year a little more to it, contrived to squeeze out of the poor fellow’s hands almost all his earnings. Many and many a time have I seen the tears rolling down his cheeks as he saw that his hopes for the future were daily getting more indistinct, and that he had no prospect of becoming free and wedding Grushia. One day we found him sobbing bitterly over an open letter; he had just received it from his proprietor: it was, as usual, demanding _more abrock_, but, worse than all, it was an answer, to a proposition made by Madame regarding his purchase: she with her wonted kindness wished to render all her household as happy as it lay in her power to do, and had told Vassili to inquire what amount was necessary to make him a free man. The sum named was so exorbitant that it was beyond the lady’s means. Apparently his master was determined not to part with a property that afforded him so great an annual profit and the hopes of increasing it in future. The way the Russians treat their household servants is sometimes very amusing—exactly as if they were babies. One day the eight footmen, and the five other men-servants at Madame R.’s, all had new liveries. Being desirous to see how they looked, Madame ordered them all into her presence; they came, with the porter at their head: the lady bade them stand in a row, so that she might see the effect; and having had a good survey of the waistcoats, commanded them to turn about, which they did in true military order, and gave us a gratifying view of thirteen pairs of broad shoulders, all covered with light blue broadcloth of the best quality; they then marched out as if they had performed an exemplary duty. At another time the family was increased by a raw recruit of a lacquey, about six feet two high, who was endowed with the awkward habit of letting everything fall that he took in his fingers. After he had exhausted the patience of everybody in the house, he was told that the next time he gave us a specimen of his _mal-adresse_, he should be punished. The very next day, as he was handing the dish of fish to Madame, down went the elegant silver slice; after having picked it up with a very red face, he cast a terrified look on his master, expecting some awful retribution on his head for the sin he had committed; when the lady, turning to him, ordered him immediately to go and stand _in the corner_ for the rest of the time we should be at dinner. He obeyed with the most contrite face, and stood there like one of Madame Tussaud’s wax-work figures, without changing countenance or moving in the least. It was wonderful how the other servants could keep a serious expression. We were all nearly choked with suppressed laughter, it was so perfectly ridiculous.