groups of citizens and peasants from the country round paraded the streets, carrying icons or sacred pictures, and chanting with uncovered heads. The church bells, which had been making the small hours of the morning unbearable, were now even more aggressive. One of the most indispensable parts of the "Pravo-Slav" religious ceremonial is its bells. From the Isaaki Cathedral at St Petersburg to the poorest village church they are rung on the same principle. A tiny bell, which makes a noise like a tin kettle, rings for a few minutes, just enough to irritate you when you know what is coming. Then, half-a-tone lower, so as to be precisely discordant with the first, comes another bell with a rather fuller sound; and after these two have jarred upon the ear for a few minutes comes another, a little lower down the scale, and then another, till finally a "Big Ben" booms out, to complete the babel of discord. When you have two Greek churches, one on each side of your house, all of whose bells are out of harmony with each other, and whose "Big Bens" are just half-a-tone different, then you may have some idea of the sort of frenzy into which we were driven after three days. But if the Russians are not exactly musical with their bells, the same cannot by any means be said of their voices. As I stood in the church, having pushed my way through a dense crowd of citizens and peasants, and listened to the men chanting, I felt that in no country in the world had I heard so full and rich a harmony of deep male voices. After the service, while the band plays the National Anthem, "Long live the Tsar," the priest blesses the water and sprays it over the people and on the soldiers lined up outside the church. As I looked
