or absorbed in other matters, like some child, who, when you are speaking to it, will be seen scanning with profound curiosity the seal which hangs from your watch.

The apartments occupied by this couple were small and low, just of the kind which people of the olden time delighted to inhabit. The tempera ture was warm, for these old people loved heat. The walls of their principal sitting-room were ornamented by a few pictures and engravings in old oaken frames. I am certain the proprietors of the house could scarcely have told you whom they were meant to represent. There were, among others, two large portraits painted in oil-one, an archbishop; the other, Peter III. Among the engravings there was the Duchess de la Valliere, considerably moth-eaten. Around the windows and above the doors were other prints, so black and stained that you would be disposed to take them for spots upon the wall. The ceiling was of terra-cotta, so admirably constructed that it might stand a comparison with that of any lord in the land. The chamber of Pulcheria was quite full of chests and boxes, both great and small; a number of little bags, filled with cucumber and melon seeds, were suspended from hooks in the ceiling; all the vacant spaces which were left by the heaps of boxes were filled with spindles of thread, bundles of rags, and other trifles of a quarter of a century old. Pulcheria was a great manager, and she collected about her every article which might by any possibility prove of future use. But what was most remarkable in the whole house was the peculiar noise made by the doors; from morning until evening it went sounding on. I cannot tell why the doors made this peculiar noise. Was it because the hinges were not properly oiled?—or did the carpenter by whom they were constructed introduce some secret machinery? But so it was. The door of the sleeping apartment had a weak and attenuated voice; that of the salle-a-manger, a deep and base one; as to that which closed the antechamber, it made a curious, trembling, plaintive sound, so that if one listened with attention it seemed to say, "I am cold-I am cold- I am frozen." I am not aware whether people like this voice of the door; for myself I am very partial to it; and

when it sometimes happens that I hear it at St. Petersburg, it is associated at once with the pleasant country life. The little chamber rises to my mind's eye; supper is on the table; near the open window through which the May moon is shining, a nightingale warbles his melody, and the trees are rustling pleasantly in the night-wind. Ah what a crowd of happy memories rush upon my mind.

The chairs of this old "ménage" were of wood, and massive as they were firmly made. They had high

carved backs, unpainted and without varnish. They were not even stuffed, but resembled those thrones upon which archbishops seat themselves. In the corners of the room were small

tables, and the mirror was set in a frame of carved leaves. The carpet was ornamented with birds that looked like flowers, and flowers which resembled birds. Such was the furniture of the room occupied by the master and mistress. The chamber of the servants was generally full of old and young women, clad in dresses of striped cotton. Pulcheria gave them sometimes trifles to sew, or fruit to clean, when their time was not otherwise engaged. Like a frugal housewife, she carried all the keys at her girdle, and kept a watchful eye upon the morals of her domestics; but notwithstanding all her vigilance, scarcely a month passed in which the shape of at least one of them did not increase visibly; and what was still more extraordinary, with the exception of a young gentleman who officiated as an errand-boy, there was not an unmarried man in or about the premises. The innocence of this youth was established beyond all reasonable doubt by the circumstance, that when he was not eating, he was generally asleep. Upon these grave occasions, Pulcheria solemnly reprimanded the guilty, warning her of what was about to happen, which the servant was probably as well aware of as her mistress

Athanase Ivanovitch did not trouble himself much about business. When he went occasionally to inspect his workmen, or visit his tenants, he looked at them with a sort of curious attention rather than any active interest. The whole weight of the domestic adminis tration fell upon Pulcheria. She was constantly occupied in opening and shutting the doors of the provisionchamber, in superintending the culi

nary operations, and in sorting the fruits and vegetables. Her house resembled the laboratory of a chemist. There was a fire always burning under the garden apple-roaster; a tripod of fire supported a copper preserving-pan, where preserves, jellies, and pastilles of honey and sugar were in various states of progress. Under a tree you might see them distilling eau-de-vie from peach-stones, making noyau from cherries, and other like operations. At the end of the work the cook would be reduced to such a condition that he could scarcely move his tongue, and would conduct himself in so absurd a manner, that Pulcheria generally dismissed him to sleep off his tipsiness in the kitchen. There was cooked and collected such a quantity of these delicacies, that the store-rooms would have been filled to overflowing, had they not been eaten by the servants, who, when they had once succeeded in mak.. ing good an entrance into the storeroom, usually complained of a pain in the stomach for the rest of the day.

