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her words. So artfully did the nurse or tradition eliminate from the story all resem- blance to everyday life that the boy's keen intellect and imagination, fired by the device, remained enthralled until, in later years, he had come even to man's estate. As a matter of fact, the tale which the nurse thus lovingly related was the legend of the fool Emel that clever, biting satire upon our forefathers and, it may be, also upon our- selves. True, in proportion as he grew up, little Oblomov came to learn that no such things as rivers of honey and milk^ or even such persons as kind witches, really existed ; yet, though he came to smile at his nurse's stories, that smile was never wholly sincere, since always it would be accompanied by a sigh. For him the legend confounded itself with life, and, unconsciously, he found himself regretting that the legend differed from life, and that life differed from the legend. Involuntarily he would dream of Militrissa Kirbitievna, and feel attracted towards the country whereof nothing was known except that folk there went for walks, and were free from sorrow and care. Never could he rid himself of a longing to spend his days in lying upon the stove (even as the favourite of the legend had done),