The ground was laid out with walks; the tombstones were of every possible strange device, and crowded together in a way which would have been far from pleasing to some of the more aristocratic inhabitants in their lifetime; but the monkish sexton in his own graveyard read the lesson to visitors, often uttered before, that death is a leveller of all ranks, and no respecter of persons.

When the travellers thanked the young moppy-haired monk for his attention, he replied that it was his duty, as it was his pleasure, to show his convent, and seemed in no way to expect any remuneration. The Imperial family, it is said, have no affection for the monkish orders; indeed, the feeling of dislike is mutual. They predicted the overthrow of the Russian armies in the Crimea, and the death of the Emperor—the wish probably being the father of the prophecy.

In their way through the city the travellers entered an Armenian church. It was ornamented with pictures of saints, like those of a Roman Catholic place of worship; but the pulpit was in a conspicuous place, as if preaching was not altogether neglected; and there were chairs inside the altar railings for the Patriarch and other ecclesiastical functionaries.

The style of ornaments about the church showed that the Armenian community were either not wealthy or not disposed to spend much money on the edifice. It, however, spoke of a purer faith than that of the Greek Church.

After dining, our friends set out, and drove along the high road to Saint Petersburg, towards the Petrofsky Palace. Every part of the way, from the Kremlin to the Gate of Triumph at the entrance of the city, was lined with scaffolding and seats, in preparation for the coronation, to enable the lieges "to see great Caesar pass that way" from his palace of Petrofsky, where he was to reside three days before entering the Holy City to undergo the ceremony of his coronation.

The Gate of Triumph, which forms the northern entrance to the city, is built of stone, after the model of one at Rome, but with a taste which would make a Roman stare. All the statues and ornaments about it are painted of every variety of colour, so that it has the appearance of a wooden structure put up by the rustic inhabitants of some country village to welcome the lord of the estate.

The Palace of Petrofsky is itself a curious sight. It is a huge pile, of a bright red colour, intermingled with white, and covered with every conceivable device in the way of ornament. It has circular walls projecting out in front from the main building, in shape and colour very like lobsters' claws, and there are the brightest green roofs, and numberless domes, and cupolas, and minarets, and towers, and spires, covered with burnished gold, which make one suppose that a very rich man must live within. On a wide, open space in front of the palace, wonderfully grand preparations were making for a fete which was to be given to the people on the occasion of the coronation.

At a short distance before the palace stood a magnificent pavilion, intended to hold the Imperial family. A little of the woodwork yet unpainted showed that it was not a solid structure of stone. No people can equal the Russians in making the false pass for the real. On either side of the pavilion were others, each of a different style of architecture, for the use of the chief nobility of the realm. Before them, at some little distance, were two theatres, in comparison with which the magnificence of the old fair-going booth of Richardson would have grown dim. They might be called theatres, but they were only the semi-part of the theatre; the open common, with the blue sky overhead, was the space intended for the audience. Then there were several Montagnes Russe, but, instead of being made of ice and snow, they were built of wood. They consist of high elevations, facing each other, with a slope between them; people ascend to the top by steps, where they find cars of wood. They place themselves in the cars, and then are sent sliding down one slope with such force that they are propelled up the opposite slope.

But this was only a small part of the entertainment prepared for the people. There were fountains which, instead of throwing up jets of cold, insipid water, were to spout forth incessantly into huge tanks a stream of the much-loved vodka, from which all around might draw forth and drink to their hearts' content.

What more perfect idea of a terrestrial paradise would a thirsty mujick seek for than did these preparations afford him? How munificent and kind must he have considered the Emperor who could provide such an entertainment for him, especially when near to the fountains of vodka there were spread out long tables and benches, covering some acres of ground, which it was said were to be loaded with provisions, of which all-comers of humble rank might partake!

The travellers had to drive in and out among the tables, and they pictured to themselves the jovial, happy crowd who would soon be assembled around them, enjoying themselves, and drinking long life and prosperity to their Czar—a perfect picture of an Arcadian banquet. Farther on were large booths, containing the kitchens where the provisions for the vast multitudes were to be cooked; and there were also other sheds, where the bread, and meat, and grain of all sorts were to be stored. All this feasting and amusement was to last three days, and no one seemed to be able to estimate how many thousands of persons would attend the rural banquet.

"Alas!" exclaimed Cousin Giles, "this may be a certain way of winning the momentary applause of an ignorant mob, but it is a miserable way of gaining the love of a people, of improving their character, of instructing them in their duties, by thus pandering to their lowest tastes. I suspect that it will not even secure the object desired. What a contrast does it afford to the way our own enlightened sovereign takes to win the affections of her people!"

"We had the fireworks at the peace," observed Fred; "they were only to please the mob."

"Yes, to be sure," said Cousin Giles; "that was an old-fashioned way of letting the people know that peace was concluded. They could in days of yore, when newspapers were rare, have scarcely known it without; now such a proceeding is quite unnecessary. A large sum was squandered which would have been much better spent in enabling our artisans in the dockyards, thrown out of employment by the peace, to emigrate; besides which, it was said that numbers of people were kept working on several Sundays to get them finished in time. If such was the case, a national sin was added to a national folly."

Cousin Giles' conjectures with regard to the uselessness of the feast prepared for the mujicks were realised. No sooner each day were the tables covered, than the mob rushed forward and bore off whatever they could lay hands on, so that the later comers had nothing to eat; while fountains of vodka refused to supply sufficient liquid to quench the thirst of the vast multitudes which thronged round them. There was, therefore, far more complaint and grumbling, than love or gratitude exhibited towards the supposed provider of the entertainment—the Czar.

About half a mile farther, in front of this scene of barbaric festivity, across the plain, over fields which had been beaten down to supply an open space of sufficient extent, was seen a sea of white tents, forming an encampment which at that time contained fifty thousand men, to whom many more were afterwards added.

Before them was a line of artillery, the muzzles of the guns turned towards the spot where the mujicks were expected to assemble— significant, as a cynical friend of Cousin Giles observed, of the way in which people in the parts there are governed. He may, however, have been wrong in his conjecture.

The travellers drove towards the tents, in front of which they found the bands of all the regiments practising together. They made a great deal of noise, but the music was not so good as they expected.

They got out of their carriage, and walked into the encampment without let or hindrance. They felt a curious sensation as they found themselves among the troops of those with whom their countrymen had so lately been engaged in deadly strife. Not only were they secure from receiving any insult, but they were treated everywhere with the greatest courtesy.

One thing is certain, that although a large amount of barbarism remains in Russia, the army, in certain respects, has attained a high state of civilisation. The younger officers are invariably well educated, and generally polished in their manners. The material comforts of the men are much attended to in many regiments, though not perhaps in all, and they have been brought into a good state of discipline.

The tents were arranged in long lines, with broad, well-gravelled roads at intervals between them, with a drained footpath on either side. The encampment, it must be confessed, looked very far neater and cleaner than that at Aldershot. Why should we refuse to give our late enemies their due, or to acknowledge our own shortcomings? It is far better that the rising generation should know that Englishmen are not perfect, and endeavour to correct the national faults, than to go on blindly fancying that we are superior in all things to all other nations on earth.

Our friends, with their guide, first walked into a sergeant's tent. He and his comrade were very civil, and begged them to take a seat. His regiment had not been in the Crimea, but they had heard what brave people the English were. Even those who had been opposed to them felt no enmity towards them; very much the contrary—they had learnt to respect them.

The Russian officers who had been in the Crimea, it was said, whenever they met with any English officers who had been there also, were more than usually kind and attentive to them. The men's abodes, into which the travellers went, contained sixteen persons, and very close packing they must have found it in hot weather. In cold weather they are thus kept warmer, and, if called to stand to their arms on a sudden attack, a large body of men can be instantly brought together. The soldiers were generally fine-looking, intelligent fellows; many of them as fair, and quite as clean-looking, as Englishmen. Some of the regiments, raised in northern latitudes, were composed of fine, dark-bearded men, while the officers were generally good-looking and gentlemanly. These, however, were crack troops, and were certainly very different from the slouching, loutish-looking recruits to be seen when no public exhibition is intended.

Highly pleased with this visit to the camp, they drove back to the city. On their way they stopped at some public gardens, where their guide told them a celebrated band of gipsies were going to sing. Harry declared that the place was called Waxhauloff. Certainly the name did not sound unlike that word. There was a garden, brilliantly lighted up with coloured lamps, and at one end there were scenic preparations, probably for a desperate sea-fight on a pond, for there was a lighthouse in the foreground and some ships in the distance; and the bills signified that this was to be followed by a superb display of fireworks. There was also a large music hall, where a number of people were collected, listening to a very good instrumental band. The object of the travellers, however, was to meet with the civilised specimens of the race of Zingari or gipsies, whom they would find there. They were not long in discovering them as they moved about among the crowd. There was the same swarthy hue, black, burning eyes, and cunning, quick expression of countenance which distinguish them in every part of the world. The women were somewhat fancifully, but not fantastically dressed. This costume varied little from that common in Europe. It is only on festive occasions that they wear the dress of their people. The men had on surtouts, with belts round their waists, and light-coloured trousers. They were remarkable for their small well-formed heads and sharp Jewish countenances. Cousin Giles said he should call them Arab Jews. One of the women, who was fairer than the rest, and somewhat picturesquely dressed in a red mantle, seemed to attract some attention, though when her features were seen near they bore the gipsy characteristics.