As it was impossible Pulcheria could enter into the details of the farm, the steward, who was in league with the starosta, pillaged her without mercy. They were in the habit of cutting their master's wood, just as if it was their own. Upon one occasion Pulcheria expressed a desire to make a tour of inspection. The droschki was brought to the door, but its huge copper aprons made such a noise, that no sooner was the vehicle once in motion, than the strange sounds which proceeded from it might have been heard two versts off at the least. Pulcheria Ivanovna could not fail to perceive the destruction which had taken place, and the carrying away of the oaks which even in her youth she had remembered as a hundred years old.

"How is this, Nitchpor?" she said to the steward? "how is it these oaks have become so scarce. Take care of your horses- you may lose them too."

"Scarce, madam!" replied the steward; they have totally disappeared; a thunder-bolt has fallen upon them; the wolves have eaten them; in short, they have disappeared, madam-totally disappeared!"

Pulcheria Ivanovna was quite satis

fied with the reply; but on her return home she issued strict orders that the guard about the Spanish cherry-trees and the winter-pears should be doubled. These worthy agents, the steward and the starosta, presently discovered that there was no longer any occasion to bring all their farm-produce to the storehouse of their lord. They therefore contented themselves with the half, and consummated their villany by selecting this moiety from what they were unable to sell at market. But notwithstanding this systematic pillage, and the terrible voracity of the servants-notwithstanding the presents they made to their relatives and followers their thefts of household articles, the price of which was spent at the alehouse, and all their other misdeeds the fertile land produced everything in such abundance and the good people had so few wants, that all these depredations made no apparent alteration in their happiness.

Athanase and Pulcheria, according to the custom of people of the olden time, were fond of good living. When day broke (for they always rose early), and the doors commenced their discordant music, they made their toilette, and took their coffee. After breakfast the old gentleman sallied forth into the portico, and held a conference with his steward asked him about what was going on in the farm-made observations, and gave him such orders that you would have been surprised at his apparent knowledge of domestic economy, and a novice would probably have imagined it difficult to rob so shrewd a master. But his steward was a cunning old fox, accustomed to stand fire; he knew what he should answer, and what he should keep to himself. Athanase would then return to the apartment he had quitted, and say to his wife

An hour before dinner Athanase would be still at his breakfast; he would take a sip of eau-de-vie from an ancient silver goblet, by way of washing down the mushrooms and the other trifles with which he had amused his palate. Dinner was served about one o'clock. Besides the entrés and the sauces, the table was covered with a number of small jars, hermetically sealed, in order that their appetising contents should not evaporate. At table, the conversation generally turned upon the serious employment on which they were engaged.

"It seems to me this soup is a little burned. What is your opinion, Pul

cheria ?"

"By no means, Athanase. Put a little more pepper in it, or a drop of this mushroom-sauce."

"So be it," Athanase would reply, flourishing his napkin- now we shall see the result."

When dinner was over, Athanase went to rest for an hour; but Pulcheria Ivanovna, fetching a pasty halfcut, would interrupt his repose—

"See, Athanase, if this pasty is not good!"

"You should not trust too much to its red colour, Pulcheria Ivanovna," her lord would reply, taking a great slice; those which are red are very seldom worth much."

Meanwhile the pasty had disappeared. Afterwards Athanase Ivanovitch would eat a few pears, and then take a turn in the garden with his wife. Having finished their promenade, the good lady looked after her affairs; and her lord, seating himself on a corner of the balcony which overlooked the court, would amuse himself by watching the proceedings of his servants. Then, sending for Pulcheria Ivanovna, he would inquire

"What have you got to eat, Pulcheria Ivanovna?"

"What, indeed," she would reply, "but a few cakes of gooseberries that I have kept on purpose for you, Atha

nase Ivanovitch."

