fter other knowledge. On the other hand, he bore in mind the
prejudice which the Jews entertained against foreign learning, and he
clearly foresaw the many difficulties which Mendel must encounter if his
desire became known.

"Well, Rabbi, you do not answer," said the boy, inquiringly.

"Bring me your books to-morrow and I will decide."

Mendel seized the preceptor's hand and kissed it rapturously.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Teacher and pupil turned their steps homeward, the one perplexed, the
other overjoyed.

The sun had not fully risen on the morrow, when Mendel, with his
precious books carefully concealed, sought the Rabbi's presence, and the
two withdrew into an inner room, beyond the reach of prying intruders.
The teacher glanced at the titles. They were Mendelssohn's "Phaedon," and
Ludwig Philippson's "The Development of the Religious Idea," both
written in German. Mendel did not take his eyes from his teacher; he
could scarcely master his impatience.

"Well, Rabbi," he asked, "of what do they speak?"

"Of things beyond your comprehension," replied the teacher. "The writers
of both these books were good and pious Jews, who, because of their
learning, were branded and ostracized by many of their co-religionists.
Their only sin lay in the use of classical German. You must know that
many hundreds of years ago, our ancestors lived in Germany, and,
mingling with men of other creeds, learned the language of their time.
By and by, persecutions arose and gradually the Jews were driven into
closer quarters and narrower communities. Many emigrated to Poland and
Russia, carrying with them their foreign language, which was little
changed except by the addition of Hebrew--and, in this country, of a few
Russian words--so that what was once a language became a semi-sacred
jargon in which the translations of our holy books were read. When
Mendelssohn began to write in the ordinary German, he was thought to be
ashamed of his fathers' speech and to have abandoned it for that of
their oppressors. Pause before you choose a path which may estrange you
from all you love best."

"Did these men accomplish no good by their writings?"

"Much good, my son; but through much travail."

The more the teacher talked, the more gloomy the picture he drew, the
greater became the enthusiasm of the pupil, the firmer his determination
to emulate the example of the men of whom he now heard for the first
time. The Rabbi at last consented to