After some time the interpreter succeeded in finding the chief of the gipsies, and in drawing him aside to where Cousin Giles was standing. The interpreter told the gipsy chief that Cousin Giles was an Englishman who took great interest in the gipsies of all countries, and that he would like to hear about his tribe. The gipsy replied that he was much flattered; that he was the chief only of forty or fifty people, but that they were all well off; that they lived in comfortable houses, and had conformed to the religion of the country; that he had been offered a sum equivalent to a thousand pounds to each of his band to go to Paris to sing in public, but that they were well off in Russia, and did not wish to move. Some of his people at times became very wealthy, and some of the women, who had fine voices, went on the stage, while others married men of rank. There were many tribes of gipsies in Russia who were altogether of an inferior grade. They still lived in tents, and wandered about the country, and were chiefly horse and cattle-dealers. A few followed still less creditable occupations. His tribe, however, held no communication whatever with them.

It occurred to Cousin Giles that the life of the wandering gipsy was perhaps more creditable than that of his brethren in the city. The conversation was brought to a close by the gipsy and his band being summoned to the platform.

The band consisted of fifteen women and eight men. The women were seated in a semicircle; the leader and another man, with guitars in their hands, stood in front of them; the rest stood behind. Some of the women had guitars. One of the girls sang a solo very well, the rest of the band joining in an extravagantly wild, fantastic chorus; the leader, meantime, skipping and turning and twisting about in the most absurd and inelegant manner. They sang several songs in the same style, some more wild and extraordinary than the first, certainly not suited to a refined taste. Yet this place was evidently a fashionable resort; the entrance-money was very high,—a silver rouble and a quarter,—and the company were all well-dressed, well-behaved people, evidently ladies and gentlemen, chiefly the residents of the neighbourhood, a fashionable suburb of Moscow.

The houses in the neighbourhood were evidently built only for summer use, for they were all, though differing in shape, of a Swiss-cottage style. The travellers had been so busily engaged all day, that, having satisfied their curiosity by seeing the gipsies, they had no inclination to remain for the pyrotechnic display, and therefore, going in search of their carriage, they drove back to Moscow.

They had now seen a good deal of the outside of the city—not all, perhaps, that was to be seen, but enough to give them a very fair general idea of it. There were many convents, and churches, and colleges, and hospitals, and other public institutions, which they had not had time to visit; and then there was the great event which was to take place in a few weeks, the coronation of the Emperor, at which it was expected that the representatives of all the nations of Europe would attend; but our friends preferred seeing somewhat of the interior of the country to waiting for it, and they therefore resolved on setting off at once, and returning, if possible, in time for the occasion.

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Since the period spoken of the serfs have been emancipated, and these laws are no longer in force. The peasantry are, however, subject to the fearful conscription, and are liable to be torn from their homes to serve in the armies of the Emperor.



CHAPTER TEN.

Journey in a Tarantasse—Monotony of Scenery—Description of Population in Russia—The Mujicks or Peasants—Their Habitations and Mode of Life—The Religion of Russia—The Priests—The Landed Proprietors and their Habits and Characteristics—Civil Officers of Government—The Army and its Organisation—Russian Officers—A Breakdown—A Russian Inn—The City of Vladimir—Nishni-Novogorood—Its Great Fair—Addressed by a Stranger—His Mysterious Conduct.

Away rattled the tarantasse, with our travellers inside, through the gates of the Holy City of Moscow towards the town of Nishni-Novogorood, where the great annual fair of Russia was then taking place. The rough vehicle bumped and thumped and jumbled along at a rapid rate over the uneven road, in a way to try the nerves and bones and tempers of those inside; but none of the tumblifications they endured had the effect of disturbing the equanimity of their tempers, or of dislocating their joints, each bump of unusual violence only making them laugh more heartily than ever. Once clear of Moscow, the road was tolerably smooth in most places, and the body of the carriage moved easily along between the two long poles to which it was slung. Such is the principle of the tarantasse. The body of the carriage may be of any form or size. It may have come out of Long Acre, or it may be a little waggon covered in with a tarpaulin. The important part is formed of the strongest and roughest materials, so that it is not likely to break, or, if it does, any peasant on the road can mend it. Cousin Giles had hired one of the common sort. It was, in truth, a little waggon with a tilt over it, and made very comfortable with a good supply of straw and leather cushions, for which the Russians are famous. All travellers carry them. They serve for their seats by day and their couches by night. Our friends had brought a supply of provisions with them, so that they were entirely independent of inns, which are very bad throughout the country.

The party in the tarantasse consisted of Cousin Giles and his two young friends, of Mr Allwick, their interpreter, and of Mr Evergreen, who had begged leave to join them. Cousin Giles would rather have had a more sensible companion; but he was so good-natured and so ready to sacrifice his own convenience to that of others, while his quaint and simple observations afforded so much amusement, that he was more desirable than many persons with superior pretensions.

The road was very unpicturesque, running chiefly between forests of birch and fir-trees, with few or no hills to vary its monotony. The journey, however, was far from uninteresting. They passed various parties of traders with their waggons going to the fair; also a group of exiles on their way to Siberia, already weary and footsore, though they had performed but a short portion of their long journey. There were woodcutters in the forests, and peasants in the few patches of cultivated ground which here and there appeared. Mr Allwick, too, had travelled over the greater part of Russia, and gave them much information about the country.

"I divide the population of Russia into five classes," said he, "with the Czar, forming a sixth, at their head. First come the mujicks or peasants, who form the great mass of the population; then come the svestchenniks or priests, who are mostly sprung from them, and are often looked upon as but slightly their superiors; the third class are the pameshtchiks, the landed proprietors and serf owners. In the fourth class may be included the chinovinks or civil functionaries; and the grajdanuns or citizens; while in the fifth may be reckoned the military of all ranks.

"Of the mujicks or peasants, upwards of two-thirds are serfs or slaves. The other portion have either purchased their liberty or have been liberated by their masters. They are completely under the control of their masters, who can flog them or imprison them, but may not take away their lives nor remove them from the land on which they were born. An owner may, however, let his serf out to some other master for hire. The greater number of servants in Saint Petersburg and Moscow are serfs belonging to landed proprietors, who receive a part of their wages. Many serfs follow trades, and some have become wealthy merchants. Some have purchased their freedom for large sums, but in other instances masters have refused to grant their serfs their freedom, who thus, though rolling in riches, remain with the chains of slavery round their necks, liable at any moment to be called back and compelled to do their lord's bidding, even in the most menial capacity. They have the general faults of slaves, being cringing, cunning, and delighting in falsehood; but they are intelligent, kind-hearted, and merry, and honest when property is entrusted to their charge. Their dress consists of a cap, a long sheepskin coat in winter, and a cotton one in summer, a red-striped shirt, worn outside their very full breeches, and high leather boots on grand occasions; but usually they wear on their feet willow or birch-bark sandals, their legs being swathed in rags of all sorts. A vest and sash of some gay colour is also worn; so that altogether their costume is picturesque, though much less so than that of Swiss or Spanish peasants. Their cottages are built of logs of pine, laid one above the other, the ends being notched to fit into each other, exactly like the log-huts of Canada, and having always a porch in front. They are roofed with straw. They contain two apartments, with a huge stove of brick built into the dividing wall. In each room there is a very small window. In a conspicuous place is seen the picture of the saint worshipped by the family, hung against the wall, sometimes glazed, and always having a lamp burning before it. The first act of each person who enters the cottage is to salute the image; indeed, the same veneration is paid to it as was paid to the household gods of the ancients. The temperature of these abodes ranges, both in summer and winter, from 70 degrees to 80 degrees. They are lighted at night by a pine stick stuck into the wall. As the interstices between the logs are filled up with hemp and other combustible materials, fires are very common, and whole villages are frequently burnt down. In order to extinguish these conflagrations, each serf is bound to bring some particular implement—a ladder, a pail, or an axe; and, that he may not forget his duty, the implement he is charged to bring is painted on the board with his name, which is placed in front of his hut. Thus, as soon as the signal is given that a fire has broken out, so many serfs rush forth with ladders, so many with pails, and so many with axes, towards the scene of conflagration.

"The serfs on an estate are allowed a certain portion of ground and materials for building their cottages. They labour three days in the week for their owners, and three days for themselves; so that, when the soil is good, they can easily provide themselves with the necessaries of life. But, at the same time, they are entirely in the power of unjust stewards or cruel masters, who can make their lives miserable, and quickly bring them to ruin. It must be owned that when serfs are well managed they are often contented and happy, and have no wish for freedom.

