Many of the intelligent and talented scholars would write trash; would write:—
"The fire broke out, they began to pull out the things, and I ran into the street."
And nothing of any consequence was produced, though the subject of the composition was rich, and the description of it may have made a deep impression on the scholars.
They would miss the chief thing: why they wrote, and what was the good of writing it? They did not comprehend the art of expressing life in words, and the fascination of this art. And, as I have already said in the second number, I tried many different experiments in the giving of subjects. I tried to gauge their inclinations, and gave them explicit, artistic, touching, ludicrous, or epic themes for compositions; but the thing did not work. Now I will tell how I accidentally discovered the true method.
For a long time the perusal of Snegiref's collection of proverbs has been one of my favorite, I will not say occupations, but passions. Every proverb brings up before me characters from among the people, and their actions, according to the sense of the proverb. Among my impossible dreams I have always thought of writing a series of either stories or plays founded on these proverbs.
Once last winter, after dinner, I was reading Snegiref's book, and I took the book with me to school. The class in the Russian language was in progress.
"Now write me something on a proverb," said I.
The best scholars, Fedka, Semka, and the others, pricked up their ears.
"What do you mean, 'on a proverb'?" "What is that?" "Tell us!" were the various exclamations.
I happened to open to the proverb: "He eats with your spoon and puts your eyes out with the handle."
"Now imagine," said I, "that a muzhik had taken in some old beggar; and then, after the kindness that he had received, the beggar had begun to revile him,
