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BABKINO, June, 1886.

LOVE UNRIPPLED [Footnote: Parody of a feminine novel.]

(A NOVEL) Part I.

It was noon. … The setting sun with its crimson, fiery rays gilded the tops of pines, oaks, and fir-trees. … It was still; only in the air the birds were singing, and in the distance a hungry wolf howled mournfully. … The driver turned round and said:

“More snow has fallen, sir.”

“What?”

“I say, more snow has fallen.”

“Ah!”

Vladimir Sergeitch Tabatchin, who is the hero of our story, looked for the last time at the sun and expired.

A week passed. … Birds and corncrakes hovered, whistling, over a newly-made grave. The sun was shining. A young widow, bathed in tears, was standing by, and in her grief sopping her whole handkerchief. …