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FOR SIX DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, THE LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage.

Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of THE LIVING AGE CO.

Single copies of THE LIVING AGE, 15 cents.

GEO. A. FOXCROFT, Manager Advertising Department, 36 Bromfield St., Room 3.


To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside.

Passing forever, he fares; and on either hand,

With him went smiles a few, and many tears,

And peace is sweeter far than those or these.

Deep in the gardens golden pavilions hide, Only-we owe him nothing. If he gave, Nestle in orchard bloom, and far on the

level land

Call him with lighted lamp in the eventide.

Thick as the stars at night when the moon

is down,

Pleasures assail him. He to his nobler fate

Fares; and but waves a hand as he passes


Cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate,

Sings but a boyish stave and his face is




Now veiled in the inviolable past Love lies asleep, who never more will wake;

Nor would you wake him, even for my sake

Who for your sake pray he sleep sound at last.

What good thing had we for him-we who bore

So long his yoke? what pleasant thing had we

That we should weep his deathlong sleep

to see,

Or call on Life to waken him once more?

A little joy he gave, and much of pain,
A little pleasure, and enduring grief,
One flower of joy, and pain piled sheaf
on sheaf,

Harvests of loss, for every bud of gain.

Yet where he lies in this deserted place Divided by his narrow grave we sit, Welded together by the depths of it, 'Watching the years pass, with averted face.

We do not mourn for him, for here is peace;

The old unrest frets not these empty


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A smile to kindle love, a tender look From lovelier depths than heaven's brightest blue;

One golden chapter in a dreary book,
And then life takes again its dull grey hue.
Yet if forgetfulness could make it bright,
Would we forego remembrance, if we

Chambers' Journal. MAUD ARNOLD.



Translated for THE LIVING AGE by Mary J.



Several months elapsed. Lutschkoff had not paid a single visit to the Perekatoffs, while Kister went there quite frequently. Nenila liked him; but it was her daughter who was the cause of his calls. An inexperienced, inuocent young fellow, he found special pleasure in a mutual exchange of thoughts and feelings, and in his kindly honesty believed in the possibility of a lofty, unsullied friendship between a young man and a young girl.

One day he drove his carriage, drawn by three well-fed, spirited horses, over to the Perekatoffs. It was a hot, sultry summer day. The sky was perfectly cloudless, but on the verge of the horizon a peculiar bluish mist was rising that betokened a thunder-storm. The house occupied by the family as a summer residence had been built by Perekatoff, and with the foresight peculiar to the nobility of the steppes he had so arranged it that the windows directly faced the sun.

Nenila had had all the blinds closed very early in the morning. Kister entered the cool, dusky drawing-room. The light flickered in long lines over the floor, but rested on the walls in short, broad bars. The young cornet was very cordially received by the family. After dinner Nenila retired to her chamber to rest a little while; Perekatoff made himself comfortable on the drawing-room sofa and Marja seated herself at the window behind her embroidery-frame. Kister took his place opposite to her.

Without closing the frame, Marja leaned against it, resting her head on her hands. Kister began to talk. The girl listened inattentively-it might have been supposed that she was waiting for something. Ever and anon she glanced at her father-suddenly she held out her hand.

"Listen, Fedor Fedorovitsch, but you must speak low, papa is asleep." In truth Perekatoff had fallen asleep as usual, and sat with his head thrown back and his mouth partly open. "What do you want?" asked Kister expectantly.

"You won't laugh at me?" "Pray don't suppose so."

Marja bent her head till her whole face except her forehead was hidden in her hands. Then, in a low tone, and with a somewhat embarrassed manner, she asked why he never brought Captain Lutschkoff with him.

This was not the first time that the girl had spoken of Lutschkoff since the ball.

Kister made no reply.

Marja glanced timidly up at him through her interlaced fingers. "May I tell you my opinion frankly?" asked Kister.

"Why not? Of course."

"It seems to me that Lutschkoff has made a deep impression upon you."

"Not at all!" she replied, bending her bead still lower as if to examine the pattern. A slender shaft of gold light flickered over her hair.

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"My, yes," she answered slowly, blushed to the roots of her hair, turned her head a little aside, and in this attitude continued: "He has something SO There, you are laughing," she suddenly added, locking sharply at the cornet.

A gentle smile was hovering around Kister's lips.

"I tell you everything that comes into my head," Marja continued. "I know you are a" (faithful friend to me, she was going to say) "you mean me well."

Kister bowed. Marja, in silence, timidly held out her hand to him, and he respectfully pressed her finger-tips.

"He must be very eccentric," she

remarked, leaning on her embroidery frame.


"Yes. He only interests me as an original," she added slyly.

"Lutschkoff is a peculiar, but noble fellow," replied Kister solemnly. "His comrades in the regiment do not know him; he is not valued as he deserves to be; they see nothing in him except the outer husk. True, he is somewhat odd and repellent, but his heart is in the right place."

Marja fairly devoured every word that fell from the young cornet's lips. "I'll bring him here with me. I'll tell him that he has no reason to be afraid of you; that it would be ridiculous to show diffidence. "I'll tell him-oh, I know exactly what I shall tell him. But you do not know that I—”

Kister became embarrassed; Marja, too, betrayed a feeling of confusion. "Well, no matter; if he only pleases you."

"Yes, as many others please me." Kister glanced shyly at her.

"Well, well," he went on, with a bright face; "I'll bring him with me." "But not so unceremoniously."

