door. They threw themselves on Dostoevski's neck, congratulating him
with tears in their eyes. Nekrassov and his friend had begun to read
the novel late in the evening; they could not stop reading till they
came to the end, and they were both so deeply impressed by it that
they could not help going on this nocturnal expedition to see the
author and tell him what they felt. A few days later, Dostoevski was
introduced to the great critic of the time, Bielinski, and from him he
received the same warm reception. As to the reading public, the novel
produced quite a sensation."

The story "Poor Folk" is told in the highly artificial form of
letters, but is redeemed by its simplicity and deep tenderness.
Probably no man ever lived who had a bigger or warmer heart than
Dostoevski, and out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.
All the great qualities of the mature man are in this slender volume:
the wideness of his mercy, the great deeps of his pity, the
boundlessness of his sympathy, and his amazing spiritual force. If
ever there was a person who would forgive any human being anything
seventy times seven, that individual was Dostoevski. He never had to
learn the lesson of brotherly love by long years of experience: the
mystery of the Gospel, hidden from the wise and prudent, was revealed
to him as a babe. The language of these letters is so simple that a
child could understand every word; but the secrets of the human heart
are laid bare. The lover is a grey-haired old man, with the true
Slavonic genius for failure, and a hopeless drunkard; the young girl
is a veritable flower of the slums, shedding abroad the radiance and
perfume of her soul in a sullen and sodden environment. She has a
purity of soul that will not take pollution.

"See how this mere chance-sown deft-nursed seed