polation. What do you say: Am I right?"
Sue een de ee Fee Fee - Di This was our heroine’s opportunity. She was the sole surviving authority on that interesting point, and she could offer the decisive word in the discussion. But, as we know (so the Bible tells us), on account of a previous difference of opinion with her master, she had taken no part in the scene on the heights of Pisgah. Though a Jew-hater, and a thorough one, she was nevertheless unwilling to lie directly, so she remained silent. There was an embarrassing pause. But the scholar continued. with oreat earerness-
"You do not contradict my assertion. Very well! I go even further! My hypothesis may seem bold, but I am in a position to substantiate it by proof. I assert that Balaam was not the real name of your master. Balaam, 'the devourer of the people!' Can you conceive of a name like that for your master? Here is, in my opinion, a wilful distortion of the letters. The name may have been Bu-le-om, derived from the Greek, bou-lo-mai, or better, bou-lee-mai, which means about the same as 'counsellor.' Now, doesn't that make the whole matter much clearer?"
The scholar was apparently well satisfied with himself, and seemed to expect the unconditional agreement of our heroine. But in the midst of so much learning, she felt very uncomfortable and fearsome. She felt that the scholar by means of the immense amount of his learning, might be able to argue her back into the realm of fable or legend and with a hundred proofs conclude that she herself never had an existence. But, fortunately, at that moment a visitor was announced, and our heroine hastily, and greatly relieved, seized the opportunity to escape from the study.
Depressed in spirits by reason of her first attempt, our heroine was passing through the noisy streets when her eye felt upon a sign, in large letters, which read: "Editorial Rooms of the anti-Semitic Tageblatt."
“Ah,” she thought. “Here I will find my fortune”” With a sudden determination, she passed into the editorial rooms. Her entrance was unnoticed, for the noisy clatter of a pair of shears hurriedly cutting newspaper clippings, made it impossible for any one to note her entrance, Our heroine was obliged
to hem and haw several times before her presence was observed.
"Well?" asked a portly man, with a red nose, gruffly.
"I am the ass of the great Balaam, and should like to offer my services," she said, humbly.
“Ah, ha!” said the stout man, “I believe I have heard your name before! Your offer is accepted. You can go to your post at once. Let me see. I may get you to write a series of articles, say, on the spirit of deceit as evidenced in the ancient Hebrews. But as a start, I’ put you on as special correspondent to cover ritual murders. Are you familiar with Jewish cryptographyy? Do you know Eisenmenger, Roehling? What! What! What! No! That’s a horse of another color! It will bu a dificult matter! T’ll have to ask you to step next door for further information. Haven’t time just now— very busy—new Jewish scanda!—too busy !”
With that Red-Nose turned his back on our heroine, who stood there, abashed, not knowing what to make of the whole proceeding. She had failed again! What did he mean by those strange names she had never before heard? Our poor heroine became melancholy. She turned on her heel, and crept out of the editorial rooms of the Tageblatt.
In the midst of her sad reflection she came to a restaurant. Through the open doors she saw a vast room, and heard a tumult of voices. The atmosphere of smoke, beer and wine that hung over the room made it impossible, at the first glance, to distinguish anything. Finally she saw a man on a raised dias, hammering with his fist on a table and making the beer glasses dance. A few detached words came from him: “the peril of immigration;” “protection of home industries;” “self-help;” “conflict.” The last word seemed exceptionally pleasing to her audience. Thunderous applause followed it. Then the shout: “Three cheers for our valiant representative of the people!” Representative of the people !—that reminded her of the calling of her old master. And what he had said from the raised dias, were not those sentiments akin to the legacy of opinions she had inherited from the renowned Balaam?
She pushed her way into the room, past