n for debt, when
the busybodies jump to the conclusion that he is the Inspector. The
Prefect and the other officials accept their suggestion in spite of the
traveler's plain statement as to his own identity as an uninfluential
citizen. They set about making the town presentable, entertain him,
bribe him against his will, and bow down before him. He enters into the
spirit of the thing after a brief delay, accepts the hospitality, asks
for loans, makes love to the Prefect's silly wife and daughter, betroths
himself to the latter, receives the petitions and the bribes of the
downtrodden townspeople, and goes off with the best post-horses the town
can furnish, ostensibly to ask the blessing of a rich old uncle on his
marriage. The Postmaster intercepts a cynically frank letter which the
man has written to a friend, and in which he heaps ridicule on his
credulous hosts. This opens their eyes at last, and at that moment, a
gendarme appears and announces that the Inspector has arrived. Tableau.

Gogol's two volumes of Little Russian Tales, above-mentioned, must
remain classics, and the volume of St. Petersburg Tales contains
essentially the same ingredients, so that they may be considered as a
whole. All the tales in the first two volumes are from his beloved
native Little Russia. Some are merely poetical renderings of popular
legends, counterparts of which are to be found in the folk-lore of many
lands; such are "Vy," and "St. John's Eve's" and the exquisite "May
Night," where the famous poetical spirit of the Ukraina (borderland) is
displayed in its fullest force and beauty. "Know ye the night of the
Ukraina?" he writes. "O, ye do not know the Ukraina night! Look upon it;
from the midst of the sky gazes the moon; the illimitable vault of
heaven has withdrawn into the far distance, has spread out still more
immeasurably; it burns and breathes; the earth is all bathed in silvery
light; and the air is wondrous, and cool, and perfumed, and full of
tenderness, and an ocean of sweet odors is abroad. A night divine! An
enchanting night! The forests stand motionless, inspired, full of
darkness, and cast forth a vast shadow. Calm and quiet are the pools;
the coldness and gloom of their waters is morosely hemmed in by the dark
green walls of gardens. The virgin copses of wild bird-cherry and black
cherry trees stretch forth their roots towards the coolness of the
springs, and from time to time their leaves whisper as though in anger
a