"'Oh, father!—oh, mother, mother! Save us!'

"The miller frantically lashed and lashed, and shouted to his steeds, till his voice almost failed him. They could go no faster. Already, indeed, their strength began to flag. 'If they fail me at this juncture all will be lost,' thought the miller; 'still I'll not give up hope.'

"Again he lashed his horses, and then he lashed and lashed around him, in the hopes of keeping off the infuriated animals, which now came thronging up on either side. As yet they had not dared to seize the horses; should they do so, all, he knew, would be lost. His wife, pale as death, sat by his side. She could do nothing but cry for mercy. She dared not look round, lest altogether she should lose her senses at the sight she dreaded to see. She longs to draw her elder children to the front of the sledge, but there is no room for them there; so, as before, she sits still, clasping her infant to her bosom. On fly the horses. The wolves pursue, growing bolder and bolder. There is a fearful shriek.

"'Oh, mother! Mother! Save—'

"The cry is drowned by the sharp yelping of the wolves. On a sudden the pack give up the chase. The miller looks round to learn the cause. His eldest child—his favourite, Titiana, is no longer in her place. The other children point with fearful gaze to the spot where the wolves are circling round, snorting, and gnashing, and tearing, and leaping over each other's shoulders. To rescue her is hopeless; to attempt it would be the certain destruction of the rest. Flight, rapid and continuous, offers the only prospect of safety. Faint, alas! Is that. On—on he drives; but, oh horror!—once more the wolves are in hot pursuit. The sledge is again soon overtaken. Fiercely the miller defends his remaining children with loud shouts and lashings of his whip; but what can a weapon such as that effect against a whole host of wild beasts? Some of the fiercest leapt on the sledge.

"'Oh, mercy, mercy!'—Another child—their darling boy, poor little Peoter, is torn away. Can they rescue him? No, no; it is impossible. They must drive on—on—on—for their own lives. Even if they drive fast as the wind, will they preserve the rest? For a few short moments the wolves stop to revel in their dreadful banquet. The miller lashes on his steeds furiously as before. He is maddened with horror. On, on he drives. The poor mother sits like a statue. All faculties are benumbed. She has no power to shriek. Scarcely does she know what has occurred. Again the wolves are in full chase. Two children remain alive, but they are exposed to the cold; their sheepskin mantle has been torn away. They are weeping piteously. With a frantic grasp the miller drags one up between him and his wife; but, alas! The other he cannot save. He tries, but ere he can grasp it by the shoulder, the savage brutes have dragged it down among them. A faint shriek escapes it, and its miseries are at an end. With whetted appetites the wolves again follow the sledge. The miller looks at the savage pack now almost surrounding him, and his courage begins to give way. But his wife is still by his side, and three children are unhurt. He may yet keep the wolves off; but if they once venture on the sledge, if once his arm is seized, he knows that all, all he holds dearest in life, must be lost also. Still, therefore, he drives on, but he almost despairs of escaping. He has too much reason for his worst fears. Impatient for their expected banquet, the wolves begin to leap up round the sledge, just as the waves of a breaking sea rise tumultuously round the labouring bark. In a few minutes all will be over. The miller knows full well that his horses will soon be seized, and then that hope must indeed depart. Ah! The fatal moment has come. Already a wolf, more famished than his companions, has flown at the neck of one of his horses. The animal plunges and rears in a frantic attempt to free himself from his foe. Ah! At that instant the miller shouts louder than before—his courage returns—he lashes furiously at the wolf—The noble horse frees himself and dashes onward.

"'We are saved—we are saved!' shouts the miller. 'Wife, wife, arouse yourself!'

"Far off he sees advancing over the snow a large sledge; it glides nearer and nearer. Those in it see what is occurring. Shot after shot is fired, and the wolves fall thickly around. Dashing up at full speed, a sledge approaches. The miller almost shrieks with joy. For an instant he forgets those he has lost; yet only for an instant. He has the fond heart of a father. The sportsmen load and fire again. They have come in search of this very pack. The miller and the rest of his family were saved; but it was many a long week before he or his poor bereaved wife recovered from the effects of that day's adventure."

"A very dreadful story indeed; very dreadful," observed Mr Evergreen. "Do people generally get attacked by wolves when they travel by sledges in winter."

"I think we may safely say not generally," answered one of the Russian guests, laughing. "If such were the case, people would be inclined to stay at home. A story is current still more dreadful than the one you have heard.

"A peasant woman was driving a sledge with several of her children in it from one village to another, when she was pursued by a pack of wolves. As the brutes overtook her, she threw them one of her children, to induce them to stop and eat it up, while she drove on. Child after child was treated in the same way, till she reached a village, when the villagers came out and drove the wolves back. When the mother told her story, one of the villagers, in his rage at her inhumanity, struck her dead on the spot with his axe."

"A very dreadful story, but I do not believe a word about it," said their host. "I do not believe that any woman would act so barbarous a part."

"Nor do I," observed Cousin Giles. "The slavers on the coast of Africa are wont to play a similar trick when pursued by our cruisers. They will throw a live slave overboard at a time, in the hopes that the cruiser will heave-to or lower a boat to pick the poor black up, and thus allow them more time to escape."

"We often go out on sledges expressly to shoot the wolves," observed an old country gentleman of the party. "We use large sledges, capable of containing several persons, and we provide ourselves with plenty of guns and ammunition. In one of the sledges a pig is carried, in charge of a servant, and there is also a rope with a bag of hay, which is dragged after the sledge. When we arrive on the ground where we expect to find the wolves, the bag of hay is thrown out, and the servant gives the pig a twitch of the tail, which makes it squeak lustily. Now, wolves are especially fond of pork, and, hearing the well-known sounds, they hurry out of their fastnesses from all quarters, in expectation of a feast. As the brutes happily hunt by sight and sound, and not by scent, and being, moreover, foolish brutes, as the more savage animals often are, when they see the bag of hay they fancy that the pig must be inside it, and eagerly give chase. Now the sport begins, and as the wolves draw near, one after the other they get knocked over by the guns of the sportsmen. We often kill numbers in that way, and thus get rid of most noxious animals. Although their flesh is of no use, their skins are of considerable value, mantles and cloaks being lined with them. A wolf is a dangerous animal to meddle with when wounded. On one occasion I was out hunting, when we had killed some fifty or more wolves. On our return, we passed a remarkably large wolf, which lay apparently dead on the snow. One of our party took it into his head that he would like to possess himself of the skin, and, leaving the sledge, he approached the brute with the intention of flaying it. He was about to take hold of its muzzle, when the animal, resenting the indignity of having his nose pulled, reared itself up on its forepaws, snarling furiously. Ere my friend could spring back, the brute had seized him by the arm, and was dragging him to the earth. In another instant his fangs would have been at his throat, when the sportsman plunged his knife into its breast. Still the wolf struggled with his antagonist. We were afraid to fire, lest we should kill the man as well as the brute. It was a moment of fearful suspense. The life-blood of the wolf was flowing freely, but before he died he might have destroyed our friend. We drove to the spot as fast as we could, in the hopes of being in time to rescue our companion. As we were leaping from the sledge, the combatants rolled over. Happily the man was uppermost. He drew a deep breath as we released him.

"'I never wish to have such a fight as that again,' he exclaimed, shaking himself. 'It must have lasted a quarter of an hour at least. How was it you did not sooner come to my assistance?'

"In reality, not two minutes had elapsed from the time he reached the wolf till he finally killed it. His arm was somewhat lacerated, but his thick coat had saved him. It was a lesson to me ever after, not to go near a wild beast till I am certain he is put hors de combat."