"Go for the gooseberry - cakes," Athanase would reply.

Perhaps you would like a little kissel."*

"That would by no means be bad," replied Athanase.

The cakes and the "kissel" would soon make their entrance, and as speedily disappear. Before supper, Athanase had another little collation.

At half-past nine supper was served. Immediately afterwards they retired to rest, and the most profound silence pervaded the whole establishment. The bedroom of Pulcheria was so warm that few people could have endured it for any length of time. But Athanase Ivanovitch, in order to be warmer still, slept upon a Russian stove, the temperature of which was so high that he was frequently obliged to get up during the night and walk about. While indulging in this recreation it was his custom to utter little groans.

"What is the matter with you?" Pulcheria would inquire.

"God knows," he would answer; "I think I feel rather uneasy about the stomach.”

"Perhaps you would like to eat something, Athanase Ivanovitch ?" "I do not know if it would be good for me; but what can be had ?" "A little warm milk, or some stewed pears."

"Ah, well! let us try."

A servant, more than half asleep, would then be despatched to the storeroom, and Athanase, having disposed of some of these little delicacies, would say that he felt considerably easier. Occasionally when the weather was finer than usual, and the heat of the apartment consequently greater, Athanase would amuse himself by rallying his wife.

"Tell me, Pulcheria Ivanovna, suppose the house were to take fire, what do you suppose would become of us ?"

"God would preserve us;" and the pious housewife made the sign of the

This charming couple were seen to most advantage when they received their visitors. On such occasions the entire aspect of the cottage underwent a change. They seemed to live but for their guests. The best of everything in the house was produced, and offered with a graceful empressment that was free from all affectation. The satisfaction they felt in overwhelming you with kindness was so sensibly expressed in their countenances that to refuse was almost impossible. No visitor was ever allowed to go away the day he arrived; it was absolutely necessary to spend at least one night at the cottage. "How could you think of setting out to travel such a distance at this late hour?" Pulcheria Ivanovna would say, on such occasions, although the visitor might not have more than three or four versts to go.

"Certainly," added Athanase Ivanovitch, "one cannot tell what might happen. You might be attacked by robbers, and the roads are in such bad order."

"Heaven preserve us from robbers!" Pulcheria would reply. "Why should you speak of such things at this late hour? It is not robbers that one has to fear, but the darkness of the night; and then your coachman, I know him well, he is so small and weak, and I am perfectly satisfied he has drunk more wine than is good for him; at this moment he is, most probably, fast asleep by the kitchen fire."

And so the visitor would have to remain. But an evening spent in the little warm room, the agreeable and friendly tone of the conversation, the appetizing odour of the plats which were preparing for supper; everything,

VOL. XLVI.—NO. CCLXXIII.

in short, amply repaid him for his complaisance.

I think I can see Athanase at this moment reclining in his easy-chair, as he listens with profound attention to the conversation of his guest; the old friendly smile is playing on his lips. The visitor, who has, perhaps, never left his country circle, indulges himself in political speculations, and relates, with a terrified and mysterious air, how the French and the English were secretly leagued to send the new Napoleon into Russia, and discerned the probable events of the war, which would certainly take place. Then Athanase, affecting not to look at his wife, would say

"I should certainly take an active part in the campaign—I could do a little fighting still."

"Don't believe a word he says,". Pulcheria would reply, addressing herself to the stranger. "How could he, such an old man, go to the war? The first soldier he met would kill him; yes, he would knock him on the head, and kill him at once."

"Nay," Athanase would reply, "it is I that would kill him."

"Only listen to what he says," Pulcheria would reply; "his pistols are. covered with rust and laid up in the storeroom ages ago. Would you like to see them? They are a pretty sight, and whoever tried to use them would, probably, be disfigured for the rest of his life."

"What of that? I can purchase new arms; a cossack lance or a sabre will answer my purpose well enough.".

"How ridiculous! He will talk about this new crochet for the next month," Pulcheria would reply, with a certain air of chagrin. "I know he is only in jest, but it is by no means agreeable to listen to such nonsense."