"Some proprietors are anxious to free their serfs, so as to be able to move them from one estate to another, or to get rid altogether of the charge of keeping them. The well-known Count Sheremetieff, however, who owns some of the richest merchants and shopkeepers in Saint Petersburg, will not consent to emancipate any one of them, although some have offered him large sums for their freedom. He is content with a small annual payment as tribute. When he dies, however, if his successor is avaricious, their condition may be very much changed.

"The Greek is the Established Church of Russia. The priests are as a class illiterate, and but little removed above the mujicks in their habits of life. A priest is expected to marry, but can only marry one wife. When she dies, he enters the monastic order. His sons enter the clerical seminaries, and his daughters marry priests, while another takes his vicarage. When a priest dies, or becomes a widower, and leaves a grown-up daughter, the living is generally given to some candidate for holy orders who pleases the young lady, and who is willing to marry her. Thus the clergy have become almost a separate class, the office descending from father to son. The value of livings is very small, seldom surpassing 15 pounds per annum. The priests are in general held in very little respect by all classes, even by the peasants, who, however, kiss their hands when they meet them, and often have a feeling of regard for them. There are numerous dissenters, who are frequently treated with the most bitter persecution by the orthodox Church.

"The Pameshtchiks or landed proprietors may be divided into two classes,—those who have vast estates, and, honoured by titles, live chiefly at courts, while they commit their affairs to the charge of stewards; and those who reside on their property and look after it themselves. The former are generally polished in their manners, well-informed, and luxurious in their habits, and are courtiers, diplomatists, or naval or military commanders. Though they occasionally visit their estates, when they keep up considerable pomp and ceremony, they reside chiefly in the capital.

"The landlord who lives entirely on his property is of a very different character, and thoroughly unlike an old English gentleman of the same social rank. Supremely indolent and unintellectual, he thinks of nothing but how he can most easily kill time. When he awakes in the morning, his attendant slave brings him his pipe, and he smokes till his first meal of tea and rusks is prepared; his bailiff then comes and makes his daily report, and serves as a vent for his ill-humour. Then he eats a substantial and somewhat greasy meal, which enables him to exist while he takes a drive round his estate till dinner-time. That meal is even more coarse and greasy than the former one. He then sleeps for a couple of hours, smokes, plays at cards, sups, and goes to bed,— not a satisfactory way for a person with a soul to spend his time. His wife spends her day much in the same way, smoking paper cigarettes instead of a pipe, and managing the female domestic serfs instead of the men. All matrimonial affairs come under the cognisance of the Pameshtchik, as no serf can marry without his permission. This, however, is rarely withheld, as it is his interest to have as large a number of people as possible beneath his rule.

"Owners often treat their serfs kindly, and make their lives happy, but a capricious or tyrannical master has the power of rendering every person on his estate miserable.

"The above description refers to the Russian landowners as a class. There are undoubtedly exceptions, and many very excellent, intelligent men may be found, who, living entirely on their property, devote themselves to its improvement, and to the amelioration of the condition of those who have been placed in dependence on them.

"The worst class in Russia are the Tchinovniks, or those employed in the civil service of the Government, of all grades, from the highest to the lowest. They are badly paid, and thus indemnify themselves by every description of peculation, and by endeavouring to wring bribes out of all with whom they come in contact. The Emperors have at times endeavoured to alter the system, but, although they have punished delinquents, when discovered, with the greatest severity, they have failed to put a stop to the evil.

"The mercantile class are considered generally respectable. No person can trade unless he is a member of one of three guilds. The privileges belonging to the first guild are purchased by an annual tax, calculated on the declared capital, but which cannot be less than 150; and those of the other guilds by sums in proportion to the smaller facilities for trading which they afford.

"The Russians are certainly not a warlike race, though their governors have endeavoured to make them so. The conscription presses most cruelly on the peasants, and it is with the most painful reluctance that its summons is obeyed. When they join, the officers may ill-treat them, pull their hair, and strike them with impunity. The officers have generally a fair supply of professional knowledge, and some are highly educated. The men have a larger amount of passive courage than of dashing bravery; yet they will usually follow where their officers lead them. The private has a possibility of rising to the rank of an officer after twelve years' probation, and even sooner by some dashing act of bravery; and several even thus have become generals. There are numerous military colleges in which cadets are educated, but a commission may also be obtained by a youth of family by his serving two years in the ranks. No officer may appear on any occasion without his uniform, nor carry an umbrella. The cadets are exercised during the summer in camps, as, indeed, is the greater part of the army, to prepare them for actual warfare."

Mr Allwick had got thus far in his description of the people of Russia, when, as the horses were galloping along at a great rate, a crash was heard, and over went the carriage on its side;—one of the long poles of the tarantasse had broken. The travellers got out in dismay, not knowing how long this accident might delay them. As they looked out they saw some cottages ahead. A peasant standing at the door of one of them had observed the occurrence, and now came running up with his axe in his hand to ascertain the amount of the damage. Two or three other men followed. "Oh, it is nothing," said they; "we will soon put this all right." They were as good as their word. While the travellers stood at the roadside watching what they would do, they disappeared into the forest, out of which they speedily issued with a young fir-tree, which in an incredibly short space of time they stripped of its bark and fitted to the carriage. A rouble amply satisfied them for their trouble. They were merry fellows, evidently, for they laughed and joked or sung all the time they were at work, so that Fred and Harry were quite sorry that they could not understand what they were saying. The tarantasse was soon moving on as before. In the evening they stopped at a place with a name too difficult to pronounce, to take tea. The inn was an unclean, straggling-looking mansion, with a long whitewashed corridor, and whitewashed rooms, very scantily furnished, opening out of it. The whole place was redolent of an odour which appears to be a mixture of vodka, onions, or rather garlic, and stale tobacco smoke. No house in Russia seems to be without it, of high or low degree, its intensity only being greater in those of the lower orders. Evergreen complained bitterly of it. His consumption of eau-de-Cologne was doubled, he said, and he declared that it alone would prevent him from ever willingly taking up his abode in Russia, irrespective of his dislike to the despotic system of government under which it was placed. The travellers were ushered by a waiter into a room with a straight-backed, leather-covered sofa, chairs with wooden seats, and an old card-table; while the walls were ornamented with some coloured prints of battles between the Circassians and Russians, in which a host of the mountaineers were flying before a handful of their enemies. The waiter would have astonished one of his brethren in England; for he wore jack-boots, into which were tucked his full Oriental breeches, a pink shirt, showing the tail outside, and a dirty, collarless, long coat, like a dressing-gown, fastened round his waist by a sash. "Tchai, tchai!" (tea, tea!), exclaimed Cousin Giles with as much dignity as if he was thorough master of the Russian language. "Si chasse, si chasse," replied the jack-booted waiter, meaning thereby that he would bring it as suited his convenience. Mr Allwick, however, added a few persuasive words, and in a short time the hissing samovar made its appearance, with a teapot and cups. The tea, which would anywhere be considered excellent, the travellers had brought with them. The principle of the samovar is very simple. In the centre of a common-shaped urn there is a cylinder with a grating at the bottom of it. The urn is filled with water, and the cylinder with charcoal. A brass chimney fits on to the top of the cylinder. A light is then applied to the lower end, which soon ignites the charcoal from the bottom to the top, and boils the water in three or four minutes. A frame fixes on to the top of the cylinder, on which the teapot is placed to keep it warm. There is a damper or cap, which can be placed on the top of the cylinder when it is required to put out the fire. There is no more convenient machine for travellers, as breakfast can thus be prepared in a very few minutes. A sum amounting to little more than a shilling was paid for the accommodation thus afforded. For a less sum they might have slept all night, but then they would have had to wrap themselves up in their cloaks and pick out a soft plank on the floor. In an hour fresh horses were procured, and once more the tarantasse was rattling along the road. About twenty-four hours after leaving Moscow, the travellers reached the ancient city of Vladimir, with the Golden Gate. It was once upon a time the capital of the Empire, and is still a city of considerable size. It is picturesquely situated on a hill, on which stand about twenty churches, overlooking a wide extent of wooded country, with a magnificent river flowing through it. The Golden Gate, which still rises in dignified solitude, a proud monument of the past, is not an ungraceful building. It is no longer used as a gate.