"The breaking up of the ice on the various rivers of Russia is a time of great excitement," observed the Count. "In an instant the natural bridges which the winter has formed are destroyed, often with little or no warning, and people are hurried down the stream on the floating masses of ice, frequently unable to reach the shore, till, one mass driven under the other by the fierce rush of waters, they are engulfed beneath them. I was one year at Jaroslaf, on the Volga, at that period. You, my friends, who were there at the time, will not have forgotten the circumstance. I was on horseback, riding along the banks of the river, to watch the huge masses of ice which came floating down the stream. Sometimes they would glide calmly by, in almost unbroken sheets; then they would meet with some obstruction—either a narrow part of the stream, or a promontory, or a rock—and then they would leap and rush over each other, as if imbued with life, and eager to escape from the pursuit of an enemy. The rushing and crushing and grinding of the ice, and roar of the waters was almost deafening. The masses would assume, too, all sorts of fantastic shapes, which one, with a slight exertion of fancy, might imagine bears, and lions, and castles, and ships under sail—indeed all sorts of things, animate and inanimate. As I looked up the stream, my attention was drawn to a large black object, which I soon made out to be a vessel of the largest size which navigates those waters. She came gliding rapidly down—now stem, now stern foremost; now whirling round and round, and evidently beyond all control. To my horror, I perceived as she drew near there were several men on board. The current brought her close to the bank where I was. By the gaunt looks and gestures of the crew, I perceived that they were suffering from hunger. This notion was confirmed when the vessel drew still nearer.

"'Oh, give us bread!—oh, give us bread!' they shouted, in piteous tones. 'We have had no food for these three days. We have been seven days thus driving on, and unable to reach the shore.'

"On hearing this, I galloped along the bank, so as to get before the vessel, and succeeded in finding some bread at some cottages a little way on. The peasants willingly brought it out, and by my directions endeavoured to heave it on board the vessel. Oh, it was sad to see the eager way in which the starving wretches held out their hands for the food, but in vain. Loaf after loaf was thrown by the strongest men present; but the bread, which would have preserved their lives, fell into the water, or on to the masses of ice which surrounded the vessel, some few yards only short of her. I and others galloped on, in the hopes that she might be driven still nearer; but, as we thought she was approaching, the current swept her away again into the middle of the stream. It was a melancholy exemplification of the story of Tantalus. There were those poor famished men floating down a river in the midst truly of plenty—for where can be found more fertile regions!—and yet they were unable to procure a mouthful of food to appease the pangs of hunger.

"I endeavoured to devise some plan to send them help; but all the plans I could think of seemed hopeless. No boat could approach them, could one have been procured, or people to man her. A stone might have carried a thin line on board, but no thin line could be found. I asked for one at every cottage I passed, but in vain. At length, with a sad heart, I saw the vessel with her hapless crew drive by me. On she was whirled by the rapid current till I lost sight of her. I had but faint hopes of the people being saved. If, before starvation deprived them of all strength to move, the vessel struck on one of the banks, they might be saved. If not, they would be carried onward, down the stream, till she reached the Caspian Sea, where, perhaps, leaky from the crushing she had received from the masses of ice, she might go to the bottom; or, after knocking about for a long time, she might be picked up, the bones of her crew telling plainly their melancholy fate.

"That very day, as I rode back, I witnessed another scene, which I shall never forget. High up the stream I descried an object on a large slab of ice which came floating down towards me. As it came nearer, I perceived a telega, a country cart, with a horse harnessed to it. Near it I saw a human figure kneeling. By his side was a dog, which, from its attitude, even at that distance, I guessed was looking up into his master's face. So still were all the figures, that I might have fancied them a group chiselled out of marble. Nearer drew the sheet of ice. I then saw that the figure was that of an old man; his cap had fallen off, and his long white locks were streaming in the wind. His hands were lifted up in prayer, and his lips moved, as if imploring aid from above. His faithful dog looked up wistfully and inquiringly, as if to say, 'Master dear, what is the matter?—how can I help you?' The old man seemed resigned fully to his fate, and not inclined to make an effort to save himself. He turned his head, and then saw farther down the stream a number of people, who were beckoning to him, and showing their anxiety to save him. At first when he saw them, he shook his head, and once more addressed himself to prayer. He had evidently given up all hope of being saved. But when the cheering voices of his fellow-creatures reached his ears, and he saw their friendly gestures, the desire to live returned, and he rose from his knees. In his cart were a number of long poles. He seized one of them, and stood balancing it in his hand, while he looked eagerly towards the shore. He called to his dog, 'Now, my faithful one, you and I have a dangerous work to perform. Life or death depends on the course we take.' He approached the edge of the floe, which was now driven close to another large mass, and then whirled round again, a wide gulf being left between them. The poor dog whined, and drew back with dismay as he watched the eddying waters close before him.

"'Courage, courage, friend!' shouted the people on the shore, as the floe on which the old man stood approached another sheet of ice at that moment attached to the shore. 'Leap, leap, friend!' His tall sinewy figure showed me that he might justly in his youth have trusted to his athletic powers to save him from a similar predicament, but age, alas! Had unstrung his nerves and weakened his muscles. He hesitated. Again the people shouted, 'Courage, courage!—leap, leap!' He looked up to Heaven for a moment, and then sprang forward. His dog followed. There was a shriek of horror; the treacherous ice, worn at the edges by the constant abrasion of the other pieces, was rotten and unable to bear the weight suddenly placed on it. It gave way ere he could take a second leap, and sank beneath him. One cry escaped him, and the wild foaming waters closed over his head. His dog, lighter of foot, reached the shore in safety, and was till his death in my possession."

The guests gave a shudder at the recital.

"We have had enough of tales of horror for one day," said the Count. "Have you ever tried our Russian bath, Fairman?"

"No; I must confess to having neglected that duty of a traveller, who ought to taste every dish, go through every operation, and see every ceremony characteristic of the country," answered Cousin Giles, laughing. "I cannot fancy a roll in the snow after a hot bath."

"Whether it is injurious or not depends on the effect which the hot bath produces on the frame," answered the Count. "Every country mansion has a bath, placed near a stream, if possible. It is a very simple affair. The bath-house is divided into two portions. In the inner half is a large oven, and high up round the walls are rows of seats. In the oven are placed large stones which are completely heated through. In the room stand ready some buckets of water. The people who are to bathe then come in and take their seats on the benches, having left their clothes in the outer room; the door is closed, and the water is thrown over the hot stones. This fills the whole room with hot vapour, which thoroughly penetrates the pores of the skin. The bathers are then rubbed over with towels and brushes, and a profuse perspiration ensues, which continues till all superfluous moisture has exuded from the body. There is then, it must be understood, no lassitude, no weakness, such as is produced by physical exertion, while also perspiration has in reality ceased. The frame, therefore, is not liable to receive a chill, but is, on the contrary, strengthened to resist it. Consequently, a person may either rush out into the freezing air and roll in the snow, or may plunge into a bath of pure cold water with impunity. For this purpose the bath-houses are, as I said, built near a stream or pond; and most refreshing and invigorating it is, after taking the steam-bath, to leap into the bright, sparkling stream. One comes out again like a new being, feeling capable of any exertion."

Cousin Giles and his companions declared, after the description they had heard, that they should be anxious to take a true Russian bath before they left the country.

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of some musicians and singers, who came expressly to amuse the company. The instrumental music was very good, and received, as it merited, an abundance of applause; but the great amusement of the evening was a contest between two rival singers. On their introduction they bowed to the company, which was composed evidently of persons much superior to them in rank.

