson introduced me to Reb Do- vidle, who extended me a cordial in- vitation to remain with him over the Sabbath. As Reb Dovidle, his young son, whom he led by the hand, and I approached his house, two little children came running to meet thelr father, with joy- ous shouting: “Gut Shabbos, papa— Gut Shabbos,” He bent down, kissed them, and the children clung to the skirtg of his frock coat. Opening the dcor, Reb Dovidle greeted in a low ca- dence of volce: “Gut Shabbos, Gittele —Gut Shabbos. His wife, Gittele, beamed with joy and her dlamond ear-rings twinkled as they bobbed in the light of the candle on the table. Everybody looked happy —Sabbath eve spoke from every face. Reb Dovidle kissed his ~dark-haired daughter, leaned his hands cn the lit- tle children’'s head and murmured a blessing. Then walking lelsurely up and down the room and clapping his hands gleefully, he hummed: “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is above rubles. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil She layeth her hands to the spindie, and her hands hold the distaff. She stretcheth out her hand to the poor, yea, she reacheth forth her hand to the needy,” etec. Thus hummed the happy Reb Do- vidle in Hebrew, and his soft voice quavered in quaint undulations while he beamed upon his wife and children “like olive plants round about the ta- ble.” Gittele read in a fow voice: “Peace be to you, angels of service, angels eternal of the King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.” During the meal Reb Dovidle asked me how long I had stayed at Javolin and where I was going, tc¢ which I re- plied (with shame do I record it) not the truth, but rather what I thought bést for me. Then he asked me if I knew of a young man who would like to teach Hebrew in a small village about fifteen miles away. Without waiting for my answer he added: “The work weculd not be hard, My brother-in-law has only a little boy of about seven and a daughter of about seventeen. e Instructor would have tc be with them only a few hours a day."” I was silent a moment, It occurred to me that here was a good opportun- ity to make a little money to tide me through my first uncertain’ weeks in Vilno, 8o I told him 1 was willing to accept a position myself for the sum- mer. And early Sunday morning I started for Dubrovka, armed with a letter of introduction to Mr. Nosen Takiff. CHAPTER XX. I BECOME A TEACHER. 1 had no difficyity in finding the house of Mr. Takiff, for Reb Dovidle had told me he was an Inn-keeper, and that there was but one inn in this straggling village. The long corridor which ran through the center of the inn to the bar-room was crowded with haif-dvunken peasants, who jostied me 2s 1 picked my way & d the bar-robm hasy with of vile tobacco was also fill vodka-soaked muzhiks, who laughed and jabbered and swore. ay!” a drunken peasant roared at a flaxen-haired lad who stood in the middle of the room tightening the keys of a violin. “Play, Vanka, play!™ several other voices brpke out impatiently at the fiddler. “Hey, Vanka, kraskucha (a peasant’s re- e smoke led with. dance)!” cried a robust muzhik beauty, with a red and biue dotted kerchief covering her sandy hair and with a strand of green beads arcund her full neck. “A kraskucha! a kraskucha!” the crowd approved vociferously; and in appreclation of the girl who proposed the dance a peasant embraced her ard kissed her on the mouth. Then came the scraping of the violin, stamping of feet, jostling, pushing, hugging, slap- ping, shouting, whistling, l2ughing, and the uproarious dance was on again. A few minutes of this sufficed for me. I asked of the man who was serving drinks for the master of the heuse, gad was led 2cross a narrow passage which separated the inn from Mr, Takifi's living quarters into a comfortably furnished sitting-room. An elderly woman with a frank, genial face greeted me. “My husband will soon be at leisur and will be only too glad to see you."” she said after I had told her I had letter of introduction to him. “Pe you are hungry she immed »ly added. And turning around, sh ke to a dark-haired girl who reading at the other end of the room. “Malke, dear, show this young man futo the dining-room.” Very much pleased with this cordial weleccme I followed the young girl Soon the innkeeper appeared, slowly puffing at a long-stemmed pipe Though at first sight he seemed to me an old man, on account of his round, gray beard, he was nd more than forty-five. He was tall and strongly built, and had a full white face with a small, thin nose (the Jew's nose is not as long as it is pictured) with brown eyes that sparkled with , youth. He wore a velvet skull cap and a long black frock. He shook me by the hand warmly, and settling himself in a chair oppo- site me begzan to read the letter I had handed him..~ As his daughter set the meal before me I placed my hands over my eyes, as if from fatigue, and scrutinized her through my fingers. Her face was de- cidedly handscme. Her nose, like her father’'s, was of Russian type, and her eyes were black and almond-shaped; her lips were red and -slightly curled and her complexion was a warm, rosy brown: and when she put the knife and fork on the table I noticed that her fingers were white and long. Mr. Takiff looked up from his letter leng enough to glance at the table. “Malke,” he said to his daughter, “you have forgotten the salt. You are dreamy of late, my child.” A faint blush passed over her face. She smiled and murmured some ex- cuge, which afforded me a chance to see her white teeth and the little dim- ples in her cheeks. While I ate the savory meal that the girl had placed before me, the innkeeper smoked si- lently at his long pipe and observed me thoughtfully. “My