hearty, frank laugh of the young Cossack who enjoys life. All this is related in racy, expressive language, full of words peculiar to Little Russia, curious local expressions, and those affectionate diminutives quite impossible to translate or ex- press in a more formal language. Sometimes the author bursts forth in a poetical vein, when cer- tain impressions or scenes of his native country float before his eyes. At the beginning of his " Night in May " is this paragraph : — " Do you know the beauty of the nights of Ukraine ? The moon looks down from the deep, immeasurable vault, which is filled to overflowing and palpitating with its pure radiance. The earth is silver ; the air is deliciously cool, yet almost oppressive with perfume. Divine, enchanting night! The great forest trees, black, solemn, and still, reposing as if oppressed with thought, throw out their gigantic shadows. How silent are the ponds! Their dark waters are imprisoned within the vine- laden walls of the gardens. The little virgin forest of wild cherry and young plum-trees dip their dainty roots timidly into the cold waters; their murmuring leaves angrily shiver when a little cur- rent of the night wind stealthily creeps in to caress them. The distant horizon sleeps, but above it and overhead all is palpitating life ; august, triumphal, sublime ! Like the firmament, the soul seems to open into endless space ; silvery visions of grace and beauty arise before it. Oh! the charm of this divine night!
