fresh, curious--a generation which was
called heathens, insolent, fearless, devils, wretches. The Lord help and
preserve one from them.

"How does Isshur come to be an overlord? He is only a beadle. He ought
to serve us, and not we him. How long more will this old Isshur with the
long legs and big stick rule over us? The account. Where is the account?
We must have the account."

This was the demand of the new generation that was made up entirely of
heathens, insolent ones, fearless ones, devils and wretches. They
shouted in the yard of the synagogue at the top of their voices. Isshur
pretended to be deaf, and not to hear anything. Afterwards, he began
to drive them out of the yard. He extinguished the candles in the
synagogue, locked the door, and threw out the boys. Then he tried to
turn against them the anger of the householders of the village. He told
them of all their misdeeds--that they mocked at old people, and
ridiculed the committee-men. In proof of his assertions, he showed the
men a piece of paper that one of the boys had lost. On it was written a
little poem.

Who would have thought it? A foolish poem, and yet what excitement it
caused in the village--what a revolution. Oh! oh! It would have been
better if Isshur had not found it, or having found it, had not shown it
to the committee-men. It would have been far better for him. It may be
said that this song was the beginning of Isshur's end. The foolish
committee-men, instead of swallowing down the poem, and saying no more
about it, injured themselves by discussing it. They carried it about
from one to the other so long, until the people learnt it off by heart.
Some one sang it to an old melody. And it spread everywhere. Workmen
sang it at their work; cooks in their kitchens; young girls sitting on
the doorsteps; mothers sang their babies to sleep with it. The most
foolish song has a lot of power in it. When the throat is singing the
head is thinking. And it thinks so long until it arrives at a
conclusion. Thoughts whirl and whirl and fret one so long, until
something results. And when one's imagination is enkindled, a story is
sure to grow out of it.

The story that grew out of this song was fine and brief. You may listen
to it. It may come in useful to you some day.

* * *

The heathens, insolent ones, fearless ones, devils and wretches burrowed
so long, and worked so hard to overthrow Isshur, that they succeeded in
arriving at a certain road. Early