went off like rockets—were a development
of the following leading idea;

      I labour'd, gay and simple maid,
          To dig my plot of garden ground,
      When handsome Kouzma seized my spade,
          And twined his arm my waist around.
      I labour' d hard to sow the seed
          Of primrose, poppy, gilliflower.

All listened with great attention. He was
manifestly conscious of being in the presence
of experienced and competent judges; and
therefore, according to the popular expression,
his skin would not hold him. In fact, in
this part of Russia, acute connoisseurs of
vocal music are to be reckoned by hundreds;
and the large market-town of Serghievskoé,
situated on the high road to Orel, enjoys no
unmerited reputation when it is regarded as
the locality which takes precedence of the
whole of Russia for charming and melodious
vocal displays.

In spite of his feats of executive agility,
The Speculator sang for a considerable
time without producing any strong
impression upon his auditors. He wanted a
chorus to sustain him at each refrain, which
forms the first line of the stanza, substituting
the third person for the first: "She
labour'd, gay and simple maid." At last, at
the end of a difficult passage marvellously
surmounted, which made Dîkï-Bârine
himself smile with delight, Obaldouï could not
contain himself, but shouted a furious cry of
pleasure. All the rest were trembling with
joy. Obaldouï and Morgatch began following
the voice in muffled sounds, playing the part
of chorus; and, when the singer re-commenced
liis solo, they murmured, exclaiming in turn,
"Superb! " " That's it, you villain! " " Yes;
flourish away, again, you serpent! " " Ah!
you dog, sing your soul out! " " Cut along,
Herod! " and other compliments in a similar
style.

"You have given us a treat, brother!"
cried Obaldouï, without letting go the
singer, whom he held clasped in his arms.
"And such a treat! You have won, brother;
I congratulate you at once. The measure of
beer is yours."

"You sing well, brother; yes, I say well .'"
said Nikolai Ivanytch, with the air of a man
who knows the value of his words. " It is
your turn now, Jachka. Take pains; do
yourself justice."

Jachka put his hand to his throat, and
uttered a few unmeaning words, which
betrayed great agitation and timidity.

"If you ought to be afraid of anything, it
is of making believe that you are afraid. Let
us have no more beating the bush. Sing,
and sing as well as God will let you," said
Dîkï-Bârine, assuming the posture of a man
who expects his orders to be instantly
obeyed.

Jachka breathed in silence, looked around
linn, and covered with his left hand the
whole upper part of his countenance. All
present devoured him with their eyes, The
Speculator especially. The latter could not
utterly conceal, beneath the assurance which
was natural to him, and which was increased
by his recent triumph, the expression of a
vague uneasiness, the motive of which I
could not well unravel, when I beheld the
slight amount of courage manifested by his
competitor. He leaned his back against the
wall, and again thrust his open hands beneath
his thighs, and sat motionless. When Jachka
at last uncovered his face, the poor young
man was as pale as death; his eyes scarcely
glanced beyond his drooping eyelashes.

The singer sighed, took breath, and emitted
a note. This first note did not promise much;
it was weak, uneven, and, I thought, did not
come from the chest. The second note was
firmer and more prolonged. It was still
tremulous; but a third note came, purer,
fuller, and firmer. The singer then began to
warm, and his song warmed with him. It
had an eminently melancholy character; it
commenced thus:—

          "Many a path leads down to the mead."

The grace and richness of his intonations,
the finished shading of his performance, left
nothing to wish for. I had rarely heard a
voice of such exquisite freshness. There was
something timid and even slightly
intermittent in it,—a wailing accent which gave
pain at first; but you soon discovered, that
it was inspired by deep sentiment, passion, in
which youth, strength, and a charming
recklessness, seemed to melt and amalgamate with
some poignant sorrow. The melody swelled,
rose to a flood, and overflowed its banks to
a wide extent. It was evident that Jachka
was now under the influence of an inspiration.
He had no longer a trace of timidity.

Under the impression of his noble song,
my memory evoked a whole scene of the
past. I remembered that one evening, at the
hour of ebb-tide, on the immense shore of a
sea, which, as it retreated, growled and
threatened at a distance, seeming to say,
"To-morrow I shall return; beware! " I
saw an enormous white gull, which stood
motionless on the wave-wrinkled beach. It
turned its silky bosom to the purple light of
the west, and from time to time spread its
long wings, thus playing coquettishly with the
periodical changes which deprived it of its
two greatest friends, the distant sun and the
deep sea. I thought of that lovely bird, and
the deportment it displayed, as I listened
to Jachka, whose body stood motionless
before us in the midst of a country public-
house; but whose inspiration brought us
face to face with fathomless depths and
sublime perspectives. He sang on, and
had completely forgotten his rival and
every one else present; although, like an
agile swimmer, he was sustained on the
surface of the waves which he defied, by the