aware of the impropriety-not to say impossibility-of patching his over-coat any more. Then it was that this shy, hesitating, docile creature, nerved himself up to form a migthy resolution, to carry which into execution would require the labour and patience of years. He determined to leave off the old patched coat, and have a new, thickly-wadded cloak made. Receiving exactly ten roubles a month as salary-in English money say thirty shillings-he knew well enough what an ambitious scheme this was. He did not dare divulge so preposterous and bold a fancy to any of his comrades, lest they should laugh and call him a dreamer. He could not for an instant imagine that others would regard the one great event of his life as an ordinary prosaic transaction. From that day his being became, as 'it were, fuller: it was as though he had married, as if he had 'won the consent of some kindly woman to share with him the pleasures and sorrows of his life; and this newly-won wife was no other than that same cloak, of which he was ever dreaming, thickly wadded, well lined, and without a single 'patch. At the same time, he became less shy, more decided, more resolute in character, like a man whose whole soul is bent on the attainment of one definite object.' He at once began to practise the severest economy in order to save the necessary sum; out of every rouble he put by a half copeck, gave up drinking tea of an evening, left off writing by candle-light and went to bed directly it was dark, and was careful to walk as lightly as possible in the streets, avoiding every stone that was at all likely to make holes in his boots. His thrifty habits had in the end their full reward. The glad day arrived when Akákia could go and buy the new cloak. We can imagine the pride and joy with which he took the longest possible route to his office that all the world might note and envy him his new purchase; the delight with which after dinner he spread it out on his bed, and sat gazing at it till evening closed in; the glorious dream he dreamed that night, wherein he saw nothing but Akákias in every possible form and posture, all robed in the newest and brightest of cloaks. All this we may, perhaps, be able to imagine; but who can describe his utter desolation, when, on awaking the next morning, he discovered that his cloak-that cloak in which he had so fondly rejoiced, for which he had gladly spent years of patient self-denial-had been stolen during the night. There was great astonishment among his fellow-clerks for the next few days in consequence of Akákia, who was noted for his punctual attendance, failing to make his appearance at the usual hour. On the fifth day, a soldier was sent to his lodging, with an order from his chief that he desired

to see him immediately; but the messenger returned without Akákia. He can't come, your excellency.' 'Can't come; why 'not; can't come ?' 'Just so; he is dead; they buried him the 'day before yesterday.' And the name of Akákia Akakievitch was struck off the list of tchinórniks on active service.

We have already exceeded the limits at our disposal, though the subject is far from exhausted. Mírgorod,' 'Vie,' 'The Portrait,'Nevsky Prospect,' 'How Ivan Ivanovitch quarreled with Ivan Nikíevnovitch,' 'The Players'-these and other tales must, at least for the present, be passed over without a single remark. We have preferred dwelling on those of Gógol's stories, with which the English public as a rule is least acquainted, to speaking at length of his two great productions, 'The Revisor,' and 'The Dead Souls.' These have both been translated-though very badly-into our own language, and in that form at least, if not in the original Russian, have been generally read. A few hurried sentences are all we can devote to these two works, which might, not improperly, form the theme of a separate essay.

In 'The Revisor,' or, as the title might be rendered into English, 'Government Inspector,' we have an unsparing exposure of the cunning, fraud, and injustice that once characterized Russian official life in the provinces. A whole town is thrown into the greatest confusion by the sudden arrival of a Petersburg tchinóvnik, whom its authorities mistake for the revisor. For thirty years there has been no such personal supervision on the part of the Government, and their misdeeds are not of a nature to bear investigation. But its prefect is-to use the cant euphuism by which we now-a-days dignify knavery and want of principle-a man of infinite tact; and terrible as the emergency is, it does not find him unprepared. It is true that his misdoings are numerous. He has caused the wife of an underofficer, whose only offence was that she had refused to sully her honour, to be whipped; has laid a heavy black-mail on every tradesman for miles round; has appropriated to his own use the moneys designed for the repair and improvement of the town roads. But then, what hope can even a revisor have to outwit one who, as he himself tells us, 'for thirty years has been in the service, and not a single shopkeeper ever got the better of him, who has used rogues to cheat rogues, such knaves and scamps as would rob their own mothers, who has cheated 'three governor-generals: though, to be sure, there is not much to boast of in having cheated any number of governor'generals.' He has never yet found a good bribe to fail; why should it now? In spite of what Voltairians and such like

revolutionary atheists may say, Providence has so ordered the world, that it ever has been and ever will be divided into two classes, the bribers and the bribed. He accordingly sets about the task of inducing the supposed revisor to take a favourable view of things. This is no difficult matter, considering Chlestakóff's previous career and character. Aided by the coquettish smirkings of his daughter, the good prefecthaving in the meanwhile vowed to hang a taper three pounds in weight before the image of his favourite saint, should he escape his present danger-has the satisfaction of seeing all his plans crowned with success, when, in the very moment of his triumph, the error is discovered, the real revisor's arrival is announced, and Chlestakóff is stripped of the honours with which the credulity of his dupes had laden him. The punishment falls heavily on all; but to none is the disappointment so terribly galling as to the prefect. He, the cheat par excellence, to be cheated after thirty years' service by a common Petersburg tchinóvnik. We almost sympathise with him as he cries out in his rage, Here, look! let all the Christian world look, and see how a prefect has been fooled! Laugh at him for an ass, a poor 'old fool! You thick-nosed clod, to go and take an empty ' nincompoop like that for a man of rank! And to think that he is now with his brazen clapper tongueing it over the whole ' world!' One of the most amusing scenes in the comedy is where Bobtchínsky and Dobtchínsky-a kind of Dogberry and Verges-rush into the room where the prefect and his colleagues are assembled in order to announce Chlestakóff's arrival. They are both rare gossips, and it is not often that they have so wonderful a piece of news to tell. Most minutely do they give every particular as to how, when, and why they went into the inn; what the landlord, his wife, the ostlers, and every one in the house were doing; what they saw, and what they talked about. Each is perpetually interrupting, correcting, and supplementing the statements of the other; each wishes to be the historian, to be considered the principal and most important person in the affair. They are both burning with impatience to come to the point in the story, but it is long before either of them finds the heart to do so, such pleasure do they take in dwelling on the details and in playing with the curiosity of their audience.

