Some books are interesting because of their content alone; some only on account of the personality of their author: some for the reason that both the author and the content of his book are humanly valuable. Of the third distinction is “Contrite Hearts,” a story of Jewish life in Russia and the United States, by a writer who on occasion before has shown that he can use an alien language with simplicity and force. He has shown before also that he can present a picture of the people of his race without bias and with a due understanding of their defects and qualities. The Jew in America as presented in melodrama is a creation almost wholly of the romance spirit of the theatre. It is not to be denied that the prevalence of the very poor Jews in the lowest ranks of traffickers among men has provided an obvious type. In sharp contrast to this is the growing dominance of the Jew in the very highest ranks of commerce. Between the two must of necessity exist the Jew of the middle class; and all these varieties of the race have expanded to their utmost in the United States rather than in any other country. From a purely artistic standpoint, therefore, there is nothing more evident than that the field of Jewish manners and customs is wide and rich ground for the novelist. The transmutation in one generation of a peasant in Russia, with no rights beyond those of a street mongrel, to a man in the most advanced as well as the most vigorous civilization of the day, is material too obvious to be overlooked by the most casual scribe. Mr. Bernstein, while not a writer of dramatic quality has that quieter and more sincere gift native to Russians, whether Jew or Gentile, of presenting life as an actuality against the artificial background of the printed page. Many who are called novelists among ourselves, and who have never talked or written any language but English, could learn a good deal of simplicity from this foreign-born author. Of course, one runs across the traces of his birth in certain peculiarities that even constant practice cannot wear out. These blemishes, however, are never vulgar as are the strainful phases of an indigenous author who uses his language as a race-track tout spreads himself with the flashy colors and fabrics that the clothier and the haberdasher of his station provide. It is rather interesting to hear what one of the characters in “Contrite Hearts” has to say of this country.