The San Francisco call., 1904-07-03
CHAPTER XIV.
THE LAST GLIMPSE

Before turning over the last leaf of
my history l read over this narrative,
and l have been struck with it's bro
kenness, its lack of order, its coinci-
dences. At first 1 thought this was a
fault in my narrative, but after little
scrutiny L know it is a fault in life:
for life is not a logical procession of
events. as nOvelists present it. 1t is
sometimes, broken, incOherent, and at
other times chance makes events fit,
coincide. In real life people come and
go; acquaintances meet and separate;
the friends of to-day are not seen to-
morrow. In this record of my expert
ences friends have appeared only to
disappear. Such is life.
Perhaps during their brief stay in
these pages my friends have aroused
enough interest to warrant at least a.
few words concerning their after life.
My friends, like myself, fugitives
from the land of bondage, now enjoy
the liberty of our glorious country;
they, too, have thriven in the great
land of freedom. In place Of the sweat
shop has arisen the prosperous cloth
ing factory of Levando & Son, who are
OF the most prominent in one of the
western States. The fathers hair has
turned gray, but there is still the twin
kle Of hopeful youth in his blush eyes;
and even Gittele smiles when her hus-
oand sings the praises of the stars and
stripes. Daniel has become a we'll
Known lawyer, and chiefly through
him Mark Fetter was forced into bank
ruptcy a few years ago. Dolgoff mar
ried Martha, and this change in his life
has developed a certain amount of sta
bility in his character; he is now at the
head of a branch of a life insurance
company in Chicago. AS for Ephraim
Razovski, If you are a reader of popu-
lar magazines you have undoubtedly
noticed many articles and short stories
bearing his name-all characteristic of
his restless, fiery spirit. And Make
she is a happy mother in a large and
happy family, and her last child was
named Nathan. after her father, who
had died year before.
Now for few last words about nv
self. Since my life has been united with
that of my beloved Katia nothing has
occurred to mar our happy existence.
L have been successful in my profess
sion. and also in gaining the respect
and friendship Of my good American
neighbors. We live in harmony with
God and man.
1 still have my literary aspirations.
and still frequently scribble verses,
which my sweet Katia values as high
ly as those of Pushkin and Of Lermon-
toff. But she Is biased critic; and to
judge from public recognition my ef-
forts have been attended with only
meager success.
Not infrequently however. a bit Of
cloud darkens the sky Of my happi-
ness. Recollections of the bitter past
recur to my mind; the groans Of my
people from tyrannical Russia, from
Morocco. from France, occasionally
reach my ears. Then / suffer with the
down-trodden race as If 1 still lived
among them IN some barricaded
Ghetto.
The other day my eldest son, whose
seventh birthday we soon hope to cele-
brate, came crying into the house be-
cause the boy of a neighbor called him
Jew. Katia adjusted his cap and
said: Hush, sweetheart. You must
not quarrel with Robert But he
calls me Jew even II I don't quarrel
with him." the innocent little martyr
justified himself.
When the child was out Of the room
Katia turned to me with a sorrowful
look. AS our eyes met one common
thought fitted through our brains. I
bowed my head in pain. Pretending
not to be hurt by the injustice our boy
had suffered, she came up to me, and,
throwing her arm around me, whis-
pered in a very low, consoling tone:
Israel, what troubles yOu2"
pressed her to my breast, and
pushing back her luxuriant hair from
her forehead 1 impressed a kiss upon
her brow and answered: "The cross,
my love-the cross I bear weighs
heavily upon me-"
She OWNED my thought. and with
tears gathering in her beautiful eyes
locked my neck in a tight embrace,
and putting her cheek against mine.
muttered: Father. forgive them, for
they know not what they do"
(THE ENDN