In 'The Dead Souls,** Gógol presents to us various types of

Such is a literal translation of 'Mértviya Dúshe,' the title of this novel; but 'Dead Serfs' would better explain its meaning. The serfs were invariably spoken of as 'souls,' and previous to their emancipation a proprietor was said to be worth so many souls.'

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the pomiestchik, or small farmer class. As in all his works, the plot is extremely simple. We are not sure that the generality of subscribers to Mudie would allow it to be a novel at all. A certain Paul Ivanovitch Tchitchakoff, who has lost his place at the Custom House for various misdemeanours, hits upon an ingenious plan for retrieving his fortune. He visits different pomiestchiks, and proposes to buy of them the names of those serfs who had died since the last census, but for whom they had still to pay a tax, just as if they were living, up to the time when the government should order a new return to be made. Their names are solemnly inscribed on stamped papers, and made over with all due form to Paul Ivanovitch, who thus, at a trifling cost, obtains a formidable list of serfs, all represented as having been legally purchased by him with the intention of transferring them to his estate in the government of Chersousky. The estate is as imaginary as the serfs, but the papers enable him to borrow large sums of money on the credit of being proprietor, and the transaction is altogether an exceedingly profitable one. It is in the description of these farmers that the charm of the novel consists. Nothing can exceed the dramatic skill with which Gógol has portrayed the sentimental Mameloff, the listless Korobotchka, the rough Nezdioff, the stolid Sabekiévitch, or the miserly Ploúshkin. To select but one example. How admirably does Gógol contrast the neglected state into which their farm and everything connected with it had fallen, with the shabby finery and fashionable affectations which obtained in the household of Maméloff. For, it should be known, Madame Maméloff was what is called bien élevée. She had in her youth enjoyed the inestimable advantage of being brought up in one of the most exclusive and fashionable establishments for young ladies. In all such institutions there are three objects' regarded of the highest importance, and believed to constitute the basis of a sound moral education. First and foremost comes French, a fluent acquaintance with which language, and a current knowledge of whose light literature is absolutely necessary to the happiness and comfort of a family. Secondly, instruction on the piano, that the wife may be able to soothe and amuse the husband during his leisure moments. And lastly, a thorough acquaintance with the principles of household economy, understanding that word in its highest and most asthetical sense-the art of knitting tiny purses, or any of those wonderful ornaments for the drawingroom, which have not even the quality of prettiness to atone for their utter uselessness.

And with this sketch we conclude our brief review of Gógol

The Great Vatican MS. of the New Testament. 345

and his works. The time will come,' wrote Karamzin, 'when we shall cease to be intelligent only with a foreign intellect, to be glorious only with a foreign glory. The prediction has long been verified. But more than any other writer, Gógol contributed to accelerate the advent and consolidate the establishment of a thoroughly national Russian literature. It is this which, apart from their intrinsic merits, gives such a peculiar value to his productions; and it is for this that every cultured Russian will pronounce with fond pride and reverent homage the name of Nicholas Vasilievitch Gógol.

ART. III.-(1.) Novum Testamentum Vaticanum, post Angeli Maii aliorumque imperfectos labores, ex ipso codice edidit ANOTH. FRED. CONSTANT. TISCHENDORF. Lipsiae, 1867. 4to, pp. 334. (2.) A New Plea for the Authenticity of the Text of the Three Heavenly Witnesses. By the Rev. CHARLES FORSTER, B.D., Six Preacher of Canterbury Cathedral. Deighton, Bell, & Co., Cambridge. 1867. 8vo, pp. 271.

On the shelves of the Vatican Library stands a MS. volume, of which the Court of Rome may justly feel proud-the Vatican Greek Bible, containing, as is thought, the oldest copy of the New Testament in existence. All that the visitor usually sees of this precious volume is a thick quarto book, in bright red morocco binding, about 10 inches high, 10 broad, and 4 in thickness. Like all most ancient MSS., it is written on vellum. It contains three columns on every page; so that as it lies open it presents to the reader six columns. Throughout, it is written, not in the common Greek character which we find in printed Greek books, but in capital letters, of a somewhat peculiar shape. The words have no space between, but all run into one another, just as if each line formed one long word; thus-ΜΑΚΑΡΙΟΙΟΙΠΤΩΧΟΙΤΩ. Of course there is nothing like divisions of chapters, or verses; though each book is divided into paragraphs, marked in the margin by Greek letters.

The volume is by no means perfect. In the New Testament, with which alone we are concerned, the whole of the Apocalypse is wanting; so are the Pastoral Epistles, and part of the Epistle to the Hebrews.

Such is the great Vatican MS. of the Bible. It has been in the Papal Library some three or four hundred years; but whence it came, or where it was written, are questions which

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