"Come, friend Nedopeouski, do you begin," said the Count, addressing a tall man with a very quiet, almost sheepish expression of countenance. Thus summoned, the singer, who had been standing for some time alone without uttering a word, began an air, which it was evident could only be accomplished by a person capable of reaching the highest notes. He soon showed that he was equal to what he had undertaken. It was wonderful the mode in which he played with his voice: it rose and fell, and swelled again, now seeming to come through the roof from the clouds, now scarcely audible; sweet and strong notes succeeded each other with rapid transition. Then others present joined in chorus, and this seeming to encourage him to still further exertions, he quickly surpassed all his first efforts, till, utterly overcome, he could sing no longer, and would have sunk on the ground had not some of the guests, enraptured by the music, sprung up and caught him in their arms. Loud acclamations of delight broke from every one present, and it appeared as if there was no use in his rival attempting to compete with him. On the speedy recovery of the first singer, the Count, however, beckoned to him to begin. He rose and stood forward. At first his voice was weak, but his notes seemed to rivet the attention of his audience. As he proceeded, it became more and more animated, firmer, and fuller, exhibiting a wonderful combination of freshness, sweetness, and power; so exquisitely plaintive, so overflowing with poignant grief—for it was of a melancholy character—that tears, sobs, and groans broke from the breasts of most of his audience. It was truly the triumph of song over human feelings, and the palm of victory was unanimously awarded to the last singer.

"I am glad you heard these singers," observed the Count, as his guests were retiring for the night. "We Russians are celebrated, I believe, for our musical talents, and I think you have heard a fair specimen of them this evening."



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Preparations for a Hunt—Ride to Cover—Account of an Insurrection of Peasants—Game breaks Cover—Fred and Harry lose their Way—Chase a Stag—Desperate Encounter with a She-wolf—Harry's Bravery—Saved by Saveleff the Molokani—The Count promises to assist Saveleff—Return to Moscow.

A fine bright morning, which ushered in the day appointed for the hunt, gave promise of much amusement. Breakfast being over at an early hour, the Count and his guests mounted the horses, which were led forth in front of the house by high-booted, long pink-shirted, wide-trousered peasants, looking as unlike English grooms as a polar bear does to an opera-dancer. Cousin Giles was not a bad horseman for a sailor, and the lads were delighted with the steeds provided for them; but Mr Evergreen had great doubts whether he should risk his neck on the back of an animal with which he was unacquainted. The Count, however, assured him that the horse selected for him bore a very good character for quietness, so at last he persuaded himself to mount. People of all ranks came from far and near to join the hunt. They were dressed in all sorts of costumes, partaking much of a military character, and the steeds which they rode were as varied in character as their masters. Some were more like chargers and cart-horses than hunters of the English stamp; the greater number were little Cossack horses not bigger than ponies, with long tails and shaggy coats.

"Don't laugh, my friend," said the Count to Cousin Giles, as five or six tall picqueurs, in splendid green-and-gold liveries, rode forth on the above-described style of little steeds, driving before them a number of dogs of a most mongrel appearance, at whom a pack of aristocratic English hounds would most certainly have turned up their noses. "You see, my predecessor was of the old school, and I do not wish to make any sudden changes in matters of small importance, lest I should be considered to hold his memory in slight esteem. By degrees I hope to make improvements, but sudden changes do not suit this country."

A large number of persons, very picturesque in appearance, had now collected in front of the mansion. The huntsmen blew their horns and cracked their whips, the dogs barked and yelped and gave tongue in a variety of ways, the horses pranced and kicked, the peasants shouted, and the whole party set off towards the spot appointed for the meet. A ride of three or four versts brought them in front of a dilapidated building on the borders of a wood.

"That house was erected as a hunting-box by one of my predecessors many years ago," observed the Count. Many hundreds of people used to assemble here in the olden days, to hunt in a style of magnificence which has now become obsolete. Open house was kept, and all comers were welcome. Intimates of the family, or those of rank, were accommodated inside, some in beds and some on the floor, while others bivouacked outside as best they could under arbours of boughs or beneath the vault of heaven. They used to hunt all day and feast all night for a whole week or longer, without intermission. From the secluded position of the place, it was for many months of the year totally unvisited. There existed at that time three or four landlords, owners of large numbers of serfs, whom they treated with great harshness, if I may not, indeed, say with much barbarity. For long the unhappy people groaned helplessly under their tyranny, which was made yet more severe by the cruel and grasping dispositions of their overseers. The laws existing for the protection of the serfs were in every way evaded, and every kopeck which could be wrung from them was exacted without mercy. A worm will turn on the foot which treads on it. The man who had charge of this house was educated above his fellows. He had read in history of peasants, poor and simple men, revolting against their rulers when tyrannised over to excess, and thought and meditated on what he had read. At length he persuaded himself that he could emancipate his fellow-serfs from tharldom, and enable them to avenge themselves on their tyrants. He opened his plans at first to a few, and by degrees to others. They used to assemble at this house, where there was no fear of their being disturbed. Often they met, and much they planned, till they believed, their plans were ripe for execution. At first they drew up a remonstrance, which in the humblest manner they presented to their masters. It was treated with the bitterest scorn. They resolved on wreaking a dreadful vengeance on their oppressors; they supplied themselves with fire-arms—how procured the authorities could not discover—others armed themselves with scythes, reaping-hooks, hatchets, pikes, and weapons of every description. With these in their hands they rushed through the district, calling their fellow-serfs to arms. The call was answered by many; others hung back, dreading the consequences should the outbreak prove unsuccessful, as the more sagacious knew it must be. Still many hundreds, I might say thousands, rose to wreak a fearful vengeance on the heads of their lords; but they had no one capable of commanding them. They murdered all the inmates of the first house they attacked, and burned it to the ground. They rushed from house to house, burning, murdering, and destroying all that came in their way. For many days they set all authority at defiance, and there appeared no power capable of stemming the torrent of their fury.

"In the meantime, Government, having notice of what was taking place, was sending down troops at once to crush the insurrection. The largest body of the insurgents were met by the troops, and quickly breaking, were driven before them like a flock of sheep, the greater number being slaughtered without mercy; the remainder threw themselves into this house, resolving to defend themselves to the last. It is said they made a brave resistance, but the building was stormed, and not one of its defenders was left alive to tell the tale. The house has ever since remained in ruins, and shunned by all the peasants in the neighbourhood. Several similar outbreaks have occurred at different times among the serfs, with similar consequences. The people of Russia are not fit to govern themselves. They may at some time become so, but at present, were they to attempt it, they would bring certain destruction on themselves and the country at large. I speak to you as a friend, and perhaps in an unpatriotic way tell you of occurrences which ought to be kept secret; but I trust that you have seen many things in Russia to admire, and will not judge us over harshly when you hear of some of our weak points. But, tally ho! The huntsmen's horns give notice that the pack have found some game. It will soon break cover, and then away after it!"

Besides the gaily-coated picqueurs on horseback, a number of peasants habited in the usual pink shirt, wide green breeches, and willow-woven sandals, were engaged with long sticks in beating the bushes and underwood which grew in thick clumps in the forest. The green-and-gold coated huntsmen galloped about outside, sounding their horns, shouting to the peasants, and watching eagerly the movements of the dogs. On a sudden the huntsmen sounded their horns more gaily than before, the people shouted, and a large fox broke from the cover, and darted away along the skirts of the wood. Away went the hounds, and away went the horsemen after him, the Count and his English friends shouting "Tally ho! Tally ho!" in right honest British fashion, while the peasants gave utterance to the wildest cries, which sounded wonderfully strange in the travellers' ears.

It was not very hard riding, although Mr Evergreen seemed to think it so; but as he was mounted on a fast horse, he, in spite of himself, kept well ahead of most of the field. Cousin Giles and the Count rode alongside each other, and the two Markhams kept together.

