uspended in the air? Yes, indeed!--to what fortunate
individual does this corner of the world belong? It belongs to Andrei
Ivanovitch Tientietnikov, landowner of the canton of Tremalakhan, and,
withal, a bachelor of about thirty.

Should my lady readers ask of me what manner of man is Tientietnikov,
and what are his attributes and peculiarities, I should refer them
to his neighbours. Of these, a member of the almost extinct tribe
of intelligent staff officers on the retired list once summed up
Tientietnikov in the phrase, "He is an absolute blockhead;" while a
General who resided ten versts away was heard to remark that "he is a
young man who, though not exactly a fool, has at least too much crowded
into his head. I myself might have been of use to him, for not only do
I maintain certain connections with St. Petersburg, but also--" And the
General left his sentence unfinished. Thirdly, a captain-superintendent
of rural police happened to remark in the course of conversation:
"To-morrow I must go and see Tientietnikov about his arrears." Lastly,
a peasant of Tientietnikov's own village, when asked what his barin was
like, returned no answer at all. All of which would appear to show that
Tientietnikov was not exactly looked upon with favour.

To speak dispassionately, however, he was not a bad sort of
fellow--merely a star-gazer; and since the world contains many watchers
of the skies, why should Tientietnikov not have been one of them?
However, let me describe in detail a specimen day of his existence--one
that will closely resemble the rest, and then the reader will be enabled
to judge of Tientietnikov's character, and how far his life corresponded
to the beauties of nature with which he lived surrounded.

On the morning of the specimen day in question he awoke very late, and,
raising himself to a sitting posture, rubbed his eyes. And since those
eyes were small, the process of rubbing them occupied a very long time,
and throughout its continuance there stood waiting by the door his
valet, Mikhailo, armed with a towel and basin. For one hour, for two
hours, did poor Mikhailo stand there: then he departed to the kitchen,
and returned to find his master still rubbing his eyes as he sat on the
bed. At length, however, Tientietnikov rose, washed himself, donned a
dressing-gown, and moved into the drawing-room for morning tea, coffee,
cocoa, and warm milk; of all of which he partook but sparingly, while
munching a piece of