Frischmann's "Three
Who Ate," and Steinberg's "A Livelihood" and "At the Matzes," though
here translated from the Yiddish versions, were probably written in
Hebrew originally. In the case of the former two, it would seem that the
Yiddish version was made by the authors themselves, and the same may be
true of Steinberg's tales, too.

The tales given here are by no means all equal in literary merit, but
they have each its special note, its special echo from that strangely
fascinating world so often quoted, so little understood (we say it
against ourselves), the Russian Ghetto--a world in the passing, but
whose more precious elements, shining, for all who care to see them,
through every page of these unpretending tales, and mixed with less and
less of what has made their misfortune, will surely live on, free, on
the one hand, to blend with all and everything akin to them, and free,
on the other, to develop along their own lines--and this year here, next
year in Jerusalem.

The American sketches by Zevin and S. Libin differ from the others only
in their scene of action. Lerner's were drawn from the life in a little
town in Bessarabia, the others are mostly Polish. And the folk tale,
which is taken from Joshua Meisach's collection, published in Wilna in
1905, with the title Ma'asiyos vun der Baben, oder Nissim ve-Niflo'os,
might have sprung from almost any Ghetto of the Old World.

We sincerely regret that nothing from the pen of the beloved
"Grandfather" of Yiddish story-tellers in print, Abramowitsch (Mendele
Mocher Seforim), was found quite suitable for insertion here, his
writings being chiefly much longer than the type selected for this book.
Neither have we come across anything appropriate to our purpose by
another old favorite, J. Dienesohn. We were, however, able to insert
three tales by the veteran author Mordecai Spektor, whose simple style
and familiar figures go straight to the people's heart.

With regard to the second half of our object, greater cheerfulness, this
collection is an utter failure. It has variety, on account of the many
different authors, and the originals have wit and humor in plenty, for
wit and humor and an almost passionate playfulness are in the very soul
of the language, but it is not cheerful, and we wonder now how we ever
thought it could be so, if the collective picture given of Jewish life
were, despite its fictitious material, to be anything like a true one.
The drollest of the tale