talent—­it still hangs in the sitting-room—­and he bought several pieces of Sevres ware, the last of which stands on a commode in the corner and contrasts strangely with the rude home-made furniture and squalid appearance of the apartment.  Among the books which bear his name are the tragedies of Sumarokof, who imagined himself to be “the Russian Voltaire”; the amusing comedies of Von-Wisin, some of which still keep the stage; the loud-sounding odes of the courtly Derzhavin; two or three books containing the mystic wisdom of Freemasonry as interpreted by Schwarz and Novikoff; Russian translations of Richardson’s “Pamela,” “Sir Charles Grandison,” and “Clarissa Harlowe”; Rousseau’s “Nouvelle Heloise,” in Russian garb; and three or four volumes of Voltaire in the original.  Among the works collected at a somewhat later period are translations of Ann Radcliffe, of Scott’s early novels, and of Ducray Dumenil, whose stories, “Lolotte et Fanfan” and “Victor,” once enjoyed a great reputation.  At this point the literary tastes of the family appear to have died out, for the succeeding literature is represented exclusively by Kryloff’s Fables, a farmer’s manual, a handbook of family medicine, and a series of calendars.  There are, however, some signs of a revival, for on the lowest shelf stand recent editions of Pushkin, Lermontof, and Gogol, and a few works by living authors.

Sometimes the monotony of the winter is broken by visiting neighbours and receiving visitors in return, or in a more decided way by a visit of a few days to the capital of the province.  In the latter case Maria Petrovna spends nearly all her time in shopping, and brings home a large collection of miscellaneous articles.  The inspection of these by the assembled family forms an important domestic event, which completely throws into the shade the occasional visits of peddlers and colporteurs.  Then there are the festivities at Christmas and Easter, and occasionally little incidents of less agreeable kind.  It may be that there is a heavy fall of snow, so that it is necessary to cut roads to the kitchen and stables; or wolves enter the courtyard at night and have a fight with the watch-dogs; or the news is brought that a peasant who had been drinking in a neighbouring village has been found frozen to death on the road.

Altogether the family live a very isolated life, but they have one bond of connection with the great outer world.  Two of the sons are officers in the army and both of them write home occasionally to their mother and sisters.  To these two youths is devoted all the little stock of sentimentality which Maria Petrovna possesses.  She can talk of them by the hour to any one who will listen to her, and has related to the Popadya a hundred times every trivial incident of their lives.  Though they have never given her much cause for anxiety, and they are now men of middle age, she lives in constant fear that some evil may befall them.  What she most fears is that