one of the best and purest reputations in history
— the reputation of a sovereign who is, perhaps,
the most truly liberal-minded man in his
dominions; is seen, in spite of infinite difficulties,
keeping his place steadily in the van of progress
and enlightenment; who has, with admirable
magnanimity, given freely to a loyal and
submissive people more than they would have
ventured to ask or to hope; and who is guiding them,
with a right fatherly hand, out of the darkness
and misery of ages, to knowledge, civilisation,
and prosperity.

We are noble materials for a great prince and
legislator. We are pious, dutiful, and obedient;
we are quick-witted and intelligent; thereby
differing materially from Orientals, and showing
that our blood has become rich and red with
much mixing. The Russian of the last generation,
in travellers' stories, would be now a silly
caricature of his sons; but we have our little
failings, and they are mostly on the surface. We
are, it must be confessed, rather too fond of
getting tipsy. It is a good-humoured tipsiness,
and would not much matter, but that there is a
consequent gambling and rashness in our
transactions which does us harm. We are not
orderly or exact in our dealings. We are not men
of business. But tipsiness, and gambling, and
disorder are sins of education, and as we grow
wiser we shall become sober, prudent, and
orderly, no doubt. Let us only pray that we may
not begin to learn at the wrong end of the book.
First, should come the alphabet, then easy
lessons in one syllable. C, l, e, a, n, spells clean,
for instance, would be an excellent commencement.
We could wait much longer for political
caricatures and satires on tchinovniks: perhaps
we could dispense with them altogether. It is
by no means necessary that four thousand of our
students should be giving their minds chiefly to
that kind of thing, and not be over promising
lawyers and doctors. Yet, looked at in any
light, we are a kindly and lovable race. All
who know us well must feel an affection for us.
It is difficult to persuade any one to go away,
or to live contentedly elsewhere, after he has
once settled among us. We are hospitable,
generous, diffident of ourselves, and have,
indeed, a great deal too much respect for other
folks' fashions and opinions; we are remarkably
courteous, pleasant, and good tempered; we are
too apt to mistake wit for wisdom, and to
consider a smart phrase or a sparkling anecdote
an answer to anything and everything that might
be alleged on the other side. But we are
eminently a righteous and God-fearing people; and
none can be more conscientious and sincere in
their religious duties. See how we have kept
Lent: every one has fasted truly for seven
weeks. Many have invented all kinds of
refinements in fasting; they have allowed
themselves no butter, no eggs, no milk, no fish, no
oil, seeking to mortify the body utterly. During
seven long weeks nothing has been seen on many
rich tables but mushroom broth and bitter salads.
Among the poor, tall labouring men have
appeased the cravings of nature with a warm
infusion of sour cabbages (stchee) and black
bread. The stricter sort deny themselves all
agreeable society, all cheerful conversation and
amusement, especially during the first week of
Lent, and the last. A lady will not see her
betrothed, nor a husband look upon his wife.
Nature would often break down utterly under
such a trial, were it not for the strength which
an approving conscience gives to the feeblest
frames. No money, no worldly advantage of
any kind, would tempt people to subject
themselves to discipline like this. Not all the power
in the world would make them fast one day
before or after the time prescribed by their
Church. Even those of another faith will hardly
refuse their respect and reverence to
fellow-mortals who strive so long and earnestly, by
self-denial and mortification, to win nearer up to
the smile of God.

During the last few days of Lent, nature
grows thoroughly exhausted. Many persons are
ill. Gaunt, hungry skeletons prowl listlessly
about the streets, thinking of food. All society,
all business, is at a stand-still: everything is
put off: nobody will work or play. Ladies
solace their colds and headaches by preparing
silks to colour the Easter eggs: or they hurry
from shop to shop, buying presents for poor
dependents and relatives, especially for children.
One day is taken up in visiting all the churches
of the city. He who sees much of Russians at
this time will be inexpressibly touched by their
kindliness and noble charities, by their solemn
and unaffected godliness. On Good Fridays
many persons dress in complete mourning, fast
from all food and drink, and remain in strict
seclusion. Easter-eve is a day of ceaseless prayer
— hearty, honest, fervent prayer.

At length, at three o'clock in the morning of
Easter Sunday, the grand midnight service at
the cathedral is over; the glad chanting of the
choristers is ended; the prayer in many tongues
is read. Every one kisses his neighbour, and
says " Christ is risen!" "Verily he has arisen!"
is the answer. It was formerly the custom to
stop persons in the street and kiss them; but
that is now falling into disuse.

Then comes all the pomp and circumstance
of Easter. Appetite and pleasure are released
from their bonds; few go to bed; a plentiful
breakfast is prepared in every house; and the
table remains spread to all comers for several
days. The traditional fare is a sucking-pig, a
lamb, a shoulder of veal, a ham, curdled cream,
Easter bread, red eggs, and whatever good
housekeeping may suggest besides. All business
is suspended; shops are closed for three days;
all the world is off junketing and visiting. The
streets are alive with fiddling, and the light sweet
sound of laughter coming through open windows.
Some old enmities are reconciled; some families
healed of their dissensions. Blessed are the days
which bring hope to the peace-makers!

In every house is a sound of festivity; the
number of tipsy persons is incredible; in the
stateliest palaces no one can be found to open
the door; servants lie about the passages and