Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 10, 2025
For the moment he was the only possible leader, and they were sufficiently Jesuitic to use the Devil himself for good ends. Though Wolf would not give up a Friday-night meeting especially valuable, as permitting of the attendance of tailors who had not yet struck Pinchas's politic advice had not failed to make an impression.
He had scored a victory, and triumph lent him added eloquence. When he ceased he left his audience in a frenzy of resolution and loyalty. In the flush of conscious power and freshly added influence, he found a niche for Pinchas's oratory. "Brethren in exile," said the poet in his best Yiddish.
Like so many reformers who have started with blatant atheism, he was beginning to see the insignificance of irreligious dissent as compared with the solution of the social problem, and Pinchas's seed had fallen on ready soil. As a labor-leader, pure and simple, he could count upon a far larger following than as a preacher of militant impiety.
The sub-editor immediately hurried out to get a cup of tea. Pinchas had fastened upon him the responsibility for the omission of an article last week, and had come to believe that he was in league with rival Continental scholars to keep Melchitsedek Pinchas's effusions out of print, and so little Sampson dared not face the angry savant. Raphael, thus deserted, cowered in his chair.
Kloot had been glad that the Journalist had left before the episode; but when he saw the account he wished the scribe had stayed. 'He won't play Hamlet with that pair of shiners, Pinchas prophesied early the next morning to the supping café. Radsikoff beamed and refilled Pinchas's glass with champagne.
Work for Socialism that pleases the Almighty. The Messiah will be a Socialist." There were mingled sounds, men asking each other dubiously, "What says he?" They began to sniff brimstone. Wolf, shifting uneasily on his chair, kicked the poet's leg in reminder of his own warning. But Pinchas's head was touching the stars again.
"Please be careful that Pinchas's autobiography does not crowd that out," he said. Pinchas arrived late, when little Sampson was almost in despair. "It is all right." he shouted, waving a roll of manuscript. "I have him from the cradle the stupid stockbroker, the Man-of-the-Earth, who sent me back my poesie, and vould not let me teach his boy Judaism.
"You will tell her that what I wrote to her is not a millionth part of what I feel that she is my sun by day and my moon and stars by night, that I must marry her at once or die, that I think of nothing in the world but her, that I can do, write, plan, nothing without her, that once she smiles on me I will write her great love-poems, greater than Byron's, greater than Heine's the real Song of Songs, which is Pinchas's that I will make her immortal as Dante made Beatrice, as Petrarch made Laura, that I walk about wretched, bedewing the pavements with my tears, that I sleep not by night nor eat by day you will tell her this?"
You are to edit the next number." Pinchas's head shot up like a catapult. He bounded to his feet, then bent down again to Raphael's coat-tail and kissed it passionately. "Ah, my benefactor, my benefactor!" he cried, in a joyous frenzy. "Now vill I give it to English Judaism. She is in my power. Oh, my benefactor!" "No, no," said Raphael, disengaging himself. "I have nothing to do with it."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking