Please read it aloud.
I want Mr.Shatov to hear it too." With no little astonishment I read aloud the following missive: "To the Perfection, Miss Tushin.
"Gracious Lady "Lizaveta Nikolaevna! "Oh, she's a sweet queen, Lizaveta Tushin! When on side-saddle she gallops by, And in the breeze her fair tresses fly! Or when with her mother in church she bows low And on devout faces a red flush doth flow! Then for the joys of lawful wedlock I aspire, And follow her and her mother with tears of desire.
"Composed by an unlearned man in the midst of a discussion.
"Gracious Lady! "I pity myself above all men that I did not lose my arm at Sevastopol, not having been there at all, but served all the campaign delivering paltry provisions, which I look on as a degradation.

You are a goddess of antiquity, and I am nothing, but have had a glimpse of infinity.
Look on it as a poem and no more, for, after all, poetry is nonsense and justifies what would be considered impudence in prose.

Can the sun be angry with the infusoria if the latter composes verses to her from the drop of water, where there is a multitude of them if you look through the microscope?
Even the club for promoting humanity to the larger animals in tip-top society in Petersburg, which rightly feels compassion for dogs and horses, despises the brief infusoria making no reference to it whatever, because it is not big enough.

I'm not big enough either.
The idea of marriage might seem droll, but soon I shall have property worth two hundred souls through a misanthropist whom you ought to despise.

I can tell a lot and I can undertake to produce documents that would mean Siberia.