The temptations held out by the hotel here did not induce our travellers to stop, but, ordering fresh horses, they pushed on towards Nishni. They were now entering a fertile tract of country; but, fertile as it is, the population is not more dense than that of the most barren districts of Scotland. Mile after mile of thick forest was passed through, varied occasionally, as they approached the river Okka, by large villages. These villages have a strong similarity to each other, the houses being built of logs, and the gable-ends being turned to the road, and being inhabited by people with a very great likeness to each other. At length the town of Nishni-Novogorood appeared before them. At most times of the year it contains but few inhabitants. It was now crowded by persons from all parts of Russia and the provinces to the south and east, who had assembled to dispose of the produce of their respective districts, or to make purchases for exportation. Here assemble merchants from all parts of Siberia, Tartars, Georgians, Persians, and Armenians, to meet Russians and Germans, and even English and French, from Saint Petersburg and Moscow, who come to buy their produce or exchange them for manufactures from the West. Nishni stands on a high promontory, whose base is washed on one side by the Volga, on the other by its tributary the Okka. The Kremlin, or Citadel, with its low, embattled walls, stands on the highest point, and overlooks a vast plain, through which, at the base of the hill, the Volga flows proudly past. On this plain, close to the banks of the river, was a whole city of booths of various styles of architecture—those for the tea merchants being in the shape of pagodas. Some of the booths are of considerable size, being, in fact, storehouses for a large amount of valuable merchandise. One of the most conspicuous buildings in this quarter is a mosque, whose tall, pointed spire, surmounted by a glittering crescent, towers above all others. This mosque is said to be the most northern Mohammedan temple, with the exception of the humble little structure at Moscow.

Our friends found the hotel in the upper part of the town far more comfortable than they expected. The rooms and beds were tolerably clean, and the eatables contained no larger amount of grease and garlic than might reasonably be expected. Having refreshed themselves with a quantity of fresh-water, which somewhat astonished the Russian attendants, and partaken of a substantial meal, they sallied forth to visit the fair. Mr Allwick, who had been there before, acted as their guide. The upper part of the town presented no unusual bustle, but as they descended to the plain they found themselves among dense crowds of human beings in every variety of costume. Long-coated, long-bearded, and high-booted Russians predominated. By listening attentively, our friends thought they could distinguish very many different languages and dialects; and all were speaking in an earnest, energetic way, showing that they had met for business, and not for pleasure. There was, in truth, no gaiety either in their manner or their costume; for their dresses also were of somewhat grave, sombre colours, though here and there gay sashes, or caps, or vests, or turbans were to be seen. They walked up and down the long lanes of booths, in which the traders sat in state ready to dispose of their merchandise. But the more interesting part of their employment was the visit they paid to the various storehouses. In some were packages upon packages of tea, done up in skins, in which mode it is brought all the way from China by caravans; in another were piles of hides, in another heaps of dressed leather, in another bales of hemp and wool, brought by the Volga and its tributaries from far-off regions. There were also less bulky manufactured articles—leather work and embroidery, slippers and belts, from Kazan, shawls and cloths from Persia, and saddles from Tartary; indeed, it would be difficult to name one-half of the articles exposed for sale. There were no means of amusement, such as are to be seen at an English or German fair. No jugglers, or actors, or roundabouts, or swings, though there were eating and drinking booths in abundance, where the buyers and sellers and carriers might refresh themselves after the toils of the day. The mighty Volga, even here a fine river, presented an interesting scene. It was covered with a great variety of boats, some of considerable size, which had brought to market the produce enumerated above, and were ready to carry off what was taken in exchange for it. There were steamers also, some going much above Nishni, and others navigating from thence its whole length to its mouth.

While the travellers had been moving about the fair, Cousin Giles, who had a great facility for remembering countenances, had observed a man in the costume of a mujick continually following them. His dress was dusty and travel-stained, but it was neither torn nor patched, nor had he the appearance of a poor man. His countenance was frank, open, and pleasant, though grave and somewhat careworn, so that it did not appear to Cousin Giles that he had any sinister motive for his conduct. Our friends were so much interested with all they saw, that quick-gathering darkness alone reminded them that it was time to return to their hotel. They had even then seen but a very small portion of the fair. Cousin Giles had before this lost sight of the mujick. They were on their way to the upper town, and were passing through a street, if so it might be called, with high walls on either side, when, coming from under a dark archway, the mujick presented himself before them.

He walked up at once to Cousin Giles, and took his hand, which he pressed to his lips, and then spoke several sentences in a low, earnest tone; but as the language was Russian, Cousin Giles could not understand a word. Mr Allwick, however, came up to interpret.

"He tells you," said he, "that he knows some of our countrymen; that he has always found them honourable, kind, and religious, and able to sympathise with the afflicted; and that, after watching you, he feels that he may put perfect confidence in you and your companions."

"What does he want us to do?" asked Cousin Giles. "I shall be very happy to assist the poor man if a few roubles will be of consequence to him; but I do not see how otherwise I can help him."

"He says that, if you will let him call on you at the hotel in a short time, he will tell you what he has got to say, but that now he dare not remain longer talking to you, lest he should be observed. He says that he will not appear as he now does, and he hopes you will allow whoever asks for you to be admitted," replied Mr Allwick.

"Very mysterious," said Cousin Giles. "It may perhaps be a device of the police to entrap us."

"I do not think that, sir," replied Mr Allwick. "The man is, I believe, honest; at the same time I cannot advise you to have anything to do with him. In this country one cannot be too wary. With the best of intentions, we may easily be brought into trouble."

"Very shocking, indeed, to be taken up and sent off to Siberia," observed Mr Evergreen. "Tell the good man that I will give him ten roubles if that will help him, but that I do not want to see his face again—in case of accident, you know. Tell him that."

"It is not pecuniary assistance that he requires," said Mr Allwick, who had again been speaking with the stranger. "He says that he will explain everything by and by if he is allowed to visit us. He throws himself on our charity. He thinks the risk to us will be slight, and the gain to him great. He entreats that you will give him a reply, for he dare not remain longer."

Mr Evergreen's curiosity was aroused, and he forgot his fears. After consulting a minute, Cousin Giles replied: "Tell him that I will see him if he thinks fit to call, but I cannot promise to help him."

Mr Allwick translated what had been said into Russian, and the stranger, bowing low, retired into the retreat from which he had come forth, while the travellers returned to their inn.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The Stranger Merchant commences his Story—The Molokani—Origin of their Faith—Progress among the Villagers—How the Bible was prized by them—Its Distribution—Captain Martineff—His Endurance of Persecution—Sad History—His Christian Fortitude—General Persecution of the Sect—Flight—Transported to a New District—Attempt to convert Captain Martineff.

The hissing samovar was on the table, and the fragrant tchai had just been made, when the waiter with the high boots and pink shirt entered to say that a merchant had called with some goods for the travellers to inspect. Cousin Giles desired that the man might be admitted, and in a minute a person in a long dark coat, with a case slung before him, entered the room. He at once began to display some caps and belts of gold and silk embroidery, several articles of silver, spoons ornamented with black-lined engraving, little hand-bells, snuff— boxes, slippers of leather richly worked, and many similar articles, such as English travellers in Russia are accustomed to purchase. The prices he named were very moderate. While he was displaying his merchandise, Cousin Giles was observing him narrowly.

"Why, he is our friend the mujick," he whispered to Mr Allwick. "The man can masquerade well."

The waiter had now left the room. The merchant went to the door and looked out. He then came back to the table on which he had spread out his merchandise, and addressed Mr Allwick in a low, earnest voice. The latter now grew very much interested, apparently, with what he heard. The stranger perceived that his cause was making progress, and continued his story with increased earnestness. At length he stopped to allow Mr Allwick to translate to his friends what had been said. Cousin Giles looked inquiringly at him for an explanation.

"I will translate, as nearly as I can, what he has told me," said Mr Allwick.