brother-in-law writes me,” he began, after I itad drawn away from the table, “that you will be willing to stay here and teach my daughter and son Hebrew and the Prophets.” I corroborated Reb Dovidle's state- ment, and said that I would do my best with his children if he saw fit to employ me. With that we went forthwith to busi- ness, and after we had agreed as to the terms I was formally engaged as instructor to the innkeeper’'s two chil- dren. CHAPTER XXI. I FIND MY DUTIES VERY AGREE- ABLE. The following day my duties began. It was true the time spent with little Jacob was a trifle monotonous and irksome, but the hours spent in in- structing Malke were not at all tedious. From the first I found pleasure in her lesson period, and this pleasure grew keener and keener. She was of a nat- urally happy disposition, mirthful and witty, but at times melancholy fits would come upon her, and she would mope about the house with a sad, far- away look in her eyes. I could not un- ‘derstand these widely varying moods, but I had a faint feeling that she was being preyed upon by some secret grief. My time, aside from that devoted to my pupils, was also well spent. The climate was fresh and wholescme, the environing scenery picturesque, a large fcrest at a stone's throw, and my many hours of leisure afforded me ample opportunity for meditation and day- dreams in which 1 took Infinite delight. For appearance's sake I kept a volume of Talmud in my room, though I never opened it, and in its stead I made good use of a number of Iliterary works which I found in Malke's library, as well ag of the Bible, which, in spite of my skepticism, w. my favorite book. And at night, alone in my quiet cham- ber, 1 would lie awake and think f the past—always of the incidents of the past; the future stocd hazily be- fore me like a prophecy, on which I never cared to dwell too long. In such moments my thoughts would travel back to Katia. and with one arm thrown lcosely over my eyes and my face turned ceilingward I would muse for hours, The remembrance of her father, ITke a tatter of cloud, would soon begin to eclipse the happy light of y mind, but each time I would relegate this thought by sheer force of will and continue my delightful rumin- atlon undisturbed. At last my heaven- ly dream would end in a crushing sense of hopelessness. I would become consclous, as we 8o often do in dreams, that I was merely dreaming a dream that would never come true. And slowly this charming vision would moye back, back, and then sink lower and lower, like a setting sun, and a new %hqnum would take its place. aguely I would begin to think of my pupil; indefinitely her expressive look would stand before me; faintly her voice, full of pathos, would ring In my ears; apd little by little I would be- come with a feeling, a desire, as uncertain as the image in my mind's eye. I would thus continue to muse untjl all else would leave my brain ex- cept the thought of Malke. The last thought would lend speed to the beat- ing of my heart and would stir my pas- slons. “She seems to find no interest in me"” would flash through my mind. And insignificant little incidents which had passed between Malke and me would immediately spring to memory defining more clearly the thought that had just crossed my mind. T:is thought would filll me with burning Jealousy, and jealousy would arouse my feelings. e more I thought of Malke's indifference to me, the n 1 desired her friendship—her affections, if possible. ' These half jealous, half arducus sen- iments finally got full pessesssion of my heart and brain. The lessons b gan duly with the opening of a boc but hardly ever proceeded further th a few haif-hearted questions and aim- less answers. Then wa would forget the lesson and talk disjointedly or re- main silent, each engrossed in secret thoughts, Malke would sit looking out of the window, her cheeks aglow with a feelilng for which I could see cauge, and I—poor bundle of senti- me would interrupt this silence at intervals only to t.lk as none but im- beciles and lovers can, while the slum- bering passions of a recluse stirred me to a fary. She was always frank and natural with me: she treated me much as she might have treated a brother of her own age. She would pull my hair and oke my chin playfully, and she found great delight in teasing me. I resented both her sisterly attitude and the jests at my expense. Frequently her witty remarks made me writhe, and I would decide that if she again spoke in that way I would pay her back in the same e¢cvin. But I never did. In her presence 1 was as submis- sive as a faithful dog. But there were some happy moments —when she would gaze dreamily at me with those strange eyes of hers, her hair falling loosely over her white forehead, her breast quickly heaving. T would beguile elf for a few throbbing moments with the hope that these lcoks betokened lqve for me, and 1 would forget all ei My ambition to become a distinguished man, my hopes to ke a name for myself as Katia wis me to do—even thoughts of Katia, used in me this ambition—wculd quickly nish, and my only desire would be to stay in Du- brovka and give instructions to this country girl forever and ever. (Continued Next Sunday.) JOE ROS! 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To those that have had their corsets made to order, inspect these (we know what the verdict will be). Boned with genuine whalebones: made of the very best of imported ma- terials; for slerder, stout or me- dium form; twenty different models to choose from. _Price .oe $£3.50 CORSETS FITTED FREE. Expert fitters in attendance to tell you what corset is most suited for your form. JOE ROSENBERG The Home of Good Corsets 816 Market St. 11 0'Farrell St. no -