They had not gone far when another fox showed his nose out of the wood, apparently to learn what was going forward, and a few of the dogs instantly made chase after him, while the huntsmen followed the main body.

"Tally ho!" shouted Fred Markham. "Harry, let us have a hunt of our own. It will be fine fun to bring home a brush which we have got all by ourselves."

"Capital fun," answered Harry; and boy-like, thought less of the consequences, away they galloped after the four or five dogs which had separated themselves from the chase. No one followed. The fox led them directly into the wood. He was a knowing old fellow, and was aware that they would thus have the greatest difficulty in overtaking him. Deeper and deeper they got into the forest, but the dogs had still the scent of the old fox.

"I wish that we could kill a deer now," exclaimed Harry. "That would be something to boast of."

"Or a wolf, rather," cried Fred. "That is nobler game, for he shows more fight."

"Yes, I should like to fall in with a wolf," responded his brother. "But I say, Fred, how are we to kill him if we find him?"

"Knock him on the head with the butt end of our whip! That is what he deserves, at all events."

"Easier said than done," observed Harry. "However, I'll stick by you, don't fear, if we should find one of the rascals. I shall ever hate a wolf after the story we heard the other night."

Thus talking, the lads galloped on. Suddenly a deer started up from an open glade which lay before them. They looked round for the old fox—he was nowhere to be seen, and the dogs appeared to have lost the scent. However, as soon as the deer began to run they followed, evidently not at all particular as to what they had to pursue.

"Rare fun this is," shouted Fred and Harry, as they galloped after the deer. But the dogs, already tired, had not the slightest chance of overtaking the nimble-footed animal, though, had the young hunters been provided with rifles, they could quickly have brought her to the ground.

"Hallo! Where is she?" exclaimed Fred, as the deer darted among a thick clump of trees.

"I am sure I saw her but a moment ago," answered Harry. "Let us get round to the other side of the clump, she will have gone through it."

If she had gone through the clump, she had gone a long way beyond it, for she was nowhere to be seen on the other side. The dogs also were equally at fault, and began to stray about, as if each one was resolved to have a hunt by himself. Where our friends had got to by this time, they could not tell. They proposed returning to the ruined house where the hunt had met, but in what direction to find it was the puzzle.

"This is worse than losing ourselves in the streets of Saint Petersburg," cried Harry, who was in no ways daunted. "The fox and the deer have brought us all this way—I wish we could find a wolf or a bear to show us the road home again."

"Not much chance of that," answered Fred, as they rode on in the direction they fancied would lead them whence they had come. "But, I say, hallo, what is that shaggy-looking brute showing his head out of the hollow stump of that old tree there?" As he spoke, a loud snarling growl saluted their ears.

"A big she-wolf and her cubs," shouted Harry. "Let's knock her over, the brute."

"For mercy's sake, don't attempt anything so rash," cried Fred. "She will prove an ugly customer to deal with, depend on it."

The white, grinning teeth and ferocious aspect of the wolf fully corroborated Fred's assertion. Still the lads did not like to decline the combat, but without fire-arms or spears they were hard pressed to know what to do. They rode round and round the tree at a respectful distance, the wolf following them with her eyes, though she would not leave her cubs either to escape or to attack them. Still the lads, thoughtless of the risk they ran, could not bring themselves to leave the beast alone.

"Hang it, I must give her a lick over the chops, just to remind her that she must not eat up little children in future," cried Harry, riding up towards the beast. The wolf looked at Harry, as much as to say, "You had better not, master, for if you do, I'll give you a taste of my fangs." Harry rode on. The wolf stood up, and advanced a step or two beyond her lair, grinning horribly.

"Stay, stay, Harry!" shouted Fred, dashing on before him. "The wolf will fly at you."

The wolf took the movement as the signal of attack, and with a terrible snarl, which sounded far more ferocious than the bark or growl of a dog, flew at Fred's horse, evidently intending to pull the rider to the ground. Never had Fred been in peril so terrific. A cry of horror escaped him; he could not restrain it, but, speedily recovering his presence of mind, he began to belabour the head of the wolf. Harry, true to his promise, nothing daunted, came to his assistance, but their blows, though given with a hearty good-will, had not the slightest effect on the head of the wolf. On the contrary, they only seemed to increase her fury. She let go, but it was only to spring again with surer aim. The poor horse, torn by her fangs, reared with pain and fright, as the savage brute again sprang towards him. In another moment its fangs would have been fixed in Fred's thigh. Alas! Poor fellow! His life was in dreadful jeopardy.

"Oh! What can I do? What can I do?" cried poor Harry.

The wolf and her cubs seemed to say, "Gallop away while you can, or we will eat you up as well as your brother."

At that critical moment a rifle-shot was heard, and the wolf, with a yelp of pain and rage, let go her hold. Directly afterwards a man was seen, with a rifle in his hand, running through the forest towards them.

"Oh, you are saved!—you are saved, my brother," cried Harry, giving way to his feelings of affection.

"In mercy I am," answered Fred, looking down at the wounded wolf, whom he seemed inclined to strike with his whip.

The stranger shouted to them as he advanced. They could not understand what he said, but they thought it was probably telling them not to meddle with the wolf. As soon as he came up to the spot he drew a long knife from a sheath at his side, and in the most deliberate way, evidently the result of long practice, approaching the brute from behind, plunged it into her neck.

"Bravo! Bravo!" shouted Fred and Harry. "Thanks—thanks! Oh, how we wish we could thank you in your own language."

The stranger looked up with a smile on his countenance, and the lads then recognised him as their new attendant, the Molokani, Steffanoff Saveleff. They put out their hands to shake his. He smiled again, and pointed westward through the forest.

"Oh, but we want the skin of the beast," said Fred; "I'll keep it as a memorial of what you have done for me."

"And we may as well kill the cubs, or they will be growing up, and will soon become as unamiable as their mother," added Harry, pointing to the tree.

Steffanoff understood the action which accompanied the remark, and very soon put an end to the young wolves. Thus, in hunter guise, they took their way through the forest. The lads chatted freely to their guide, and though he could not understand a word they said, he looked up every now and then with one of those pleasant smiles which showed that he would gladly have talked to them if he could. His step was so elastic and rapid, that he kept their horses at a short trot the whole way.

The Count and his friends got home soon after they arrived, and Cousin Giles expressed no small satisfaction at seeing them. This was very much increased when he heard the risk they had run; and Steffanoff came in most deservedly for his share of praise for the way in which he had rescued the lads.

"Tell him," said Cousin Giles to Mr Allwick, "that I was inclined to serve him before, but that now I am doubly anxious to be of use to him. Had any accident happened to the two lads, I should never have forgiven myself."

Cousin Giles being certain that he could depend on the Count, gave him a sketch of Saveleff's life, for the purpose of gaining his advice and assistance.

The Count shook his head. "I am afraid that he has very little chance of success," said he; "still I will gladly assist and protect him to the utmost of my power."

When Saveleff heard, through Mr Allwick, the promise which had been made him, he also shook his head. "I am deeply grateful to the Count," said he; "but I have no faith in what my countrymen can do for me."

A few days after this occurrence the whole party set off for Moscow, to be present at the coronation of the Emperor.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Letter from Fred Markham to his Mother—Entrance of the Czar into Moscow—Saveleff presents his Petition—Grand Review of Troops— Coronation of the Emperor—Fete at the Opera—State Balls—The Illumination—The People's Feast—The People's Ball—Fireworks— Character of Russians—Thieving Propensities—Russian's Aptitude for Commerce—Cucumber-water—Aqueduct of Moscow—Cursing Heretics— Blessing the Waters—Blessing Fruits—Christening Ceremony—Story of a Post-office for the Saints—High Mass in a Greek Church—Preparations for Leaving Moscow—Last News of Saveleff.

