ares sold within the house. The street is a
picture-gallery of the human requirements. The chosen people hurry to
and fro with curved backs and patient, suffering faces that bear the
mark of eighteen hundred years of persecution. No Christian would
assuredly be a Jew; and no Jew would be a Polish Jew if he could
possibly help it. For a Polish Jew must not leave the country, may not
even quit his native town, unless it suits a paternal government that he
should go elsewhere. He has no personal liberty, and may not exercise a
choice as to the clothes that he shall wear.

"I shall," said Miss Mangles, "write a paper on the Jewish question in
this country."

And Joseph changed the position of his cigar from the left-hand to the
right-hand corner of his mouth, very dexterously from within, with
his tongue. He saw no reason why Jooly should not write a paper on
the Semitic question in Russia, and read it to a greedy multitude in a
town-hall, provided that the town-hall was sufficiently far West.

"Seen the Senatorska, Netty?" he inquired. But Netty had not seen the
Senatorska, and did not know how to find it.

"Go out into the Faubourg," her uncle explained, "and just turn to the
left and follow all the other women. It is the street where the shops
are."

Two days later, when Miss Julie Mangles was writing her paper, Netty set
out to find the Senatorska. Miss Mangles was just putting down--as the
paper itself recorded--the hot impressions of the moment, gathered after
a walk down the Street of the Accursed. For they like their impressions
served hot out West, and this is a generation that prefers vividness to
accuracy.

Netty found the street quite easily. It was a sunny morning, and many
shoppers were abroad. In a degree she followed her uncle's instructions,
and instinct did the rest. For the Senatorska is not an easy street to
find. The entrance to it is narrow and unpromising, like either end of
Bond Street.

The Senatorska does not approach Bond Street or the Rue de la Paix, and
Netty, who knew those thoroughfares, seemed to find little to interest
her in the street where Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski--that weak
dreamer--built his great opera-house and cultivated the ballet. The
shops are, indeed, not worthy of a close attention, and Netty was
passing them indifferently enough when suddenly she became absorbed
in the wares of a silver-worker. Then she turned, with a little cry of
surprise, to find a gentleman