of political wisdom which the Press-censure prevented him from publishing.  Besides this, he had the talent of saying sharp, satirical things about those in authority, in such a way that even a Press censor could not easily raise objections.  Articles written in this style were sure at that time to be popular, and his had a very great success.  He became a known man in literary circles, and for a time all went well.  But gradually he became less cautious, whilst the authorities became more vigilant.  Some copies of a violent seditious proclamation fell into the hands of the police, and it was generally believed that the document proceeded from the coterie to which he belonged.  From that moment he was carefully watched, till one night he was unexpectedly roused from his sleep by a gendarme and conveyed to the fortress.

When a man is arrested in this way for a real or supposed political offence, there are two modes of dealing with him.  He may be tried before a regular tribunal, or he may be dealt with “by administrative procedure” (administrativnym poryadkom).  In the former case he will, if convicted, be condemned to imprisonment for a certain term; or, if the offence be of a graver nature, he may be transported to Siberia either for a fixed period or for life.  By the administrative procedure he is simply removed without a trial to some distant town, and compelled to live there under police supervision during his Majesty’s pleasure.  Nikolai Ivan’itch was treated “administratively,” because the authorities, though convinced that he was a dangerous character, could not find sufficient evidence to procure his conviction before a court of justice.  For five years he lived under police supervision in a small town near the White Sea, and then one day he was informed, without any explanation, that he might go and live anywhere he pleased except in St. Petersburg and Moscow.

Since that time he has lived with his brother, and spends his time in brooding over his grievances and bewailing his shattered illusions.  He has lost none of that fluency which gained him an ephemeral literary reputation, and can speak by the hour on political and social questions to any one who will listen to him.  It is extremely difficult, however, to follow his discourses, and utterly impossible to retain them in the memory.  They belong to what may be called political metaphysics—­for though he professes to hold metaphysics in abhorrence, he is himself a thorough metaphysician in his modes of thought.  He lives, indeed, in a world of abstract conceptions, in which he can scarcely perceive concrete facts, and his arguments are always a kind of clever juggling with such equivocal, conventional terms as aristocracy, bourgeoisie, monarchy, and the like.  At concrete facts he arrives, not directly by observation, but by deductions from general principles, so that his facts can never by any possibility contradict his theories.  Then he has certain axioms which he tacitly assumes, and on which all his arguments are based; as, for instance, that everything to which the term “liberal” can be applied must necessarily be good at all times and under all conditions.