Hey, Cossak, not to battle rush The Delibash is swift as wind; Cut he will with crooked sabre From thy shoulders thy fearless head. They rush with yell: are hand to hand; And behold now what each befalls: Already speared the Delibash is Already headless the Cossak is! Notes. MY PEDIGREE. These lines owe their origin to a public attack on Pushkin by Bulgarin, a literary magnate of those days. Bulgarin disliked Pushkin and, therefore, saw no merit in his poetry. But unable to argue against his poetry, he argued against Pushkin's person, and abused the poet for his fondness to refer to his ancient ancestry. Stung to the quick by a childish paragraph in Bulgarin's organ, "The Northern Bee," Pushkin wrote these lines. But on their publication which, I think, took place some time after they were written, though they went into circulation immediately, they made much bad blood. The Menshchikofs did not like to be reminded of the cakes their ancestor sold, nor the Rasumofskys of the fact that their countship was earned by the good voice of the first of that name. And the Kutaissoffs did not like to be told that Count Kutaissoff was originally Paul's shoe-black. The very pride in his ancestors, which made Pushkin ridiculous in the eyes of his enemies, made him forget the fact that selling cakes and blacking shoes, even though they be an emperor's, is by no means a thing to be ashamed of; and that, even if it were a thing to be ashamed of, the descendants of evil-doers are by no means responsible for the deeds of their ancestors.... The poem, therefore, is an excellent document, not only for the history of the nobility of Russia, but also for that of poor Pushkin's soul. _Nobleman by cross._ There are two kinds of noblemen in Russia: those who inherit their title, and those who acquire it. Whoever attains a certain cross as a reward for his service under the government (not, alas, _the_ cross of true nobility, Christ's cross!) becomes thereby a "nobleman." _Our nobility but recent is: the more recent it, the nobler 't is._ This was written fifty years ago, and thousands of miles away from here. But one would almost believe these lines written in our day, and at no great distance from Commonwealth Avenue,--so true is it that man remains, after all, the same in all climes, at all times.... _Of Nizhny Novgorod the citizen plain._ The butcher Minin is here meant, who, with Prince Pozharsky, delivered Moscow from the Poles just before the Romanoffs were called to the throne. _We upon it laid our hands._ Six Pushkins signed this call, and two had to lay their hand to the paper, because they could not write their own names. _Simply Pushkin, not Moussin._ The Moussin-Pushkins of that day were a very rich and influential family. MY MONUMENT.