well what he had ordered the night before. "Now, people, you've slept enough! 'tis time! 'tis time! Water the horses! And where is the old woman!" (he generally called his wife so). "Be quick, old woman, get us something to eat the way is long."

The poor old woman, deprived of her last hope, slipped sadly into the cottage. While she, with tears, prepared what was needed for breakfast, Bulba distributed his orders, went to the stable, and selected his best trappings for his children with his own hand.

The collegians were suddenly transformed. Red morocco boots with silver heels took the place of their dirty old ones; trousers wide as the Black Sea, with thousands of folds and plaits, were supported by golden girdles; from the girdle hung a long, slender thong, with tassels, and other tinkling things, for pipes. The jacket of fiery red cloth was confined by a flowered belt; engraved Turkish pistols were thrust through the belt; their swords clanged at their heels. Their faces, already a little sunburnt, seemed to have grown handsomer and whiter; the little black mustaches now cast a more distinct shadow on this pallor and their strong, healthy, youthful complexions. They were very handsome in their black sheepskin caps, with gold crowns. When their poor mother saw them, she could not utter a word, and tears stood in her eyes.

"Now, sons, all is ready; no delay!" said Bulba at last. "Now we must all sit down together in accordance with our Christian custom before a journey." All sat down, not excepting the servants, who had been standing respectfully at the door.

"Now, mother, bless your children," said Bulba. "Pray God that they may fight bravely, always defend their knightly honor, always defend the faith of Christ; and if not, that they may die, so that their breath may not be longer in the world.”

"Come to your mother, children; a mother's prayer saves on land and sea."

The mother, weak as mothers are, embraced them, drew out two small images, and placed them, sobbing, on their necks. "May God's mother - keep you! Little sons, forget not your mother-send some little word of yourselves "-she could say

no more.

"Now, children, let us go," said Bulba.

At the door stood the horses ready saddled. Bulba sprang

upon his "Devil," which jumped madly back, feeling on his back a load of twelve poods, for Taras was extremely stout and heavy.

When the mother saw that her sons were also mounted on their horses, she flung herself toward the younger, whose features expressed somewhat more gentleness than those of the others. She grasped his stirrup, clung to his saddle, and, with despair in her eyes, would not loose him from her hands. Two stout Cossacks seized her carefully, and carried her into the cottage. But before they had passed through the gate, with the speed of a wild goat, quite disproportionate to her years, she rushed to the gate, with irresistible strength stopped a horse, and embraced one of her sons with mad, unconscious violence. Then they led her away again.

The young Cossacks rode on sadly, and repressed their tears out of fear of their father, who, on his side, was somewhat moved, although he strove not to show it. The day was gay, the green shone brightly, the birds twittered rather discordantly. They glanced back as they rode. Their farm seemed to have sunk into the earth. All that was visible above the surface were the two chimneys of their modest cottage, and the crests of the trees up whose trunks they had been used to climb like squirrels; before them still stretched the field by which they could recall the whole story of their lives, from the years when they rolled in its dewy grass, up to the years when they awaited in it a black-browed Cossack maiden, who ran timidly across it with her quick young feet. There is the pole above the well, with the telega wheel fastened on top, rising solitary against the sky; already the level which they have traversed appears a hill in the distance, and all has disappeared. Farewell, childhood, games, all, all, farewell!

MANILOFF AND HIS WIFE.

(From "Dead Souls.")

GOD alone, perhaps, can say what Maniloff's character was. There is a class of people known by the name of people who are neither one thing nor another. Possibly Maniloff should be counted among them. He was a well-favored man in personal appearance; his features were not lacking in agreeability, but this agreeability seemed rather too much permeated with

sugar; there was something about his manners and ways which sought favor and acquaintanceship. He smiled seductively, was of light complexion, and had blue eyes. You could not help saying, the first moment you spoke with him, "What a good and agreeable man!" The next moment you would say nothing; and at the third you would say, "The deuce knows what this fellow is like!" and you would go as far away from him as possible; and if you did not retreat, you would feel bored to death. From him you expect no quick or arrogant word, such as you may hear from almost any one if you touch upon a subject which offends him. Everybody has his hobby. One man's hobby turns to greyhounds; another thinks that he is a great lover of music, and is wonderfully sensitive to all its deep places; a third is a master of the art of dining daintily; a fourth can play a part higher than one assigned him if only by a couple of inches; a fifth, of more restricted desires, sleeps, and dreams how he may get a walk with a staff-adjutant, and show off before his friends, his acquaintances, and even those whom he does not know; a sixth is gifted with a hand which is beset with a supernatural desire to turn down the corner of some ace of diamonds or a deuce; while the hand of a seventh slips along to produce order somewhere, to get as near as possible to the persons of the post-station superintendent or of the postilion. In a word, every one has his peculiarity, but Maniloff had none. At home he said very little, and was mostly occupied in thought and meditation; but the subject of his thoughts was probably known to God alone. It is impossible to say that he busied himself with the management of his estate: he never even went into the fields, and affairs seemed to manage themselves. When the steward said, "It would be well, sir, to do so and so," "Yes; it would not be bad," was his customary reply, as he puffed away at his pipe, which had become a habit with him when he served in the army, where he was considered the most discreet, most delicate, and the most accomplished of officers. "Yes, it really would not be bad," he repeated.

