what it means, and how it happened, and once more and a second time, and all over again from the beginning! I beg of you--who set the whole thing going? A--woman! ELIEZER DAVID ROSENTHAL Born, 1861, in Chotin, Bessarabia; went to Breslau, Germany, in 1880, and pursued studies at the University; returned to Bessarabia in 1882; co-editor of the Bibliothek Dos Leben, published at Odessa, 1904, and Kishineff, 1905; writer of stories. SABBATH Friday evening! The room has been tidied, the table laid. Two Sabbath loaves have been placed upon it, and covered with a red napkin. At the two ends are two metal candlesticks, and between them two more of earthenware, with candles in them ready to be lighted. On the small sofa that stands by the stove lies a sick man covered up with a red quilt, from under the quilt appears a pale, emaciated face, with red patches on the dried-up cheeks and a black beard. The sufferer wears a nightcap, which shows part of his black hair and his black earlocks. There is no sign of life in his face, and only a faint one in his great, black eyes. On a chair by the couch sits a nine-year-old girl with damp locks, which have just been combed out in honor of Sabbath. She is barefoot, dressed only in a shirt and a frock. The child sits swinging her feet, absorbed in what she is doing; but all her movements are gentle and noiseless. The invalid coughed. "Kche, kche, kche, kche," came from the sofa. "What is it, Tate?" asked the little girl, swinging her feet. The invalid made no reply. He slowly raised his head with both hands, pulled down the nightcap, and coughed and coughed and coughed, hoarsely at first, then louder, the cough tearing at his sick chest and dinning in the ears. Then he sat up, and went on coughing and clearing his throat, till he had brought up the phlegm. The little girl continued to be absorbed in her work and to swing her feet, taking very little notice of her sick father. The invalid smoothed the creases in the cushion, laid his head down again, and closed his eyes. He lay thus for a few minutes, then he said quite quietly: "Leah!" "What is it, Tate?" inquired the child again, still swinging her feet. "Tell ... mother ... it is ... time to ... bless ... the candles...." The little girl never moved from her seat, but shouted through the open door into the shop: "Mother, shut up shop! Father says it's time for candle-blessing." "I'm coming, I'm coming," answered her mother from the shop. She quickly disposed of a few women customers: sold one a kopek's worth of tea, the other, two kopeks' worth of sugar, the third, two tallow candles. Then she closed the shutters and the street door, and came into the room. "You've drunk the glass of milk?" she inquired of the sick man. "Yes ... I have ... drunk it," he replied.