Tchichikoff assured the old miser of his readiness to conclude the contract that very minute, and only demanded a list of all the peasants that were now to become his property.

This readiness considerably tranquillized Pluschkin. It was obvious that he was trying to remember or do something, and really, after a few moments of reflection and hesitation, he approached his cupboard, produced a bunch of keys, and opened the glass doors of it, he was a considerable time in removing a number of decanters, wine glasses, and cups, and at last exclaimed: "It is impossible for me to find it now, I had some sweet liquors of cream, provided my servants have not drunk it! they are so disobedient! Ah, should this perhaps be it?"

Tchichikoff now beheld a small decanter in his hands, which was thickly covered by a coat of dust. "This was distilled by my late and much lamented wife," continued Pluschkin; "my roguish housekeeper seems to have completely mislaid it, and has not even put the cork in, the negligent old wretch! Cobwebs, spiders, and dies have fallen into the bottle, however, I have removed them, and will now pour out some for you, a nice and dean glass full."

But Tchichikoff respectfully declined to taste any of such liquor, saying that he had already been eating and drinking.

"You have already been eating and drinking;" said Pluschkin. "Yes, truly, a well-bred man may be recognised by the smallest trifles; he does not eat, and yet is fed; but when some of those hungry and dishonest run-abouts come, you may feed them as long as you like. The Captain for instance—who visits me by far too often; \'dear uncle,\' he is accustomed to say, \'pray let me have first something to eat!\' and after all, I am as dear an uncle to him as he is a nephew to me. I have not the least doubt, but the young fellow has nothing to eat at home, and of course keeps annoying me, and running about everywhere. But, by the bye, I think you will require a list of all these idlers? To be sure, whenever one of them died, I made it a point to note down his name, so as to have them ready for being scratched off at the approaching census."

Pluschkin while saying this, put on a pair of wretched spectacles, and began to stir about in a heap of papers. In untying various packages, he treated his guest to such a cloud of dust, that he made him sneeze. At last he produced a slip of paper, written upon on every available space. The names of the dead serfs covered it as thickly as mushrooms. There were Christian and family names of every kind and length, such as Ponomareff, Pimenoff, Semenoff, and Panteleimonoff, and even the long name of Gregory Dogeschainedogedish; in all more than a hundred-and-twenty different names.

Tchichikoff smiled with inward satisfaction at the sight of such a number. Securing this curious document, and putting it in his pocket, he made the observation to Pluschkin, that he would have to come to town in order to conclude, in a legal manner, the contract of sale of these dead serfs.

"Go to town, but how? how am I to leave my house? my servants are one and all either thieves or scoundrels, in a day they would be capable of robbing me so well, that on my return I should not be able even to find a nail to bang my coat upon."

"In that case, you have perhaps a friend in town?"

"Yes, to be sure, a friend, but to whom? All my acquaintances have died, or have forgotten me; but stop, my good Sir! I now remember one, how should I not have a friend, to be sure I have one!" exclaimed the old man suddenly. "I am on friendly terms with the President, he used to visit me often in bygone years, how should I not know him, or he me! we were like wheels of the same carriage, always together, up to any mischief! how should we not know one another? he is my best friend! would you advise me to entrust him with this business?"

"I advise you most certainly to do so," replied Tchichikoff.

"Then I will write to him, because he is a very intimate friend of mine! indeed, now I remember it, our friendship dates from our childhood, we were intimate school-fellows."

And suddenly over this wooden parchment-like face a warm flush passed, but it did not express feelings of a pleasant recollection, no, only something like a faint shadow of real feeling, an apparition similar to the unexpected appearance of a drowning man above the surface of the water, who causes a shout of joy among the crowd gathered along the shores. But unavailingly do his suddenly rejoiced brothers and sisters throw out cords and ropes to his assistance, hoping to see once more his head, or outstretched hands, trying to seize it—alas! it was his last re-appearance. All is silent, and the now silent and smooth element becomes but more ominous and terrifying. Something analogous was also visible in the expression of Pluschkin\'s features, after a momentary flush of sensibility, the expression of his face became but more unfeeling and repulsive.

"There was a sheet of note-paper lying on the table," he said, "but I wonder what has become of it; you have no idea how impudent my servants are!"

Hereupon he began anxiously to look about, under the table, upon the table, stirring about everything, but at last, not being able to find it, he shouted as loud as he could:

"Mavra! halloa, Mavra!"

Upon this call, a woman servant entered the room, holding a plate in her hands, upon which lay the well-known Easter-cake of his daughter Alexandra. The following conversation took place between them:

"You magpie! tell me immediately where you have put the sheet of note-paper, that was lying here upon my table?"

"Good Heavens, Sir, do not be alarmed, but I really have not seen it, excepting a small piece with which you covered a wine-glass the other day."

"I see clearly by your eyes and countenance that it is you who have surely taken it."

"For what purpose should I have done so? It could have been no use whatever to me, for I cannot read nor write."

"Tis a falsehood, you have taken it and carried it to your cousin, Karpuschka, the carpenter, I know him to be a scribbler and of course you have given it to him."

"That I have not, and besides if my cousin wanted some paper, he has the means to buy it,-for he is a good workman and can earn sufficient to pay for it. No, it is not he who has your paper."

"Mind what you are saying and doing, for on the day of judgment the demons will torment you, yes it is with iron rods that they will scourge you! you may depend upon it they will punish you for your wickedness in this world!"

"But why should they scourge me, when I never even touched your slip of paper? I may, perhaps, like other women, have my faults, but I have never been accused of theft before."

"The demons are sure to scourge you, and say besides: \'that is what you deserve you wicked woman for betraying and deceiving your lawful master, yes, it is with red-hot iron rods that they will torment you!\'"

"And I shall proclaim my innocence;" added the poor woman crying, "I shall invoke Heaven and declare that I did not touch or take any of your property. And here it lies upon the table. You always scold and accuse us though we are innocent!"

Pluschkin now really beheld the note-paper before him, and for a moment he stopped short, whilst chewing with his lips, then he added:

"Well, why are you so excited? what a talkative woman you are to be sure! Scarcely have I spoken a word to you, when you are ready with ten answers! Go and fetch me a light to seal my letters with. But no, stop, you are sure to lay hold of a tallow candle, grease melts: it will be a loss; bring me a pine-torch."

Mavra left the room, Pluschkin seated himself in an arm-chair and taking a pen up, he kept turning the sheet of note-paper for a considerable time in his hand, thinking at the time, could it not be possible to save the half or a portion of the paper, but at last he felt convinced that it was an impossibility; he therefore dipped his pen into the ink-stand and into a mouldy fluid, at the bottom of which there were numerous dead flies, he began to write; his letters were very much like music-notes, he was obliged to stop at each pen stroke, for his hand shook and trembled violently over the paper, and the progress of his writing and increase of lines was very slow indeed, for he could not help thinking and regretting, that much of the paper before him would have to remain unwritten upon.

And to such a degree of meanness and degradation could a well-born man degenerate! undergo such a change! But is this like truth, like reality? All approaches truth and reality, for a human being is liable to undergo incredible changes. The youth of this day would start back horrified if the portrait of his old age could be shown to him. Oh! gather on our way—as you leave your downy pillow to start and enter into harsh and hardening manhood—gather up a............