tened peoples of a twentieth century civilization.

What though it has no long past, America is the great land of the
future. Here let the Jew lay aside his burden of the time that has
gone and build anew into the time to come. Shall we regret, then, that
the Jewish student has taken on the polite address, the proud
carriage, the heartiness and the chuckle of his Yankee comrade? Should
he now keep the gabardine of his forefathers, yes, and the credulities
and ceremonies of a circumscribed and persecuted people? Why not
absorb that wholesome ruddiness, denied him so long, that breathes of
open American prairies, fair play, and the Declaration of
Independence?

_"The Goal of Twenty Centuries of Wandering"_

"FOXES have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of
man hath not where to lay his head." Of whom did the great prophet
speak more fittingly than of the children of his own race? Homeless
for two thousand years, persecuted, ostracized, their backs have
become bent and in the eyes of many they have become a nation of
religious fanatics and usurers, wily, unkempt. The Jewish youth of
to-day cannot look back upon his history of exile and say, as did
AEneas of old after seven long years of wandering: "It will be pleasant
to remember"--"forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit"; his trials have
been but too real and he has not recovered sufficiently to have any
desire to recall them. Blame him not then, if, when others from
obscure and semi-civilized quarters of the globe hail with pride their
ancestry, he alone, with the proudest traditions in history, will
sometimes seek to hide his descent. He still feels, moreover, some of
the old "wiliness" and "unkemptness" within himself; he thinks they
are of the Jews and of none others--and he wants to get rid of them.
He still feels some of the old usury in his bones, the clannishness,
the distrust of the world, which the squalid ghetto walls the Middle
Ages had built around his fathers have bequeathed to him, and he wants
to get rid of those. Shall we look askance at him then, if when the
American University welcomes him to her hearth--Ithaca, for example,
with her kindly professors and laughing girl students, her ball games,
her neat cottages and rolling hills that drink Cayuga's stream
beside--in the excess of eagerness he should sometimes break with,
yes, even forget his past, and dream new things? (Hills, cottages,
home and country; superfluous concepts we