"Moscow, 30th September, 1856.

"Dearest Mother,—We are delighted that we came back to Moscow, for we have seen some magnificent sights, such as we are not likely to see again; and, thanks to the Count's kindness, we saw everything to the best advantage, which I will now try and describe to you as briefly as I can. The very day we came here the Emperor arrived at his boiled-crab-like palace of Petrofsky, in front of which his camp of sixty thousand men is pitched. The 29th of August was fixed for his entrance into the city. A long, somewhat winding street, with houses of all heights and sizes, leads from the city gate to the Kremlin. Rows above rows of benches were placed at every interval between the houses, as also on their roofs, and in front of them, every bench being covered with people in their best attire, while the sides of the street were densely crowded with mujicks, both men and women, in their holiday suits, the centre part being kept clear by lines of cavalry; gay carpets, cloths, flags, and banners of every description hung out of all the windows, adding to the brilliancy of the scene. We got first-rate seats near the entrance to the Kremlin. The morning was rainy, but in the forenoon the weather cleared, and ringing of bells and firing of big guns, and talking and laughing, and hurrying of people to and fro to their posts, and marching of infantry and cavalry, occupied the time till four o'clock, when the Emperor entered the city gate; troops of many Asiatic tribes, in various gorgeous costumes, and imperial guards, and nobles of the realm, in magnificent uniforms, preceding him, while he was followed by the members of his family and their wives in five carriages—fine enough to make the Lord Mayor of London and all the Sheriffs jealous.

"All the great people were accompanied by running footmen, lacqueys, and others, and the whole procession was wound up with some fine squadrons of cuirassiers. Priests in their robes, with their crosses and pictures of saints, stood at all the churches, and at the doors of some the Emperor dismounted and kissed them—not the priests, but the crosses and pictures—as he and his Empress did also the relics and pictures of saints of peculiar sanctity in the various cathedrals. And lastly, in the cathedral of Saint Michael, they prostrated themselves before the tombs of those of their ancestors who are there buried. Cousin Giles said it struck him as setting somewhat of an example of idolatry to his subjects; but I do not suppose that he troubled himself about any such consideration. The universal custom of presenting bread and salt was performed by the Archbishop of Moscow to the Emperor as he entered the palace of the Kremlin, and here the ceremony of the day concluded. We eagerly watched to see if our friend Saveleff could find an opportunity of presenting his petition to the Emperor. Whenever the Czar stopped, the crowd pressed forward, and, amid shouts and cries, took his hand, and pressed it to their lips.

"'I see him! I see him!' cried Harry, as nodding plumes, and glittering helmets, and rich turbans, and tall spears, and shining swords, and gay banners were defiling through the gate of the Kremlin.

"We looked eagerly among the crowd, and then we saw a mujick working his way to the front rank, with a paper held out in one hand above his head. We could not hear, of course, what he said, but whatever was his appeal, his brethren made way for him. We were certain he could be no other than Saveleff. He had just reached the position he sought, when the Emperor himself approached. The Emperor bowed and smiled, and held out his hand to a number of mujicks, who were pressing forward to kiss it. At that moment, Saveleff, with a few hurried words, thrust his paper between the Emperor's fingers. We understand that he exclaimed, 'Oh, your Majesty, look at my document—life and death depends on it. Grant my petition!' The Czar cast a look of surprise at the audacious mujick, and, without saying a word, handed the paper to an officer near him. But the result of all his toils, his sufferings, his anxieties— ah, you will ask, what is that?—we cannot tell. The Count has done his utmost to forward his object. His parents are still on their way to Siberia, if they have survived the hardships they have endured. His betrothed is still among the gipsies, and may any day be dragged back to slavery. The poor fellow remains with us, and is unmolested, but he is in low spirits, and hopeless of success. Still, he says that he would gladly go through far greater hardships and troubles than he has endured for the sake of the faith to which he holds. Cousin Giles would have taken him with us to England, but he will not quit the country which holds his betrothed, nor give up all prospects of rescuing his parents.

"I must, however, try to give you an idea of what took place during the coronation festival. The next thing which took place was a grand parade of all the troops in the camp, now increased to one hundred and twenty thousand men. Some of the cavalry had a fine appearance, dressed in Oriental costume. There were Circassians, or rather Lesghians, and other tribes bordering on the Caucasus—some in chain armour, others in white robes. There were Greeks and Albanians in their national costume, ferocious Koords, and terrier-looking Cossacks, with long lances, on shaggy little ponies, looking as if they would bite any one who came in their way. All the great people were there. The finest thing was a charge of twelve thousand dragoons, who literally made the ground tremble under them. They afterwards galloped up to the Emperor, and, drawing their swords simultaneously, with loud shouts, exclaimed—'We wish your health, Czar!' and then, wheeling round, dashed off at full speed.

"I must next tell you about the coronation itself. It took place in the Church of the Assumption, before which a large court had been formed by railing in several other churches, and covering them with galleries. These were filled with all the great people of the nation and their visitors. The arched roof of the church is supported by four massive pillars, covered with gold; under them sat the Emperor and Empress, surrounded by their Court. The Emperor took the crown, an immense one, blazing with jewels, from the Metropolitan who held it, and with his own hands placed it on his head. This he did to intimate that from no earthly power, clerical or lay, did he receive his sovereignty. The Empress then advanced, and kneeling before him, he touched her forehead with the crown, and then replaced it on his own head. The Empress-mother, who was the first to advance to congratulate her son, burst into tears, it is said, while her children, forgetful of all rules of etiquette, clung affectionately round him. The whole congregation wept, overcome at the sight.

"That same night all Moscow was illuminated, and a truly fairy-like spectacle it was. Every tower, minaret, cupola, dome, the front of its vast palace, and all the walls of the Kremlin were a blaze of light; so was the vast square with the arches which temporarily surround it, and the superb opera-house at one end, all the palaces of the great people, and the public buildings. You remember our description of the Cathedral of Saint Basil, with its wondrous towers and domes, and its various ins-and-outs? Every part of that bizarre building was clearly traced with bright lamps, and the effect was curiously beautiful. We walked about, and gazed and gazed with wonder and delight, till our eyes were so dazzled that we could scarcely see our way home.

"After this there were grand galas at the opera, and balls at the palace, and one at the English Ambassador's, where McAllister, Lord Stafford's piper, figured as a very important personage. The people also had their feast, the preparations for which we had seen; but they rushed up to the tables, and made away with the food, either down their throats or into their pockets, before the arrival of the Emperor and the greater part of the intended spectators. They, however, behaved much better at a ball which the Emperor gave them at the palace in the Kremlin. Dance they could not, but the mujicks and their wives and daughters walked about the vast halls, admiring the wonders they beheld, and eating and drinking as much of the delicate viands prepared for them as they could procure.

"Last night there was a grand display of fireworks, but somehow or other they did not go off at the right time and place; however, I daresay that the crowd were equally astonished and delighted as if each squib and cracker had played its part properly. One thing I must say for the Russians, that they are a very orderly, well-behaved people; and in all the vast crowds we saw, the people appeared kind and good-natured to each other in the extreme. There was no unnecessary pushing and shoving, and none of that abusive language which is so disgusting in an English crowd; on the contrary, every one appeared good-tempered and happy.

"I really like the Russians in many respects. Their faults are rather the consequence of bad government and a faulty religion, than such as are inherent in their race. If a pure religion were introduced among them generally, and their government were to become more and more liberal, till they are capable of governing themselves, another century would see a very great change in them for the better. At present a large number of them are semi-barbarians, with the ignorance and vices of barbarism; and although they may be easily governed under the present despotic system, they are equally liable to be led into revolt by any designing man who is bold enough to risk his life on the chance of success. I give you Cousin Giles' opinion on the subject, which is of more value than mine.