"I am, you must know, sirs," said he, "one of that class of dissenters from the Established Greek Church whom our countrymen designate as molokani or milk-drinkers. You have not heard of them, perhaps. I will tell you about them. Many years ago the unadulterated word of God—the Holy Bible, translated into our native language—was brought into Russia without note or comment. Some copies of it reached my native province, and were received most gladly by many of our peasants. Those who could afford it eagerly bought the book of glad tidings; those who could not clubbed their money together and became the joyful purchasers of a copy. How the book came, no one could tell. Some said that a stranger from another land brought many volumes of the book with him in a large chest, and that he travelled about from village to village, instructing certain men in each village, and making them desire to possess the book. Though such might have been the case, I never saw the stranger. All I know is, that a certain very pious man in our village had several copies of the book which he had bought at a great cost, though not too great for its value, oh no! And that he sold them without profit to all who would buy—rather, I would say, at a loss, for to some who could not pay the full cost he remitted part of the amount. When we got the book we lost no time in reading it. In the fields in summer, under the shade of trees, we sat and read it, where no one could watch us; in our huts, by torch-light in winter, we eagerly studied the book. We knew that we had got the word of God, that we possessed a jewel of rich price; we were afraid that thieves might come and steal it from us. We read and read on; most eagerly we met together to talk about it, to discuss the meaning of parts which we could not at first understand, to pray that our minds might be enlightened to comprehend it. We read it, as the book itself tells us to do, with earnest prayer; we read it with faith, and we read it not in vain. Soon passages which seemed at first obscure were made clear to our comprehension. Every day we understood it better and better. We had no one to whom to go for information. We had no one to instruct us, so we went to God; we asked Him to show us the truth, as He in the book told us to do, and His promises never fail. He instructed our minds; He gave us all we asked for. We now discovered, truly, how darkened had been our minds, how ignorant we had been, what follies, what fables, what falsehoods we had believed. We saw the gross, the terrible, the wicked errors of the Church of our country. We found that those who should have instructed us were generally as ignorant as we had been, and that if not ignorant, they had taught us falsehoods, knowing them to be falsehoods. We found in that book how the world was made; how man was first placed in the world; how he, by disobedience to God's simple command, fell from his happy state, and how sin thus entered into the world, and all men became by nature sinful; how God in His mercy promised a Redeemer who should bear upon His own shoulders the sin of all the children of Adam who believe in Him; how God selected a people to keep His great name, and to make it known among men; how He promised to the patriarchs of old, from age to age, that the Redeemer of the world should be one of their chosen tribe, and that the glad tidings of salvation should first be offered to them; how, in process of time, the Son of God, the Saviour of the world, from His unbounded love to the human race, appeared in the form of a man, and in humble rank, to teach us that He regards not the persons of men; how He was despised and rejected of men; how He suffered toil, and sorrow, and persecution, though He spent His days on earth in doing good to all around Him, to show the humble, and poor, and afflicted that He can feel for them; how He was rejected by God's chosen people; how they crucified Him, and invoked a curse on their own heads by taking on themselves all the terrible guilt of the deed; how He died and was buried; how thus He offered Himself a sacrifice for our sins; how He remained for three days in the vale of departed spirits; how in His own body He rose again to teach men the doctrine of the resurrection; how, having fulfilled all the work of the sacrifice, He ascended into heaven, and how He there acts as a mediator between God and man; how, too, in His abundant mercy, He sent down the Holy Ghost to lead men aright, to teach them the truth. That book tells us nothing of the Virgin Mary, except that she was the earthly mother of our Lord. It tells us nothing of the mediation of saints, but it tells us that God accepts but one great sacrifice, that offered by our Lord Jesus Christ; that He is our only Priest, our only Mediator in heaven; that those who heartily repent of their sins, who put their faith in Him, and Him alone, will be saved.

"We find nothing said in the Bible of a Patriarch, or any other head of the Church on earth. The only Patriarch, therefore, we can acknowledge, the only Head of our Church, is Christ in heaven. Yet the Bible has taught us to bow to the authority of earthly powers in all temporal matters, but in spiritual matters to yield to the authority of no one unless it is plainly and undoubtedly in accordance with the word of God revealed in that book. Putting aside all the customs of the country, which seemed to us so overloaded with error and abuse that we could not distinguish the right from the wrong, we have endeavoured to form a system of worship and mutual instruction as nearly similar as possible to that instituted by our Lord Himself and His disciples. We knew that we could not preach our doctrines in public without bringing down on our heads a severe punishment from the authorities of the Empire; but they, nevertheless, made certain though slow progress. No sooner did one receive the truth than he became anxious to impart it to others. All this time, who, think you, had joined our faith?—none but serfs, peasants, humble mujicks. But this did not cast us down, for we asked ourselves. Who were the first disciples of our Lord?—fishermen, humble men like ourselves. Because our faith was different to that of the great and mighty in the land, it did not make us less certain that it was the true one, or less anxious to impart it to others, to offer our brethren the same assurance of pardon and salvation which we had ourselves received. Hitherto the progress of our creed had received no interruption from the Government authorities. We had worked silently and quietly; even the priests knew nothing of the movement going on. We were well assured that, should they discover it, they would oppose us with all their power. We were, therefore, allowed to continue on without persecution. By degrees, however, our doctrines began to make progress among persons of a higher grade. An earnest, piously-minded land-steward had a Bible lent him by a peasant; he expressed his satisfaction at reading it, and was at last invited to attend one of our meetings. He came, and his heart was turned to the right way. For many months he worshipped with us, and at length the owner of the estate he managed came to live on his property. He was an officer in the army, who had seen much service in the Caucasus fighting against the Circassians. He had the character of being a brave and a stern man in the army. His serfs always found him a kind though a strict master—not indulgent, but just. To his master the steward was induced, after some time, to open the secret of his heart, and he at length persuaded him to study the Bible. The master read and read on. He became convinced of the errors of the Greek Church, and joined our fraternity. Truly as a brother, humble and lowly in his own sight, he moved among us.

"The truth had now spread widely; many thousands believed and worshipped with us, and we began to hope that the pure doctrines of Christianity might extend over the face of our beloved country. Alas! We deceived ourselves. We forgot that times of persecution, trial, and suffering must ever be looked for by God's saints on earth.

"At length, as was to be expected, some of the Government officials got notice of our meetings. One night a congregation of us were assembled for prayer and instruction in the word in a rude hut constructed by us far away in the depths of a forest,—the only temple we dared raise to our God,—when we were startled by hearing the trampling of steeds and the crashing of boughs. Before we could rise from our knees, a party of police, headed by a priest and two of the neighbouring landowners, rushed in upon us. Some attempted to fly, others stood boldly up to confront our persecutors; but neither would it have been right or wise, or of any avail, to have used carnal weapons for our defence. Those who thus stood firm felt bolder than they had ever done before. We demanded why we were thus assailed and interrupted in our private devotions. We asserted our right to meet for prayer to God and to our Lord, and demanded that we might be left to finish our devotions undisturbed. In return we were jeered and ridiculed, and roughly ordered to marshal ourselves and hurry on before our captors. They told us that we should be tried before a proper tribunal; that there could be no doubt we had met together for political and treasonable purposes; that also we were schismatics and heretics, and that we had merited the severest punishment. We had no help for it, so, praying to God for help and support in this our first hour of peril, we did as we were ordered. How we had been discovered we could not learn. We feared that some one among our own body had proved false, but we trusted that such was not the case. Our meetings had probably attracted the attention of some priest more acute than his brethren, and he had subtly made inquiries till he had discovered the truth. It was a sad procession as we marched forth from our woodland temple, but yet we were not cast down; we trusted in God that He would deliver us. He did not even then forget us. We had marched a verst or more when thick clouds began to gather in the sky, and loud rumblings were heard. Soon the tempest burst over the forest, louder and louder grew the thunder, flash upon flash of lightning darted from the heavens; first heavy drops, and then torrents of rain came down upon our heads; the trees bent, trunks were riven by the lightning, boughs were torn from the stems and dashed across our path. The steeds of our captors began to snort and rear and show every sign of terror. Crash succeeded crash—more vivid grew the lightning; it played round the tall stems of the trees, it ran hissing like serpents of fire along the ground, it almost blinded us by its brightness. At last the horses could no longer stand it; their riders, too, were alarmed. Some of the horses wheeled one way, some another, and all set off galloping furiously through the wood in different directions. In vain the priest and the lords called to us to keep together, and to meet them at the town; in vain their servants and their other attendants endeavoured to keep us together. Feeling that the tempest was sent for our deliverance, with a prayer for each other's safety we likewise dispersed in all directions, to seek places of shelter and concealment from our enemies. The large forests, the thin population, the rocks and caves of that region afforded us abundance of facilities for this object. Many of us reached such places of safety as I have described and the freemen were able to remain concealed, but the serfs were hunted up like wild beasts and brought back to their owners. Many were put to the torture, to make them betray those who had assumed what was called the new faith. Day after day some of our members were seized. The freemen were cast into prison and put to the torture, to compel them to deny their faith or to accuse others of following it. Our beloved brother, Captain Martineff, had hitherto escaped, but now he was accused of professing the new doctrines. He was seized and brought up before the officers of a commission appointed to try all such delinquents. He, who had ever proved a faithful soldier to his generals and the Emperor, was not now to be found false to his faith and his heavenly Lord and Master. He at once boldly confessed that he had taken the Bible as his rule and guide, that by that he would stand or fall; and he demanded that he might have the right of explaining and defending his doctrines in public court. This liberty was scornfully denied him. He was condemned for being guilty of desiring to subvert the Government and religion of the country, and thrown into prison. He would at once have been transported to Siberia, but the Government hoped by keeping him to discover others who held the same tenets. They little knew how far the true faith had spread, that thousands already held it, and that no power of theirs could extinguish the light thus kindled. They dreamed not also of the fortitude and courage of which a true Christian is capable. Captain Martineff would neither betray others nor deny his own faith. It was determined to break his proud spirit, as it was called, and now commenced a system of the most cruel persecution against him. His property was confiscated, his wife and children were seized and cast into dungeons separate from each other. They were fed on black bread and water. One by one they were brought to him and cruelly flogged before his eyes. He saw them growing thinner and thinner every day, the colour fading from their cheeks, the hue of sickness taking its place. He knew they were sinking into the grave—murdered by his persecutors. Still he would not deny his faith or perform ceremonies which he knew to be superstitious and idolatrous. With a refinement of cruelty worthy of demons, they told him that one child was dead. 'It is well,' he replied; 'of such is the kingdom of heaven.' A second died, a bright little cherub; it had been the joy of his life. 'God be praised! He is in Abraham's bosom,' he answered. Soon a third sank under his treatment. 'You have released him from prison to praise God with the angels in heaven!' he remarked.

