ths, the
crowd became frantic. And Uncle Maxim heard something familiar in
the playing of his nephew.

He saw a large, crowded street, and a clear, gay wave of scolding
and jesting humanity. Then, gradually, this picture faded into the
background. A groaning was heard. It detached itself from the clamor
of the crowd and passed through the hall in a sweet but powerful
note, which sobbed and moved one's heart. Maxim knew it well, this
sad melody: "Alms, alms for the poor blind man ... for the love of
Christ."

"He understands suffering," murmured the uncle. "He has had his
share, and that is why he can change it into music for this happy
audience."

"And the head of the old warrior sank on his breast. His work was
done. He had made a good man. He had not lived in vain. He had but
to look at the crowd to be convinced of that."

* * * * *

Korolenko belongs to the school of Turgenev. In all of his works he
remains true to the principles which his master summed up in a
letter: "One must penetrate the surroundings, and take life in all
its manifestations; decipher the laws by which it is governed; get
at the very essence of life, while remaining always within the
boundaries of truth; and finally, one must not be contented with a
superficial study."

Korolenko lives up to all of these principles. Without tiring, he
watches life in all of its phases. He uses a large canvas for his
studies of inanimate nature, as well as of individuals in particular
and the masses in general. That is why his work gives us such an
exact reproduction of life.

Like Turgenev, he describes nature admirably. His descriptions are
not irrelevant ornaments, but they constitute an organic and
integral part of the picture. In both Turgenev and Korolenko the
surrounding country reflects the feelings and emotions of the
heroes, and takes on a purely lyric character. One might almost say
that these country scenes breathe, speak a human language, and
whisper mysterious legends.

Korolenko has given us several splendid landscapes. In some of these
nature seems to be in a serene mood, like a good mother whose
harmonious strength attracts man and shows him the need of reposing
on her bosom. In others, nature is like a strong, free element which
incites man to lead an independent life. Thus, in the beautiful
prose poem, "The Moment," in which the action passes in Spain, it is
the ocean beating against the prison walls t