"I am sorry to say that in the capitals a number of people are found not a little addicted to picking and stealing. Not that housebreakers or footpads are to be found, but it is not safe to leave things about in one's room. One day, while we were at dinner, I found that I had left my pocket-handkerchief up-stairs, so I ran to get it. What was my surprise to find the door open, which I felt certain I had locked, and on looking in to observe a gentleman very composedly stowing away in a towel some shirts and other clothes which had just come home from the laundress.

"'Hollo, old fellow, what are you about?'

"'Si chasse—si chasse,' (presently—presently), he answered, with the greatest coolness, as if he was employed in something he had been ordered to do. They were some of the very few words of Russian I knew.

"'I'll not trouble you, my man. Just put those things down, and get out of this as fast as you can,' I exclaimed, walking up to him. He tried to grasp the things, and to make a bolt with them, but I was too quick for him; and while I sung out at the top of my voice, he let the things fall, and made a dart out of the room. I followed him as fast as I could run, and had I not unfortunately slipped, I should have caught him, and held him fast till my shouts brought the people from the dining-room to my assistance. As it was, the fellow escaped, to my great disappointment, though he took nothing with him. The Russian thieves are also very expert at picking pockets, and at the time of the coronation they had plenty of opportunities in exercising their vocation. Harry and I lost our pocket-handkerchiefs one day, but after that we followed Cousin Giles' advice, and fastened them into our pockets. The Russians are great traders; they begin their mercantile pursuits at a very early age. Little fellows, who would be playing at marbles or hoop in England, if they were not at school, here manage shops or stalls in the streets. They are as sharp, too, as any grown-up men, and if they do not cheat others, they take very good care that they are not cheated themselves. We have seen small urchins not more than seven or eight years old with a store of wax-tapers or picture-books, or quass, of which they pressed all passers-by with the greatest pertinacity to become purchasers. We stopped several times with Mr Allwick to talk to them, and we found that they knew not only all about their own trade, but had already a good knowledge about trade in general. Many of the richest shopkeepers in Moscow and Saint Petersburg have sprung from this humble class of dealers.

"Many of the shopkeepers have a very Jewish look, and employ the very mode which the Jews in London, in some of the back streets, do to induce passers-by to purchase their wares. They stand in front of their shops, and as soon as they see any one approaching, they step forward, uttering praises of their goods, and, with hands stretched out, look as if they would forcibly detain the stranger, and as if they would consider themselves very ill-used should he not become a purchaser.

"The Russians are great eaters of raw vegetables, especially of onions and cucumbers. They eat them pickled in salt, and most thoroughly unwholesome they appeared. They drink also the juice of the cucumber, mixed with water, which is called cucumber-water. It is said to form a very cooling beverage in summer! But I suspect the water forms the best part of the potation. They are very fond of all sorts of sour vegetables. They have a species of apple, which they allow to freeze in winter, in which state it is preserved, and though it has a very withered appearance, it is really full of juice.

"Moscow is supplied with water by an aqueduct which reaches to about three versts from the city. It is there forced by a steam-engine into a basin at the top of a lofty tower in Garden Street, where pipes carry it to the various reservoirs in different directions for the supply of the houses. Over every spring in Russia, preserved for the use of man, is placed the picture of a saint, who is supposed to have the special charge of the water. Over this reservoir there is one of particular sanctity, but I am not acquainted with his name. This tower, which is called the Sukhareva Bashnia, is the most lofty in the city, and a view is to be obtained from it still more interesting than that from Ivan Veleki, because one sees, not only the surrounding city, but the wonderful Kremlin itself. At the top of the tower the Russian eagle, made of silver, expands its wings over a silver basin, and from this silver basin radiate fifty pipes, each an inch in diameter, which carry fifty streams for the supply of the inhabitants.

"One of the most curious ceremonies of which we heard in the Greek Church is that of cursing the heretics. First, there is a grand mass, and much singing and lighting of tapers, and then the chief priest, who has always a powerful, deep voice, pronounces an awful curse on the false Demetrius, Mazeppa, and several other noted worthies, long departed from all terrestrial influence. Many people, and heretics of all descriptions, are also cursed, and then the choir chants forth in melodious tones the words anafema, anafema, repeated sometimes by all the congregation with most startling effect. The Russians are, however, more given to blessing than to cursing. The priests, at the same time, consider themselves entitled to payment for their blessings. No true believer is content unless all his possessions are especially blessed: his house, his cattle, his horses, flocks; the fruits growing in his garden; his corn-fields, his children; the well which supplies him with water; indeed, all he possesses. He believes that nothing he undertakes will prosper unless the priest has first blessed the implements he uses, and his religious instructor takes no pains to undeceive him. One of the most curious ceremonies is that of blessing the waters. It is performed three times in the year; once in spring, once in midsummer, and once on the ice in winter. The latter is the most curious. The nearest large piece of water is selected—either a river, a lake, or a pond. On the ice a large arbour, composed of birch trees, is formed to represent a church, with a gallery in the form of an amphitheatre. In the centre a square hole is broken, so that the water can be reached. From the neighbouring church a procession of priests approaches with pictures, and crosses, and flags, and tapers, and with loud chanting enters the arbour. Here a service is performed, and as soon as it is over they march forth again with very picturesque effect, and the cross is dipped several times in the water. By this ceremony it is believed the water is especially blessed, and made wholesome for man, beast, bird, and fish. No sooner has it been performed than the multitude who have been surrounding the spot rush eagerly forward with bottles, jugs, pots, and pans, and fill their vessels, and also drink as much as they can. Not only is the water itself blessed, but all the streams, and wells, and fountains in the neighbourhood are equally benefited. It is curious to see the way in which the people dabble in the water, throw it over their persons, though it freezes as it falls, and drink of it till they can drink no more; all this being done in the belief that the water is holy, and that they will be especially benefited thereby. The ceremony in summer is very similar, only the arbours are formed on the banks of the river or lake, and people manage to drink still more abundantly, with fewer ill effects. A still more interesting festival is that of blessing the fruit, which takes place on the 6th of August. It is held in the country, in front of one of the principal churches or convents. People of all classes, rich and poor, high and low, assemble from all quarters, far and near, in vehicles of every description. In front of the church are long rows of fruit-sellers' booths to supply those who have brought no fruit with them. High Mass is then performed in the church, and as soon as it is concluded the priests come forth with bowls of holy water, with which they march up and down among the lines of people, drawn up in all directions, with fruits in their hands, sprinkling the consecrated liquid on either side as they go. As soon as this has been done, the people set to work and eat greedily of the various fruits which have been sprinkled, which they have not before ventured to touch, under the belief that till then they are unwholesome. In the more northern districts the fruit is very often far from ripe, but yet they eat away, under the belief that it can do them no harm. They will even give small infants in arms large green apples to suck, fancying that they cannot hurt them, poor little things. As, however, I have seen nursemaids in England equally foolish, I will not blame the ignorant Russian peasant. Cousin Giles says that the same sort of ceremonies are performed in Roman Catholic countries, where horses and cattle are blessed in due form by a plentiful sprinkling of holy water. It would all appear very ridiculous to us, were it not sadly blasphemous. To a stranger, one of the most curious ceremonies in the Greek Church is that of baptism. The infant, soon after it is born, is brought by its godfathers and godmothers to the church—neither of its parents being present. The priest first asks if it will renounce the devil and all his works; the sponsors answer for it, that it will. The priest thereon commands the devil, who is supposed to have hitherto had possession of it, to take his departure. The order is believed to be instantly obeyed, and the priest consequently spits over his shoulder at the devil, who is beating a hasty retreat. His example is followed by all present, who spit with unfeigned satisfaction at the discomfited Evil One. The whole party then walk in procession three times round the font. At its conclusion the priest consecrates the water by putting it into a metal cross, and then immerses in it the infant three times, pronouncing at the end its baptismal name. As a visible sign that the child is now a Christian, the priest suspends round its neck, by a black string, a small metal cross, which it ever afterwards wears as an amulet. I remember well hearing of such crosses being found on the slain at the Alma and other battle-fields in the Crimea, but did not at the time know their signification. Next the child is dressed, and carried once more round the font with a procession of burning tapers, which, symbolising the Holy Spirit, signify that the child has now received that Spirit within it, of which it was before destitute. Lastly, the infant's eyes, ears, mouth, hands, and feet are anointed with holy oil, and pieces of hair are cut from its head, and rolled up with wax into a ball, and thrown into the font. No Russian has more than one Christian name. This custom arises from the belief that every name has its representative among the angels in heaven, who have the especial charge of all persons bearing that name; in return, it is expected that the prayers of mortals should especially be addressed to their guardian angels. Only one name is given, because it is said that a person can have only one guardian angel; if he had two, it might be doubtful which was to watch over him, and to which he should address his prayers. Cousin Giles observes that, when once people depart from the simple truths of Christianity, it is impossible to say what absurdities they may believe, or of what follies they may be guilty. As the people become enlightened, the priests of a false faith are compelled to refine their system; at present, in Russia, nothing is too gross for the credulity of the people to swallow.