"His wife, a believer with him, mild, pious, and good, became a victim to their barbarity. They told him abruptly, to shock his feelings the more. A serene smile illuminated his countenance, 'She has entered into her rest, where neither grief, nor pain, nor sickness can come. She is with the spirits of the just made perfect.'

"Still he had more children. It was known how he had loved them. One after the other died, till one alone remained. They brought it to him. They told him that if he would conform to the rules of the Established Church he should be released from prison, his property should be restored, and that this child—this darling child—should be sent to a place where fresh, pure air and the care of a good physician would quickly restore it to health. 'Life and death are in the hands of the Almighty; to Him I commit the life of my child. I have but in faith humbly to obey His laws, and to follow the course He has marked out for me.'

"One, two, three, four years passed away, and he and his child remained in prison. The little boy grew thin and pale, and pined and pined away. They took him occasionally to be seen by his father—not to bring any joy to that father's heart, but to tempt his constancy. The attempt availed them not. The child died; the father shed not a tear, uttered not a complaint, but remained firm as ever to the faith. Another year he was kept in prison, and then stripped of his property. He was dismissed from prison, and a certain locality fixed for his abode. Why he was not sent to Siberia was not known. It was the will of the Emperor, it was supposed, who had heard his story.

"While I have been narrating Captain Martineff's history, I have neglected to speak of the condition of the poorer brethren. Numbers were seized, knouted, and sent off to labour in the mines of Siberia. They little thought that by that means they were taking the surest way of propagating the truth. Others were thrown into prison, and subjected daily to cruel tortures to force them to recant.

"A few unhappy men were overcome by the pains and terror, and returned to the Greek faith, but the greater number held firm. I remained in concealment, and it was supposed that I had died; but I had relatives and friends who were wealthy for our rank of life, and gave me support. All my family were free, yet in position we were not much above the poor mujick. I used after a time to venture out of my hiding-place and meet our brethren for prayer and praise; but it was at great hazard, and oftentimes I had a narrow escape of being captured. At length, after we had suffered years of persecution, a time of rest was awarded us, and we fancied that we were to be allowed to worship our God as we judged best. Still I dared not be seen in public, for I had refused to appear when summoned, and I was looked upon as a political as well as a religious offender.

"The mercy we were promised was but little mercy to us. We were to be removed from the land of our birth, from our once happy homes, and to be settled down, many hundred versts away, in a district between some German colonies and Tartary. It was believed that our tenets would not spread among the people by whom we were surrounded. Many hundreds of families were thus turned out of their homes and compelled to settle in this new region. The choice was given them of renouncing their faith or going. Few hesitated. I at length came forth from my hiding-place and joined my companions. We set to work assiduously to bring under cultivation the wild country in which we were placed, and God prospered our labours.

"Among the few of higher rank who belonged to us, Captain Martineff was sent here. Sickness and long confinement had turned his hair prematurely grey, and he looked an old man. He built himself a small hut with a single chamber in it, and here he took up his abode, while he used to labour with his own hands for his sustenance. His fellow-villagers were all poor enough, but we all sought to assist him and to take him food—without it, I believe at times that he would have starved. He received our gifts thankfully, but never would take them unless when he was absolutely in want of food. He had been much respected when he was in the army, and the Emperor himself desired much to bring him back to the world. More than one priest had come to effect this object. At length the Emperor sent a general who was celebrated for his great powers of argument. He arrived at our village in great state, but set out alone on foot to pay his visit. The humble captain had been apprised of his coming; he sat at his little round table, made by his own hands, with his only spare seat placed ready for his guest. His Bible lay open before him. The General struck his head against the doorway as he entered. 'We have need of humility when we approach the word of God,' observed his host with a gentle smile.

"The General spoke kindly and affectionately to the old man. They had been comrades, brothers-in-arms together. For months they had slept in the same tent, and eaten out of the same dish. For a short time they conversed of old times.

"'But you came to talk to me of matters of more importance, my General,' said the Captain, laying his hand on the Bible. 'Out of this book I will reply to you. Of my own words I need speak none.'

"The General then commenced a series of arguments, which he had thought incontrovertible. As each was brought forward, the Captain turned to his Bible, and produced a text, which with its context clearly refuted it. Text after text was brought forward. At first the General had been very confident of success; by degrees his confidence decreased, but the Captain retained the same composure as at the first.

"'You have a great knowledge of the book, my friend,' said the General.

"'I should have,' answered the Captain humbly; 'I study no other; for where can another of equal value be found? This shows us the way of eternal life.'

"'Ah, you speak the truth, my old comrade,' exclaimed the General, rising. 'I came certain of succeeding to convert you to my way of belief, but I own that you have conquered. You have converted me to yours.'

"These were the General's last words. He rose to take his departure. He grasped his old comrade's hand, and went out. Alas! Alas! His reason was convinced, but his heart was unchanged. His own words had condemned him. He went back to the world to laste of its allurements and false pleasure, its titles, its wealth, its evanescent honours. He undoubtedly reported favourably of his friend, and obtained for him immunity from further persecution; but for himself he sought not the Lord where alone He can be found. He continued his old habits of life, seeking the praise of men rather than the praise of God."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

Steffanoff Saveleff's Early History—Resolves to visit his Parents and his Betrothed—Commences his Journey—Meets Woodcutters—Takes Shelter in the Hut of old Sidor—Attacked by Fever—Compelled to fly—Pursued by Enemies—Concealed in a Cave.

"All this time I have been telling you about my people, but I have said nothing about myself," continued the stranger. "When my people were ordered to take up their abode in the new districts appointed for them, I left my hiding-place, resolved to share their fortunes. I remained unmolested at the new settlement for some months, labouring hard to prepare a home for my aged parents, who I trusted might be allowed to join me. With them dwelt a young orphan; she had grown up under their roof from infancy to womanhood, and was betrothed to me. During the days of persecution, I could not venture to wed her; but now that they were over, and I had the prospect of being able to prepare a home fit for her reception, I hoped to make her my wife. A peasant can love as well as a noble.—I could not leave the settlement, that is, openly, without permission from the mayor, the chief man of the village. In vain I asked for it. I told him my object; still he would not listen to me. I determined, therefore, to leave the place without his permission. As soon as darkness set in, one night, amid a storm of wind and rain, I started on my journey. The police, or anybody who would stop me, were not likely to be out at such a time. I hurried on all night, and in the daytime climbed up into a tree far away in the depths of a forest, where it was not probable any one would discover me. I carried a wallet well stored with food; I wished to make it last me as many days as possible, as my great fear was of being captured should I enter any village to buy bread. I had scraped together all the money I could collect, so that I was well provided with the means of purchasing provisions when I could venture to do so. Night after night I toiled on, sustained with the hope that success would crown my efforts. I feared neither bears nor wolves; they seldom in the summer season attack people, and I had often contended with them. In winter the wolves are most to be dreaded; and often travellers, even in sledges, have fallen victims to them. On foot a person overtaken by a flock of them would not have a chance of escaping with his life, unless he could climb a tree or a rock out of their way. I dreaded famine more than anything else. Had I been able to buy food wherever I could find it, I might have carried enough to enable me to get on from one farm or one village to another without difficulty, but, as this I was afraid to do, I was obliged to husband my provisions. I found in the woods an abundance of wild fruit, such as strawberries and raspberries, which grow plentifully in the woods; also of many roots, with the nature of which I was well acquainted. Besides roots, there were many varieties of mushrooms, and I had a small pan with me in which I could cook them.

"It was a wild sort of life I was leading. Sometimes for days together I did not speak a word to a fellow-creature. Now and then I fell in with woodcutters, but they were poor men who knew how to commiserate those in distress, and seldom asked me questions. The greatest assistance I received was from men of my own faith. Our tenets have spread far and wide throughout the whole of the south of Russia, and I had no difficulty in discovering those who held them. I at first had little hopes of meeting with any friends, but He who governs by His will the mighty universe, and without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls to the ground, directed me to one. I one day had just climbed a tree after my night-march, and was commending myself to my Maker before going to sleep, when, as I looked once more around me, I saw coming through the wood an old man and a young lad. By their dress, and the hatchets in their belts, I knew that they were woodcutters. I thought, perhaps, that they might cut down the very tree I had climbed into; however, they went on a little way, and then, throwing aside their axes at the foot of a tree, they knelt down together and offered up their morning prayers. Then they sang a hymn, which our brethren often use when met together for worship. The sounds cheered my heart; I knew at once that they were friends. I quickly descended the tree, and went up to them. At first they were afraid, thinking that I was a spy upon their actions, but a few words reassured them. I told them at once my story, for I knew that I was in safe hands. They promised to assist me as far as they had the power. I by this time much wanted help. My provisions were well-nigh exhausted, my feet sore, and my boots worn out. I required a day's rest, and here was an opportunity of enjoying it. The lad, who was the old man's grandson, undertook to get my boots mended by a brother, who would ask no questions concerning me, and would gladly do it for charity's sake. The old man promised to bring me next morning an ample supply of provisions, and, in the mean time, insisted on my taking rest while he and his boy watched near me. For this purpose they lopped off a number of branches from the surrounding trees, and formed an arbour. They then strewed the inside of it thickly with dry leaves, so as to form a more comfortable couch than I had enjoyed for many a day. I crept in, and was soon asleep. I had no fears, for I knew that the woodcutters were Christian men, and that nothing would induce them to betray me.