"Have no fear; I'll guarantee that it shall be managed in the most decorous way. I understand how to arrange it." "You are a- -" Marja began, smiling and shaking her finger at him; but she did not finish the sentence; her father yawned and opened his eyes.

"I almost believe I've had a little nap," he murmured in a tone of surprise, a remark he made daily.

Marja and Kister began to talk about Schiller.

But the cornet was not wholly at ease; a feeling akin to jealousy stirred in his breast, and in his magnanimity he reproached himself for it. Nenila returned to the drawing-room, and The shortly after tea was served. master of the house repeatedly made his dog jump over a cane and told the company what tricks he had taught the animal, while the latter wagged its tail knowingly and, blinking, licked its chops. As towards evening the heat moderated and a light breeze sprung

up, the whole family walked to a small grove of birch-trees near the mansion.

Kister scarcely turned his eyes away from Marja; it seemed as if he was constantly trying to assure her that be would conscientiously execute her commission. Marja was sometimes petulant, at others exuberantly gay. Suddenly Kister began to talk graudiloquently about love and friendship. All at once he perceived Nenila's keen, watchful eyes and hastily let the subject drop.

The sun sank bright and clear behind the horizon. A broad meadow stretched before the little grove of birches, and Marja suggested playing prisoners' base.

The servants were called, and Perekatoff took his place beside his wife, Kister by Marja. The servants, with faint, dutiful shouts, began to run; Perekatoff's valet had the impertinence to separate Nenila from her husband, and a chambermaid respectfully allowed her master to catch her; but Kister did not permit himself to be parted from Marja. Every time they placed themselves in a row he hurriedly whispered a few words to her. The young girl had flushed crimson from the exercise of running, listened to him with a smile, and constantly smoothed her hair with her hand.

After supper Kister drove away.

It was a still, clear, starry night. The young cornet bared his head. He was so agitated his heart almost ached. "Yes," he thought, "she loves him; and I-I must bring them together. Well, I will justify her confidence."

Although Marja had not yet plainly expressed her feeling for Lutschkoff, although according to her own assertion he had merely aroused her curiwhole osity, Kister had evolved a romance from her words, and was trying to determine what duties were his to fulfil. He resolved to sacrifice his own feelings. I can do so the more easily, he thought, because up to this time I have felt nothing for her save sincere, cordial friendship. Kister was really capable of sacrificing himself to He had friendship, recognized duty.

"You're in love with her, my beloved friend." the captain repeated.

"Oh! Alexis, you ought to be ashamed to say such a thing!" said Kister angrily.

Lutschkoff would have ridiculed any one else severely, but he exercised forbearance towards Kister.

"Well, well, he answered in a low tone, "don't be angry, Fedor; tell me what you have in your mind."

read a great deal, and therefore fancied that he possessed experience and shrewdness, he did not cherish the slightest doubt that all his suppositions would be correct; he did not suspect that life is infinitely manifold and never repeats itself. By degrees he became actually fired by the thought of his own self-sacrifice, and pondered with deep emotion over the task he was to perform. To be the mediator between a timid, loving girl and a man, who perhaps was rough and repellent only because it had never yet been granted him to feel and inspire love, to bring them together, make them understand their own feelings, and then retire without even letting them suspect how great a sacrifice he had made. What a glorious task! Spite of the coolness of the night, the noblehearted dreamer's cheeks glowed. Early the next morning he went to you have met with disappointments in Lutschkoff.

The latter, as usual, was lying on the sofa, smoking a pipe.

Kister bade him good-morning, and with a shade of formality, said:"I was at the Perekatoffs' yesterday."

"Ah!" replied Lutschkoff indifferently, yawning.

"Yes, they are splendid people." "Indeed!"

"We talked about you.”

"A great honor; with whom did you speak of me?"

"With the father, and the daughter, too."

"Ah, with the stout young lady." "She is a very beautiful girl, Lutschkoff."

"Oh! yes, they are all beautiful." "No, Lutschkoff, you don't know her. I assure you I have never met a girl so clever, good, and charming."

"You're in love with the little thing. my dear fellow," remarked Lutschkoff scornfully.

"Not at all. The idea doesn't enter my head."

"Fedor, you are in love."
"Nonsense! How could that be pos-


"Listen, Alexis," Kister continued warmly, seating himself by the captain, "You know I am fond of you." (Lutschkoff made a wry face.) "But, to be frank, there's one thing I don't like in you: namely, that you don't wish to become intimate with any one, but stay perpetually at home, avoiding intercourse with good people. For, after all, there really are good people still in the world! Come, granting that

life, that you have been cruelly treated; of course you needn't throw yourself into the arms of the first person you meet, but why do you turn away from every one? You might break friendship with me some day!"

Lutschkoff quietly went on smoking his pipe.

"The consequence is that nobody knows you, nobody except myself. Heaven knows what all the rest think of you! Alexis," Kister added after a short pause, "do you believe in virtue?"

"Why shouldn't I believe in virtue? Of course I do," murmured Lutschkoff.

Kister cordially pressed his hand.

"I should like to reconcile you to life," he continued in an agitated voice. "You must be cheerful, expand again, yes, yes, expand again. How happy that will make me! Only let me sometimes, at fitting opportunities, dispose of your time. To-day is-what? Monday. To-morrow will be Tuesday. Wednesday, yes, yes, Wednesday we'll drive over to the Perekatoffs. They will be glad to see you, and we'll spend a few pleasant hours there. Now let me smoke a pipe of tobacco."

Lutschkoff was still lying motionless on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Kis

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