A woman who had lain in torment a thousand years lifted her face toward heaven and cried to the Lord to set her free, for she could endure it no longer. And he looked down and said: "Can you remember one thing you did for a human being without reward in your earth life?" The woman groaned in bitter anguish, for she had lived in selfish ease; the neighbor had been nothing to her. "Was there not one? Think well!" "Once--it was nothing--I gave to a starving man a carrot, and he thanked me." "Bring, then, the carrot. Where is it?" "It is long since, Lord," she sobbed, "and it is lost." "Not so; witness of the one unselfish deed of your life, it could not perish. Go," said the Lord to an angel, "find the carrot and bring it here." The angel brought the carrot and held it over the bottomless pit, letting it down till it was within reach of the woman. "Cling to it," he said. She did as she was bidden, and found herself rising out of her misery. Now, when the other souls in torment saw her drawn upward, they seized her hands, her waist, her feet, her garments, and clung to them with despairing cries, so that there rose out of the pit an ever-lengthening chain of writhing, wailing humanity clinging to the frail root. Higher and higher it rose till it was half-way to heaven, and still its burden grew. The woman looked down, and fear and anger seized her--fear that the carrot would break, and anger at the meddling of those strangers who put her in peril. She struggled, and beat with hands and feet upon those below her. "Let go," she cried; "it is _my_ carrot." The words were hardly out of her mouth before the carrot broke, and she fell, with them all, back into torment, and the pit swallowed them up. * * * * * In a little German town the pious Rabbi Jisroel Isserlheim is deep in the study of the sacred writings, when of a sudden the Messiah stands before him. The time of trial of his people is past, so runs his message; that very evening he will come, and their sufferings will be over. He prays that his host will summon a carriage in which he may make his entry into town. Trembling with pride and joy, the rabbi falls at his feet and worships. But in the very act of rising doubts assail him. "Thou temptest me, Master!" he exclaims; "it is written that the Messiah shall come riding upon an ass." "Be it so. Send thou for the ass." But in all the countryside far and near no ass is to be found; the rabbi knows it. The Messiah waits. "Do you not see that you are barring the way with your scruples to the salvation you long for? The sun is far in the west; do not let it set, for if this day pass, the Jews must suffer for untold ages to come. Would you set an ass between me and the salvation of my people?" The man stands irresolute. "Ten minutes, and I must go," urges his visitor. But at last the rabbi has seen his duty clear. "No Messiah without the ass," he cries; and the Messiah goes on his way.