"They aroused me at noon to partake of their meal, which consisted but of black bread and fish taken from the neighbouring river. The fish, however, reminded me that, if I could but provide myself with a rod and tackle, I might frequently provide myself with food. I mentioned my idea to my new friends, and they promised to procure me what I wanted. I was always a good fisherman, and knew how to catch every sort of fish. I was surprised that I had not thought of this before starting from home.

"After dinner I again went to sleep, and rested soundly till the evening. I awoke up, and the old man came and sat down by me, giving me some more food. While we sat and ate we conversed earnestly of religious matters. The lad had gone away with my boots to the village, which was three versts off. He did more even than he promised, for soon after dark he returned with them thoroughly repaired.

"'Our brother knew the importance of having them ready, in case you might be compelled to move away suddenly, so he lost no time in mending them,' said the young lad as he gave them to me.

"Blessings on his head! He gave me also some provisions; but he did more than this, he brought out with him a Bible. It was not his own—he had borrowed it. By the light of a fir-torch, as we sat in the entrance of my bower, he read many chapters from its sacred pages. It was late before the old man and his grandson left me, promising to return early the next morning. They told me that I might securely rest there till then, sheltered by the bower. They brought some water and washed my feet, and anointed them with some salve, which the lad, most thoughtful for his years, had procured for the purpose. I had been too much accustomed to sleep out at night during my long years of hiding from persecution to have any fears after the assurance the woodcutters had given me, so, commending myself to my Maker, I quickly fell asleep.

"I was awoke by feeling a hand placed on my shoulder. I started up, believing that a police-officer was about to seize me. I had lived for some time in hourly expectation of being captured, and I could not throw off the feeling. I felt, notwithstanding, that to allow it to weigh on my mind was a sin, as it arose from want of faith and trust in God's providence. I looked up, and beheld the honest countenance of the young woodcutter.

"'You sleep soundly, father,' said he with a smile. 'Few but those who have good consciences can thus repose, I have heard. Well, father, I have brought you as much food as you can carry, and enough to last you for many days. Eat, and then we will set off. I am to go with you some of the way; my grandfather will meet us on the road. He wishes to say farewell to you. It is all settled, so say not a word on the matter.'

"I willingly agreed to the young lad's proposal. I was too thankful to have a guide and companion for part of my dreary journey to desire to refuse his offer. Young Khor (that was the lad's name) insisted on carrying my wallet, so I walked lightly along, with a cheerful heart. Thus I found, when most in distress, Providence had sent me aid. After walking about two versts through the wood, we saw the old man coming towards us.

"He embraced me warmly. 'Heaven protect you, my son,' he said; 'all the brethren here will earnestly pray for you: may you escape our persecutors wherever you go, and may friends be raised up for you whenever you require them.' I thanked him warmly. 'Khor will go with you—Khor will guide you till you arrive at the abode of brother Sidor. It is but three days' journey from hence. Khor will then easily find his way back, and Sidor will then guide you on your way farther;— farewell.' With these words we parted. Young Khor was a pleasant, cheerful companion, and as he knew the country well, he led me by far more direct roads than I could have found myself. It was truly an agreeable change for me to have Khor with me. Instead of being left to my own thoughts, I had pleasant conversation. He, too, had brought a Testament with him, although he had not the whole Bible, and whenever we sat down to rest he pulled it out and read to me, or I read to him. We were now also able to travel by day instead of by night, as he was able to conduct me by byways where we were not likely to meet any one to interrupt us. At length we reached the abode of brother Sidor. He was a grey-headed old man, and from sad experience had learned caution. We knocked three times at his door before he opened it. When he had done so he did not speak, but stood in the porch, examining us from head to foot. This scrutiny was apparently satisfactory. 'Come in and sit down,' said he, at the same time placing fish, and bread, and cheese, and milk before us. 'There, eat; when you have satisfied your hunger, I will hear what you wish to tell me.' We gladly did as he desired, and when we had satisfied our hunger, I frankly told him all my history, and the object of my journey. 'Ah, my son! I knew your father, Loutich Saveleff, very well, in my youth. We were fellow-servants together at Petersburg, in the establishment of Count Paul Illarionovitch. He kept up a great state, and gave great parties, and made us wear magnificent liveries, and we thought ourselves very fine fellows. When he died we could not procure other situations, and as we had saved nothing and could not pay our masters the tax, we were compelled to return to our native villages and to resume our labours in the field. This at first we thought very hard work, and grumbled at it exceedingly, but we could not help ourselves, and what at first we fancied a curse proved a blessing in the end. By that means the blessed light of gospel truth was made to shine on us. Your father was the first to receive it, and having procured two Bibles he sent me one of them, as the richest gift he could bestow. At first I valued it only as a gift from him, for I loved him much; and that he knew, or he would not have ventured to send it to me. I, however, began to read, and as I read on I learned to value it for itself, and would not now change it for all the wealth of the Czar. What, I often ask myself, would the world be without it? What can for a moment be compared to it? How dark, how gloomy would our life appear! How unjust, how unmerciful the Creator of the universe! No guide for the present; no certainty, no hope for the future. It teaches us all we should wish for, all we should desire to know; how to walk in this present life, how to bear affliction, what to expect in the future.' Much more to the same effect the old man said. I loved the word of God, I had suffered much for its sake, but he opened my mind to many things; he showed more clearly to me its exceeding brilliancy. Thus Christian men always gain advantage by holding converse with each other about the volume on which their creed is founded. Oh! miserable, miserable men who have not that foundation! I spent a whole day under Sidor's roof. Young Khor rested there too. He then set off with a light step to return home; he had no fears. In the solitude of the forest, on the vast steppe at midnight or noonday, he was sustained by a belief that One who could humble Himself to become man, and who so loved mankind that He could suffer death for their sakes, was ever watching over him. This knowledge had taught him to discredit all the foolish superstitions of our country. The Domvoi (the familiar spirit of the house, similar to the Brownie of Scotland) had no terrors for him; neither had the Roussalka (the wood fairy), nor the Leechie (the demon of the forest). He knew that there was no such being as the Trichka, who, it is supposed, will one day visit the country and commit incalculable mischief, nor any such thing as a Vodainoi, or water spirit; in truth, he felt sure that God would allow only one evil being to infest the earth, and that merely to try mankind, and the better to fit them for the time when he and his angels shall be chained for ever and ever. I was truly sorry to part from Khor, though my new friend Sidor was a man I was heartily glad to meet. He had seen much of the world: he had been in France and in England, and he told me that he much liked the English. At the time he was there he said he did not know the reason of this liking, but since then he had discovered that it arose from the national religion, so free from bigotry, superstition, and priestcraft, faults which have completely destroyed all purity in the national religion of Russia.

"But I must not stop to describe the conversations I held with old Sidor. He pressed me to spend some days with him to recruit my strength thoroughly before I should recommence my journey. I was glad of a little delay; at the same time I warned him that, should it be discovered that a stranger was at his cottage without a pass, he might be subject to severe penalties.

"'We never calculate the risk when a brother requires our help,' he replied, taking my arm. 'He who went about doing good, and died for our sakes, taught us that lesson, with many others, which we are too apt to forget. Say, therefore, no more about it, my son, but lay thee down and rest till thy strength has returned, and thou canst prosecute thy journey with renewed hope and confidence.'

"I could not resist old Sidor's pressing, and, with a satisfaction I can scarcely describe, I threw myself on his bed, and in an instant was asleep. My sleep, however, was feverish and troubled. I had felt ill before I reached his cottage, and now, when I awoke, I found a raging fever on me. How long I had slept I know not. Old Sidor was by my side. There he sat, day after day, and night after night, tending me with as much care as a father would an only son. Several weeks I thus lay, hovering between life and death. Oftentimes my old friend told me that he was inclined to summon a leech to see me, but, if he did so, he was afraid that I might be betrayed, and delivered into the hands of our enemies. He besought, therefore, with much earnestness and prayer, the great Physician of our souls, that He would, in His abundant mercy, heal me. Surely such prayers are not in vain. In a short time the fever left me, and my strength rapidly returned. I had been out of the hut more than once to ramble through the woods, but was yet, I fancied, unfit to prosecute my journey. I lay on the bed while Sidor sat by my side reading that book which was seldom out of our hands—the Book of Life, when we saw through the open doorway his little grandson running in haste towards the hut. He entered too much out of breath to speak; in his hand he bore a feather, which he held out towards me. I took it in my hand; it was from the wing of a bird. I guessed in a moment what it betokened—so did Sidor.

