The Coffin-Maker.
The last of the effects of the coffin-maker, Adrian
Prokhoroff, were placed upon the hearse, and a
couple of sorry-looking jades dragged themselves along for
the fourth time from Basmannaia to Nikitskaia, whither the
coffin-maker was removing with all his household. After
locking up the shop, he posted upon the door a placard
announcing that the house was to be let or sold, and then
made his way on foot to his new abode. On approaching
the little yellow house, which had so long captivated his
imagination, and which at last he had bought for a considerable
sum, the old coffin-maker was astonished to find that
his heart did not rejoice. When he crossed the unfamiliar
threshold and found his new home in the greatest confusion,
he sighed for his old hovel, where for eighteen years the
strictest order had prevailed. He began to scold his two
daughters and the servant for their slowness, and then set to
work to help them himself. Order was soon established;
the ark with the sacred images, the cupboard with the
crockery, the table, the sofa, and the bed occupied the
corners reserved for them in the back room; in the kitchen
and parlour were placed the articles comprising the stock-in-trade
of the master—coffins of all colours and of all sizes,
together with cupboards containing mourning hats, cloaks
and torches.
Over the door was placed a sign representing a fat Cupid with an inverted torch in his hand and bearing this inscrip-
