"Mrs. Raluca, to-morrow afternoon my wife and I are going to our country-house--we will come and pick you up. In this way you will see how they cut down the wood on the right; you will see how the storks walk by the lake on the left; you will see how they have repaired the bridges; you will see how they have renovated the inn at the cross-gates; you will see what a nice house Ionitza Andrescu from Ulmi has built; you will see what big reservoirs the Aurora factory have erected by the road...." Mrs. Raluca understood and took her departure, telling her beads as she went, but even when she had passed into the third room Conu Costache still continued, while the others were convulsed with laughter: "You will see how illegible the figures on the 76 milestone have become; you will see how the boys have broken the insulators on the telegraph posts by throwing stones at them; you will see how the geese hiss when the carriage passes by; you will see----" Then, turning back to his partners, who laughed till the tears ran down their cheeks, he groaned: "Terrible bird of ill omen!" IRINEL By B. DELAVRANCEA When my parents died, both in the same year, I was quite small; I think I must have been about seven years old. I wanted to cry over them both, for I loved them both, but when I approached their coffin I was not alone. You must know that my father left a considerable fortune. There were many people about him who could not endure him. There was talk of a will. There was one member of the family about whom my father said: "It is so long since he crossed our threshold that I do not understand why he is so offended with us." It is unkind to tell you: it was his brother and my uncle, a very good man, with only one fault--he had lost his entire fortune at cards. I found among my father's papers a quantity of his I.O.U.'s, beautifully signed with flourishes, but unpaid. I approached the coffin; I was sure that I should weep as no one had ever wept before. My home without my parents! Some one took me by the hand, and said to me as he kissed me on both cheeks: "Iorgu, Iorgu, cry, Iorgu, for those who will never return!" It was he! The uncle of the promissory notes! Just when my eyes ought to have been full of tears, I caught sight of him, and when I looked round me and saw the other people, when I met so many pairs of eyes, then--I was ashamed and could not cry. Oh, it is a terrible thing to feel ashamed to cry when one is sorrowing! Do you see how shy I am? Have you grasped it? It is difficult to understand. It is difficult, because you, readers, are different. Not one of you are the same as I am. I was so good and timid that, when I completed my twenty-first year, I did not want to leave the guardianship of my eldest uncle, my mother's brother, a very gentle man like myself, and very shy like my mother.