"'Our foes have discovered your retreat, and this is sent by a brother to bid you flee.'

"The boy nodded, and waved his hand hurriedly towards the door. I threw my arms for a moment on the neck of my old friend.

"'Keep straight on the way I showed you yesterday, till you come to a tree scathed and blasted by lightning. To the right of it is a thicket; on the farther side, midway down it, you will find some dried brambles; remove them, and you will perceive a narrow passage. Half-way down it the ground beneath your feet will sound hollow. On your right hand, by bending aside the boughs, you will discover a further pile of brambles, which appear to have been thrown there by chance. Draw them aside, and there will be found a cavity; enter without hesitation, drawing the brambles over your head. You will find there provisions for several days, and a couch on which to rest your yet unpractised limbs. Many a fugitive brother has there found shelter for weeks together. Farewell, my son; Heaven guard you; you have not a moment to lose.'

"These words he uttered as rapidly as possible, yet it was necessary to be precise, to enable me to find the spot capable of concealing me. Again embracing him, I darted from the hut in the direction he indicated as fast as my legs, long unaccustomed to rapid movement, would carry me. Once I looked back on hearing a shout; I could just distinguish between the trees several men, some on horseback, approaching the hut. For an instant I gave myself up for lost, yet I continued my flight. I found soon that I was not followed, then I trembled for the fate of my old friend. If he is accused of having harboured a fugitive like me, and cannot give an account of me, the knout and Siberia will be his fate. I felt inclined to turn back, but then I remembered that I should only the more certainly bring ruin on him, by proving him guilty of the crime.

"'Alas! Alas!' I cried, 'is it my fate to injure those who benefit me?' I had little time for thought, though. I must hurry on; my pursuers might soon be on my track. I began to fear that my destination was suspected at the settlement, and that notice of my flight had been sent along the road before me. Perhaps even at the very end of my journey I might be seized, and sent a prisoner to Siberia.

"Still, as long as I could, I resolved to struggle on, and trust to God's mercy. This thought gave strength to my feet. On I went in a direct line towards the scathed pine of which Sidor had told me. I was too long accustomed to the marks on the trees, imperceptible to ordinary eyes, to be led to diverge from my course. There was an open glade, and the tree stood before me on the other side. I hurried across the glade, and had nearly reached the farther side, when I heard a shout, and saw several horsemen emerging from the shade of the trees. The thicket was before me. I darted round it, and at once saw the bramble which marked the entrance to the narrow passage. To creep under the brambles and to run along the passage was the work of a moment. The shouts of the horsemen grew louder and louder. Had I not known of the passage I should not have had a chance of escape. I searched with beating heart for the hollow ground. My foot discovered it by the sound. I removed the branches and the bundle of brambles, and crept into a hole, drawing them again over me. I found there was space before me, so I crept on. As I began to move, I judged by the sound of their voices that the horsemen had reached the thicket.

"'I saw him near about here, to a certainty,' said one; 'he cannot be far from this.'

"'We will unearth him, the impious rebel, if he is hid near here,' exclaimed another.

"'He ran fast; he may have got away again on the other side of the thicket,' said a third.

"'Let us try this place first,' cried the man who had previously spoken, and immediately several shots were fired into the thicket.

"'Come out, you rebel!—come out!' exclaimed several together.

"These words gave me courage, for it convinced me that my pursuers knew nothing of my place of concealment, and also that they possessed no superabundance of bravery or zeal. Had they been very zealous, they would not have cried 'come out!' but they would have forced their way in, and dragged me out. So I lay snug, while they expended their powder and shot on the harmless bushes. My only fear was, that they would shoot each other. It would have been wrong, you know, to wish them ill—they were only doing what, in their ignorance, they thought their duty.

"I lay all the time perfectly quiet, but without alarm, only wishing that they would go away, and allow me to continue my journey. I was anxious, also, to discover by anything they said what had become of my kind friend Sidor, but they did not mention him. Still, I knew that his chance of escape was very small; all I could do was to pray that he might be supported in his affliction.

"My pursuers continued beating about the bush for some minutes; at last one exclaimed, 'There is no use in looking here, men; he has gone on, depend on it.'

"'One hunt more before we go!' shouted another. 'Unearth the miscreant! Unearth the heretic! Drive him out from this—drive him out!—he's here, depend on it!'

"Scarcely had these words been uttered, when a number of shots were again fired into the thicket—the people apparently loading and firing as fast as they could.

"'If he is in there, he must be killed or wounded by this time, so now, men, let us try if we can find him!' cried one of the party, apparently more eager than his companions.

"On this I heard the crackling of branches, as if the bushes were being broken and pushed aside as the people forced their way into the thicket. I could not now help feeling some apprehension that my place of retreat should be discovered, for I fancied they had got into the very pathway which led to it, and I feared that I might have been careless in my hurry in drawing the brambles over the entrance to my burrow; or I might have broken some of the twigs, which would clearly indicate my whereabouts, should any woodman or hunter be among my pursuers. Fortunately there was no dog with them, or he would speedily have ferreted me out. I thought the time very long that they were hunting about for me. At last one of them exclaimed—

"'Are you satisfied that he is not here?'

"'I suppose he is not,' was the answer.

"'Well, then, he must thank you for not finding that out sooner,' replied the man who disbelieved in my taking shelter in the thicket. 'We have given him a good start, if he knows how to take advantage of it; but let us have no more delay—so after him again, my men!'

"These words were a great relief to me. My pursuers apparently worked their way out of the thicket as best they could, with torn clothes and scratched hands, and, mounting their horses, galloped away through the wood.

"I would not, however, venture to move out of my place of concealment for some time, for I thought it very likely that somebody might be left to watch the thicket by those who seemed convinced that I had taken shelter within it. I, however, crawled farther in, and then found myself in a chamber, hollowed out in the earth, sufficiently large to hold several persons. It was lighted, though somewhat dimly, by two apertures in the roof, grated over, and then covered with bushes, so ingeniously placed that no one could suspect what was beneath.

"There was a table and some benches, and several raised places for couches. Besides this, there was a sort of cupboard to hold provisions. The place had evidently been formed with great care for the purpose of concealment. Some parts had been hollowed out by art, though I concluded from the appearance of the roof and sides that there had been originally a cavern there formed by nature. Whether it had been constructed by our brethren the Molokani, or at a period antecedent to the persecutions they had suffered, I could not tell to a certainty, but I thought it very likely that it was of a much more ancient date. As may be supposed, I was not in a condition to consider the subject. The unusual exertion and excitement I had just gone through made rest very requisite, so, commending myself to my Maker, I lay down on the couch, and endeavoured to sleep. Sleep, however, for long refused to visit my eyelids. I listened, but not a sound could I hear. Thankful was I when I felt sleep stealing on me at last."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Fears for old Sidor's Safety—Continues Journey—Encounter with young Horse-drovers—Superstitions of Russia—Young Vacia—Sleeps in a Tree.

"I awoke much refreshed. A glimmer of light still came into the cave, so I knew that night had not yet set in. My chief anxiety was now to learn what had become of Sidor. I arose, and took some of the food I found in the cupboard. It consisted of bread and cheese and dried fish, with a pitcher of water. The food, though very dry, was free from mould. It was sufficient to sustain nature; more could not be required. Much strengthened, I resolved before proceeding on my way to go back to Sidor's hut as soon as darkness would allow me to approach it without risk of being seized by my enemies. I therefore crawled out of the hole, and, placing the brambles over the entrance as before, stood upright in the pathway leading to it through the thicket. I walked along cautiously, listening as I went; I heard no sound, so, removing the bushes at the entrance, I looked out. The sun had just set, and darkness was rapidly coming on. I looked around in every direction; I could see no one. It was, however, safer to wait till it was so dark that I could not be distinguished at a distance, should any of my enemies be prowling about. I went back, and sat down on the ground. When night came on I sallied forth from my hiding-place, and walked towards Sidor's hut. No light gleamed through the window or open doorway as I approached. This foreboded ill, I thought. I reached the hut; all was silent. I looked in at the window; I could see no one, nor could I hear a sound. I entered the hut; it was empty. By the glimmer of light which yet remained I discovered that even the scanty furniture, the old man's only property, had been removed. There was nothing to tell me what had become of my kind friend, but my fears suggested that by the cruel hand of the law he had been carried off, and would probably ere long be dragging his weary feet over the burning steppes, or the wide expanses of snow in Siberia, probably to sink down and die ere half the journey was performed. As I thought of the suffering I had brought on the kind old man, I threw myself on the ground, and for the first time for many a long year gave way to a bitter flood of tears. It was wrong, I know. It was mistrusting Providence; but human nature is weak. I remembered this, and prayed for strength. It came. I arose, and sinking on my knees, earnestly prayed that the old man's sufferings might be lightened as much as was for his good. I knew on whom he would trust, and had no more fears for him.