And Athanase, content with having thus rallied his wife, would smile pleasantly as he sat in his easy chair.

I would now present you with a picture of Pulcheria as she is entertaining a guest at breakfast. Taking in her hand a carafe, "There is eau de vie, made from menthe," she would say; "it is very good for a pain in the side; and here is some of another kind, famous for removing noises in the ears; and here is another still: it is distilled from peach-stones. Just try a drop; it has a wonderful fragrance." The good housewife would recommend each

Y

of her liqueurs in turn as being possessed of some curative quality. Having stuffed the guest with such-like medi. caments, she would lead him to a table covered with plates. "Here are mushrooms, with pepper and with cloves. I learned how to dress them from a Turkish lady, at the time when we had the Turkish prisoners. She was a very good woman, and you would never have perceived she was a heathen. She did everything like one of ourselves, only she abstained from meat, saying it was forbidden by their law."

Oh, you good, kind old friends! my story now approaches a very sad event which will disturb for ever the current of your tranquil lives in your pleasant retreat. It will seem extraordinary when we see what a trifling circumstance produced such an alteration.

By the strange disposition of sublunary events, causes, frequently almost imperceptible, lead to grave events, as vast enterprises not unfrequently terminate in results which are unimportant. A conqueror assembles all the forces of his empire, makes war for a succession of years, his generals cover themselves with glory, and the whole thing terminates, perhaps, in the acquisition of a scrap of ground where one could scarcely sow turnips. Again, on the contrary, two manufacturers of sausages quarrel about a trifle, and their dispute involves villages, cities, and whole states in conflagration. But let us leave these reflections, which are out of place here, and proceed with our narrative.

Pulcheria Ivanovna had a small grey cat, which spent the greater portion of its existence rolled up like a round ball at her feet; she loved to fondle and caress this animal, who became attached to its mistress after the fashion of its kind. One could scarcely say that the lady was very fond of this cat, but the habit of seeing it constantly had made this favourite almost a necessity of her existence. Athanase used frequently to rally her on the subject.

"What do you see in that ridiculous cat?" he would say. "What is it good for? A dog would be of some use-he might get us some game; but as for a

cat

"Hold your tongue, Athanase, you are too fond of talking. A dog would not be a proper companion for me; he would break and spoil everything; but

my cat is a quiet creature, who never does any one any harm."

In short, dog or cat, it mattered little to Athanase Ivanovitch; all he wanted was a text for his marital discourses.

Behind the garden there lay a large wood, which the speculating steward had left untouched, because the sound of his hatchet could scarcely fail of reaching the ears of his mistress. This wood was full of old trunks of trees, covered with yellow moss, and it was inhabited by a tribe of savage cats, of gaunt and hungry aspect, which would prowl about the premises at nightfall, uttering the most savage and appalling cries. They lived but by plunder and robbery, and were, in short, extremely ill-conducted. Some of these gentry succeeded in seducing Pulcheria's poor little favourite, just as a troop of soldiers corrupt the morals of some innocent village beauty. When the disappearance of her feline companion became known, Pulcheria caused a diligent search to be set on foot. Three days passed, and the good lady, who mourned her friend, ended by forgetting its existence. But one morning, as she was returning from the kitchen garden, whither she had been to gather cucumbers for her lord, a plaintive "mew" fell sadly upon the good lady's ear. Without thought she pronounced the words "kis, kis," and forth from the brambles leaped the little grey cat, so thin and so metamorphosed, that she could scarcely have known it. Pulcheria Ivanovna continued to call it, but the cat remained at a little distance, eying its mistress without venturing to ap proach her, so savage had it become since its flight. The lady went on; her favourite followed her with doubtful steps, and at last, when it recognised its former haunt, made up its mind to enter the room. Pulcheria had some bread and milk brought, and watched the cat as it fed, which caused it visibly to increase in size. She then stretched out her hand to caress it, but the ungrateful creature, which, according to all appearance, had been demoralised by its recent associations, and entertained the opinion, that poverty with love, was agreeable than comfort without it, leaped through the window, and was never seen again.

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The natives of Little Russia are verbially superstitious; Pulcheria was