't Napolevon
come to an evil end at last, as the devil's servants always do? Didn't we
beat him and take him prisoner? and wasn't he chained to a rock in the
middle of the sea, beyond thrice nine lands, and kept there till he
rotted?"

"You speak truth, Brother Pavel; and it served him right, too, the
accursed infidel! for burning our churches and blaspheming the orthodox
faith."

Then follows a short pause, during which the two speakers sip their tea
with genuine Russian enjoyment. At length, Yakov Andreievitch breaks the
silence by saying, in a reverential undertone, "Tell me now, Pavel
Petrovitch--you who know everything--how _did_ the Nyemtzi manage to take
Paris-Gorod if it was such a strong place? I've heard our folks in the
village talk about it, but I couldn't quite make out what they
said--something about trenches, and a bom--bom--"

"Bombardirovanie (bombardment) you mean," suggested his companion, rolling
out the magnificent polysyllable with unmistakable enjoyment.

"That's it!" says the other, visibly relieved at being helped over this
awkward place. "Now, tell me, please, Pavel Petrovitch, what _is_ a
bombardment? Something to do with firing guns, hasn't it?"

"I'll explain all that to you in two words, brother," answers the oracle
in a tone of indulgent superiority. "Here, we'll say, is the town--this
tumbler here; and these four lumps of sugar round it, here, and here, and
here, are the enemy. Well, then, you see, the enemy begin firing their
great cannon at the walls to try and knock them down; and then the
soldiers inside dig little holes in the ground, called trenches, and
burrow in them to avoid the cannon-balls. Then the people outside
here--the besiegers, you know--fire great round things, called bombs,
straight up in the air, so as to fall right into these holes, as you'd put
a cork in a bottle, and smother the men in them; and when they're all dead
the town gives in; and that's called a bombardment."

"Gospodi ponilni!" (Lord have mercy!), cries the startled listener. "What
strange things there are in this world, to be sure!--Well, Pavel
Petrovitch, it's time for us to be going; so let's have one more little
glass together and be off."

DAVID KER.

THE NEW SOPRANO.

"Try that chair by the fire, Steve, and comfort your soles on the mantel
while I unearth a pair of slippers for you. I've a small mound of them in
the closet, built up of the individual gifts of 'grateful pupils.'