The age-herald., 1898-11-08
MIR. ZANGWILI,
 A LION OF JUDAH

Nj. L. Rayne in the Chicago Times Herald. Strong thoughts. daring phrases and a tense intellectually that draws us to the topmost pinnaeles of the cathedrals of literature and while we grasp blinded in the glorious air drops us with scant eere- mony intp the sordid alleys of life where humanity is at It's worst-and best. This Is what Israel zangwill gives us in his short stories, which he aptly calls "Grotesques and Fantasies" but which are invested by his description with that picturesque reali- ty which can be found only among the children of the Ghetto and told only by one of their own people,
 MT. Zangwill fascinates and dominates his readers. Belonaing to that scattered and sequestered race which has a magnifi- cent past and the promise of a victorious future he combines the flashing, scintillat- ing imagination of the Orient with the som- Der realities of the prose of everyday life, and out of the two he produces fearful Tightening at times. but we love 1t and well come Its glare. for 1t shows us the wonders of an undiscovered world.
 As a speaker he has no less power. His address at the dinner at the St. Denis in New York on the occasion of Count Leo Tolstois 10th birthday is a marvel of post prandial oratory, and his references to the distinguished Russian novelist, compli- mentary without being fusome, were broadly humane and apprecative. Here are some strong bits from his menu:
 
 Zangwill's apology:k Long years of re- viewing and theater-going dishabituate man from panegyric."
 He alluded to Anna Karenina" as a mas terpiece of fiction, and adds: Tt is cer- tainly Shakespearean in its matchless por- traiture, its wide range of human charac- ter"
 He calls the phrase ''art for arts sake'' "a shorthand expression"
 Art for arts sake means to some peo- pie that your art is carried on in your back yard, and that it has no relation with hu- manity or the life of humanity"
 We look on literature as darling with a dowry."
 '.There are many persons who saints and are so holy that they the world through their own halos and are dazzled by their own white light"
 You could not coneiliate a crocodile by offering him your arm, and there are hu- man crocodiles. But in a world where 1t Is the Christs who are ignored we can oyer- look this ignoring of the crocodies."
 He speaks of himself as ~"an humble member of that army of which Tolstoi is 5ne of the great captains.
 If Israel Zangwill had never written any, thing else but one short sketch in his col lection, 'The King of Schnorrers,' he .yould nave snown himself master in the making oI dramatic literature. The name 5f the story is "A Tragi-Comedy Of 1reeds," anu the first sentence piques the eaders curiosity.
 ',1sot mueu ueiore midnight In midland town-a town whose back streets swarmed sitn poverty and piety-a man in sort felt hat and white tie was hurrying home over a bridge that spanned dark, crowded .lver. Suddenly he felt tug at his long, black coat-tail."
 He turns impatiently and sees ''breath- .ess. roughly clad, rugged-featured man."
 What is it? What do you want?'
 My wife's dying" jerked the man.
 I'm not doctor"
 "No sir, I know. He's there and only gives her ten minutes to live. Come with ne at once, please"
 Come with you? Why, what good can I do?"
 You're a clergyman"
 The wearer of the white tic looked embar- rassed. "Yes," he stammered "in a way. But not the sort of clergyman your wife will be wanting"
 "Come with me for Gods sake. Don't let us waste time"
 are making mistake I am not Chris tian clergyman"
 Not a Christian clergyman?
 No. I am a Jewish minister"
 That don't matter" broke in the man; don't go away after I've been chasing you far Axfn mir foc I ri T hoo pardon, your coat and hat in the distance just as I came out of the house. o, for pty's- Bake walk back with me at once.'
 Why don't you go to your own clergy man?"
 i've got none. don't believe in nothing myself. But you know what women arel" The minister protested. "I wouldn't know what to say, and l couldn't bring my tongue to say it if I did''
 "Oh, but you believe in something?" per- sisted the man, piteously.
 "H-m! But it's not the something that your wife believes in"
 He found himself in a gloomy garret at last, lighted by an oil lamp. A haggard woman lay with shut eyes an iron bed, her chilling hands clasping the hands of the "converted'' kids, boy of 10 and a girl of ', who stood blubbering in their night at tire. The doctor leaned against the head of the bed, the unganly shadows of the group sprawling across the blank wall. He had done all he could without hope of payment to ease the poor womans last moments. The husband looked at him in frantic n- terrogation.
 You are not too late" answered the doc- tor.
 "Thank God!' said the atheist. Betsey, old girl here is the clergyman"
 The cloud seemed to pass off the blind face and wave of wan sunlight to traverse 1t; slowly the eyes opened the hands with drew from the children's clasp and tho palms met for prayer
 "Christ Jesus" began the lips mechan- ically.
 The minister responded with the Hebrew deathbed confession.
 1T acknowledge unto Thee. O Lord. my God and the God of my fathers. that both my cure and my death are in Thy hands, As he read the dying lips moved, num- bling the words after him. How often had those white lips prayed that the stiff-neck- ed Jews might find grace and be saved from damnation.
 The atheist stood by reverently.. torn by conflicting emotions. glad the poor foolish