"We attended mass the other day at the Uspensky Sabor (the Cathedral of the Resurrection). It was a very gorgeous ceremony, although, as it lasted three hours, it was very fatiguing; but we determined to stand it out, and afterwards never to go to another. I can only attempt to give an outline of the ceremonies. The church being crowded with people, a priest came through one of the side doors of the screen, and in a stentorian voice, with hand uplifted, announced that service was beginning. Some ceremony then took place behind the screen. Soon afterwards another priest entered, with two attendants, bearing over his head a huge Bible with a richly ornamented cover. It was allowed just to touch his forehead. Being placed on a desk in front of the chief door in the screen, another priest in a very irreverential and hurried manner read some chapters from it, the choir constantly repeating the words, 'Gospodi poluomini,' (the Lord have mercy on us). The effect of these words, in a rich chant, soft, full, and swelling, is very beautiful. They continually occur throughout the service. We could see the high priest all the time through the open work of the chief door moving about before the altar. At length a fine psalm was sung, the chief door was thrown open, the high altar and its splendid decorations were displayed, and from the side doors issued forth the whole troop of officiating priests bearing the bread and wine for the sacrament, preceded by one man with a lighted taper, and the high priest coming in the rear with a silver chalice; the procession is closed by a priest with a salver on his head. Again they all entered the sanctuary, the bread and wine were placed on the altar, and the priest kneeling, what is called transubstantiation is supposed to take place. While this act is performing, all Turks, heretics, and infidels are commanded to leave the church. Numerous prayers are then offered up for the Emperor, the Imperial family, and for a variety of objects. The most impressive part is when the high priest prays for a blessing on the bread and wine, and shakes the bread into the chalice. Afterwards those who intend to partake of the sacrament are invited to come forward, and the bread and wine together are administered in a small silver spoon, the communicants holding their hands on their breasts, and kneeling three times. We were very much struck with the little the congregation had to do with the service. They had no book, they did not join in the singing, and they could scarcely have understood what the priest said who read from the Bible. Their only business seemed to be to cross themselves and to bow, touching the ground with their foreheads, during the whole three hours the affair lasted. Still the churches fill, and the people fancy, I suppose, that they derive some benefit from what takes place. The music is certainly very fine; it is all vocal; there are no instruments, and no organ; and as women are not allowed to sing in churches, boys are trained to perform their parts.

"'Altogether,' Cousin Giles says, 'there is very little difference in the main features between the ceremonies of the Greek and Romish Churches. Both are intended to attract the senses, to please the vulgar, and to deceive the credulous, and neither can have any effect in changing the heart.'

"But it is time that I should bring my long letter to a conclusion. Much of the above information was given me by a German gentleman speaking English whom we met at Chollet's table-d'hote. I have before said that we like the Russians; I mean the peasantry. When I spoke of the existence of thieves in Saint Petersburg or Moscow, I do not suppose that there are more thieves in Saint Petersburg or Moscow than in any other of the capitals of Europe. Many of the peasants are fine-looking men, though generally, from bad feeding, they have not the stamina of Englishmen. Of one thing I am certain, that if one Spaniard can lick two Portuguese, and one Englishman can lick all three, one Englishman can lick three Russians with a big boy to help them. Still I hope that we shall not have to go to war with them again. Poor fellows! The Russian soldiers had not a grain of spite or ill-feeling against us. They were driven on to the attack, and worked up by all sorts of falsehoods, and a plentiful administration of vodka, to commit the atrocities of which some of them were guilty.

"We are preparing to leave Moscow. Cousin Giles and Harry have gone to get the tiresome passport business arranged with Mr Allwick, and as I have sprained my ankle, I remained to write to you. We shall be very sorry to part with our interpreter; he has contributed very much to the pleasure of our visit to this city. Through his means we have seen and understood much more than we could otherwise possibly have done about the place and the people. We have no satisfactory news about poor Saveleffs affairs. The Count has promised to allow him to remain among his people as long as he wishes, and to protect him to the utmost of his power; but he owns that that power is likely to extend a very little way. He says that he will spare no expense, if bribery is likely to effect the object. He thinks, however, that if the true state of the case could be laid before the Emperor, the poor fellow's cause might be gained, but the difficulty is to let the Emperor know the truth. We cannot help fancying that we saw poor Saveleffs old father and mother among the exiles starting for Siberia. Poor fellow! It is very sad. He does not despair, and yet he has very little hope of happiness in this world. Even now, if the police find him out, he will not be allowed to remain very long in quiet.

"To-morrow we are off by the railway for Saint Petersburg.

"Your affectionate son—

"Fred Markham."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

Last Letter from Fred Markham to his Mother—Return to Saint Petersburg—Ceremony at the Kazan Church—Picnic into Finland—Visit to Peteroff—The Palace of the Czar—Villas of Peter the Great and Catherine—Beautiful Fountain—Leave Saint Petersburg—Cronstadt— Voyage down the Baltic—Copenhagen—Journey from Copenhagen to Hamburg—Conclusion.

"Hamburg, 20th October, 1856.

"My own dear mother,—Here we are within two days' paddling of England, and we hope within a week to be with you. In the meantime I will give you an idea of what we have done since I last wrote from Moscow. We journeyed back from that wondrous city with hundreds of other mortals returning from the coronation fetes, and took up our old quarters at the Gostiniza Benson. We looked in the next morning at the Kazan church, which we had not before seen. The columns which support the roof are of grey and red granite, and their bases and capitals are gilt; there are long rows of them in each cross. Banners, tattered, blackened, and pierced by many a bullet, taken from the enemies of Russia, hang from the walls. Some ceremony was going forward. A fat, cunning Shylock, in spectacles, sat at a counter just inside the entrance, and sold wax-tapers to men and women, old and young, bearded officers and thin striplings. The votaries then advanced and bowed and crossed themselves. Some were so devout as to kneel down and kiss the horribly dirty floor, on which beggars were spitting. Harry and I felt much inclined to kick over one young fellow so employed close to us, and who looked as if he ought to have known better. Having genuflected to their heart's content, they advanced to the altar, and stuck their tapers into a frame on a huge candlestick placed before some saint or other. One saintship, who appeared to be a great favourite, had got his candlestick inconveniently full, but an old soldier—evidently in charge of the altar, and to whom some votaries presented their tapers—while pretending to stick in one took the opportunity to slip out four or five others, so that there was always room for more. I suspect the old soldier and Shylock were in league with each other, and that the same tapers did duty many times. I am grateful that I was not brought up in the Greek Church. Cousin Giles says we ought to be thankful that we are Englishmen and Protestants.

