BARBARA ALEXIEVNA.

June 12th.

MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA--I had supposed that you meant to
describe our doings of the other day in verse; yet from you there
has arrived only a single sheet of writing. Nevertheless, I must
say that, little though you have put into your letter, that
little is not expressed with rare beauty and grace. Nature, your
descriptions of rural scenes, your analysis of your own feelings-
-the whole is beautifully written. Alas, I have no such talent!
Though I may fill a score of pages, nothing comes of it-- I might
as well never have put pen to paper. Yes, this I know from
experience.

You say, my darling, that I am kind and good, that I could not
harm my fellow-men, that I have power to comprehend the goodness
of God (as expressed in nature's handiwork), and so on. It may
all be so, my dearest one--it may all be exactly as you say.
Indeed, I think that you are right. But if so, the reason is that
when one reads such a letter as you have just sent me, one's
heart involuntarily softens, and affords entrance to thoughts of
a graver and weightier order. Listen, my darling; I have
something to tell you, my beloved one.

I will begin from the time when I was seventeen years old and
first entered the service--though I shall soon have completed my
thirtieth year of official activity. I may say that at first I
was much pleased with my new uniform; and, as I grew older, I
grew in mind, and fell to studying my fellow-men. Likewise I may