When a muzhik came to him, and said, as he scratched the back of his head, "Master, let me leave my work, allow me to earn something."—"Go," he said, as he smoked his pipe; and it never entered his head that the muzhik had gone off on a drunken carouse. Sometimes, as he gazed from the veranda at the yard and the pond, he said that it would be well if an underground passage could be made of a sudden from the house, or if

a stone bridge were to be built across the pond with booths on each side, in which dealers might sit and sell the various small wares required by the peasants. At such times his eyes became particularly sweet, and his face assumed a most satisfied expression. However, all these projects were confined to words alone. There was forever something lacking in the house. In one room there was no furniture at all, though directly after his marriage he had said, "My love, we must see about putting some furniture into this room to-morrow, if only for a time."

His wife however, they were perfectly satisfied with each other. In spite of the fact that they had been married more than eight years, each was constantly offering the other a bit of apple, or a sugar-plum, or a nut, and saying, in a touchingly tender voice, expressive of the most perfect affection, "Open your little mouth, my soul, and I will put this tidbit in."

In a word, they were what is called happy. But it may be observed that there are many other occupations in a house besides kisses and surprises, and many different questions might be put. Why, for instance, did matters go on so stupidly and senselessly in the kitchen? Why was the store-room so empty? Why have a thief for a housekeeper? Why were the servants dirty and intoxicated? Why did all the house-servants sleep so unmercifully, and spend all the rest of the time in playing pranks? But all these are trivial subjects, for Madame Manilora was well educated; and a good education is received in boarding-schools, as is well known; and in boarding-schools, as is well known, three principal subjects constitute the foundation of human virtue - the French tongue, which is indispensable to family happiness; the piano-forte, to afford pleasant moments to a husband; and lastly the sphere of domestic management the knitting of purses and other surprises. Moreover, there are various perfections and changes in methods, especially at the present time: all this depends chiefly on the cleverness and qualities of the heads of the schools. In other boarding-schools it is so arranged that the piano-forte comes first, the French language next, and the domestic part last. And sometimes it is so arranged that the housekeeping department that is to say, the knitting of surprises-is first, then French, then the piano. Methods vary.

SCENE: A room in the house of the Chief of Police. Present: Chief of Police, Curator of Benevolent Institutions, Superintendent of Schools, Judge, Commissary of Police, Doctor, two Policemen.

Chief. I have summoned you, gentlemen, in order to communicate to you an unpleasant piece of news: an Inspector is coming.

Judge. What! An Inspector?

Chief. An Inspector from St. Petersburg, incognito. And with secret orders, to boot.

Judge. I thought so!

Curator. If there's not trouble, then I'm mistaken!
Superintendent. - Heavens! And with secret orders, too!

Chief. I foresaw it: all last night I was dreaming of two huge rats. I never saw such rats: they were black, and of supernatural size! They came, and smelled, and went away. I will read you the letter I have received from Andrei Ivan'itch Tchorikoff, whom you know, Artemiy Philip'itch. This is what he writes: "Dear friend, gossip, and benefactor!" [Mutters in an undertone as he runs his eye quickly over it.] "I hasten to inform you, among other things, that an official has arrived with orders to inspect the entire government, and our district in particular." [Raises his finger significantly.] "I have heard this from trustworthy people, although he represents himself as a private individual. As I know that you are not quite free from faults, since you are a sensible man, and do not like to let slip what runs into your hands.”— [Pauses.] Well, here are some remarks about his own affairs- "so I advise you to be on your guard: for he may arrive at any moment, if he is not already arrived and living somewhere incognito. Yesterday Well, what follows is about family matters "My sister Anna Kirilovna has come with her husband; Ivan Kirilitch has grown very fat, and still plays the violin" and so forth, and so forth. So there you have the whole matter.

Judge. Yes, the matter is so unusual, so remarkable; something unexpected.

Superintendent. And why? Anton Anton'itch, why is this? Why is the Inspector coming hither?