"The Monday before we left, some friends invited us to a picnic in Finland, the borders of which are distant only a fair drive from Saint Petersburg. We started early and drove in a northerly direction past a number of wooden villas of every conceivable Swiss-cottage style, very picturesque and very damp, of trees and canals and ponds, to the village of Mourina, fifteen versts off, where our friends have a villa. The property belongs to Prince Woronzoff, who was brought up in England; but instead of following the example of our good landlords, he imitates the bad ones, and allows his cottages to get into a very tumble-down condition. They are built of wood, so the lower part becomes rotten, and the rest sinks. Were they placed on foundations of stone, they would last far longer. They now offer no unfit epitome of the state of Russia. Our friend's villa was very pretty, with all sorts of Chinese-looking ins-and-outs, verandahs, and passages. There was a gauze covering to the verandah, which effectually kept out the flies and moths, and other teasing things. A stream of water ran at the foot of the garden, and close to it was built a vapour-bath, and a dressing-house for a plunge-bath. After breakfast, a carriage and several little country carts—telegas they are called—came to the door to take us to our destination. The carts were drawn by one horse in the shafts and another in the left side, with traces secured partly to the wheels and partly to a rough bar of birchwood fastened across the cart. They are in shape like boats with stem and stern cut off, and the ribs outside instead of in. Each holds two persons seated on horse-cloths and sheepskins, with their feet in straw. Cousin Giles called the bar to which the traces were fastened, a sprit-sail yard. The drivers were boys, who sat in front of the carts. Off we rattled down a steep hill, and through a bog, and were quickly in Finland. The boys tried to keep ahead of each other, and galloped down hills and up hills, and along the road at a tremendous pace;—it was rare fun. The road was sometimes sandy, sometimes gravelly, and always undulating. After a little time we had some pretty views, with a chain of lakes on either side of us. Then we reached the village of Toxova, with its Lutheran church and parsonage, situated on a wooded hill above the lakes. We stopped at the village, and went to a cottage with a large room with a table and benches, and a verandah looking down on the lakes. Here we hired a samovar, and spread our eatables. The chief dish was a salmon-pie, and a capital dish it is. A whole salmon (or another fish may be used) is rolled up in a coat of chopped eggs, and rice or other grain, first well boiled, and then covered with a coating of bread-dough, which is next baked like a loaf of bread. It is eaten cold. After dinner we walked through woods of birch and elder to a hill with a cross on it, above a lake, whence we got a view of Saint Petersburg.

"We altogether had one of the pleasantest days we passed in Russia, for though cities and fine sights are very interesting, there is nothing like the country after all, in my opinion. Another day we received an invitation from some friends to visit them at Peteroff, a village formed by a collection of villas and palaces on the south side of the Gulf of Finland. It can be reached by land, but we preferred going there by water. Steamers run between it and Saint Petersburg several times in the day. Crossing the bridge, we embarked in a boat, built in the far-off Clyde, and now called by a Russian name. The passage between the shallows all the way is very narrow, and the bar at the mouth of the Neva has often not more than ten feet of water on it. I have already in our journal described Peteroff, with its golden domes and spires peeping out among the trees just overlooking Cronstadt, so I will say no more about it. At the end of a good landing-pier we found our friend's carriage waiting, and in it, over a good road, among groves of birch and lime-trees, we were driven to his very picturesque summer residence. It was built of logs, and weather-boarded, with a verandah running all round it, and at each angle is a wide space roofed over, so that shade and air can at all times of the day be procured. After an early dinner, we drove to the chateau of the Emperor, built by Peter the Great. It is a curious, long, half Oriental, half Italian-looking edifice, with a gilt roof, and white and yellow walls. On one side are gardens, laid out with long gravel walks, grass-plats, and trees; on the other the high road. Between the road and the sea are the smaller and still more ancient royal villas of Marly and Montplaisir, in the midst of gardens full of the strangest collection of gilt statues and urns, and flowerpots and marble fountains, and water-spouts and tanks, and seats and rows of trees, and flower-beds all of one colour, the whole having a very glittering, dazzling effect. From one of the fountains the water comes down an inclined plane, and we were told that the Emperor Nicholas used to amuse himself by making a party of the cadets of the military schools defend the top of the waterfall, while others had to storm it, climbing up the inclined plane, over which the water was rushing down. It might be very good fun on a hot day, with the thermometer at 90 degrees, but very disagreeable when a sharp north-easter was blowing.

"The villa of Marly was built by Peter, and here he used to go to watch the manoeuvres of his newly-formed fleet in the gulf below him. Here, also, he died; his bed and his night-cap are shown. Indeed, nothing has been altered in the cottage since he passed away from the scene where his wonderfully active mind had done so much. The cottage of Montplaisir was built by the Empress Catherine, and in it was a kitchen-range, where she used to amuse herself by cooking dinners for herself and any of her more honoured guests. In the dining-room was a table, the centre of which could be lowered and raised, so as to remove and replace the dishes without the presence of waiters. In the gardens is also a large bathing-house, of truly imperial dimensions. These cottages are interesting for their historical recollections; but by far the most beautiful object in the gardens is a fountain, which throws up water exactly in the shape of a Gothic cathedral. As the sun shone on the sparkling jets, the effect was excellent.

"We spent a most pleasant evening at our friend's house, and returned the next day to Saint Petersburg. We saw many other things in Saint Petersburg which I will tell you about when we meet. We went down to Cronstadt, to get on board the steamer which was to take us to Copenhagen. The town consists of several very broad streets and places, but not many houses within the fortifications, and quays, and a harbour full of shipping.

"We were not sorry to get out of Russia. Cousin Giles says that he felt as if there was something in the air which prevented him breathing freely. We liked the Russians very well. They do not live exclusively on train-oil, ill-smelling fish, and black bread, as we fancied before we went there; but their greatest admirers cannot call them a thoroughly civilised people.

"I wish that I could tell you something about their language. It sounds very soft and musical, but is very difficult to speak, and the characters make all one's previous knowledge of an alphabet utterly useless. We left Cronstadt on the afternoon of Wednesday, where neither was our baggage nor were we examined; indeed, half-a-dozen people might have smuggled themselves on board, and got away without difficulty. We had fine weather all the way down the Baltic, and came off a neat little village five miles from Copenhagen, on the afternoon of Sunday. Here we landed in a pilot-boat, with some Danish gentlemen, who were very civil to us, and by their aid we engaged a char-a-banc, and drove to Copenhagen the same evening. We spent five very pleasant days there, seeing numerous objects of interest. I will not attempt to describe them now. Cousin Giles says I must write a book about Denmark another year. It is a very interesting country, to Englishmen especially. We left Copenhagen in the afternoon, and the same evening reached by railway the town of Kirsoor, about sixty miles to the south of it. Here we embarked on board a steamer, which carried us to Kiel, where the English fleet were stationed last winter. Here another railway conveyed us, in a little more than three hours, to Hamburg. And now our foreign travels are almost over for this year. We have enjoyed them very much, as we hope you have our letters, and that you will allow us to accept Cousin Giles' invitation to accompany him next summer to some other country.

"Your affectionate son—

"Frederick Markham."

THE END.