was his. All that became surplus under this
arrangement, the emperor appropriated to
himself. Peter divided the country into governments
or districts; appointed a governor in the
principal town of each, giving him soldiers,
police, and all the machinery of command. He
then established a poll-tax, and, giving to the
progenitors of the present barons, grants of land
in these districts, made them responsible for the
yearly payment of this tax. The government,
looked to the barons for it; and they, backed by
the military power of the governor, levied it
from the peasants. In the disputes arising out
of this arrangement, the starosta represented the
people, and he was chosen by them for this
purpose, amongst others. They were not then
serfs, but the levying of these taxes in course
of time furnished the barons with an excuse for
enslaving them. Peasants who could not, or who
would not, pay, had their land taken from them,
and were forced to work the land belonging to
the baron. The barons, having to pay for all,
introduced compulsory labour, more or less to
meet their difficulty; and the peasants, being
ignorant and priest-ridden, were easily robbed of
their lands and rights by their self-constituted
tax-collecting masters. Thus it was that, in
course of time, they came to be regarded as the
property of these men, and were bought and
sold with the land, as beasts of burden. The
government connived at all this.

So long as the tax was paid on each soul, all
was right, and the passport gave means of
determining the numbers upon each estate and
village. In this way have the barons gradually, and
surely, appropriated to themselves the land,
labour, property, and persons, of the peasantry.
And, this being the case, instead of calling the
new edict an emancipation of serfs, it ought
strictly to be called a restoration of the peasants'
rights.

But the starosta, while this change was taking
place, was not what he was first designed to be—
the peasants' delegate. He has become a tool in
the hands of the baron and the stewards: chosen
not for his age and experience, but more frequently
because of a certain kind of superior intelligence,
and sometimes for a scrupulous devotion to his
masters. Now, if the steward be a bad one, the
starosta must be bad, because he is the exponent of
the steward's will. Woe to the poor peasant when
this is the case! The starosta knows intimately
the domestic history, feelings, and conduct, of
every serf on an estate; he pairs the young for
marriage (not often compelling them against
their inclination), and takes them before the
baron or steward for his sanction. He selects
the conscripts for the army: those who are to
be sent out on "obrok:" and those who are to
stay at home. He has the appointment of the
different gangs of labourers on the estate, and
it is he who, either with his own hand or by
deputy, punishes the serfs for real or imaginary
faults. In plain terms, he is the slave-driver of
the American plantations, with this very material
difference, that he is invariably a serf himself: one
of the class over which he is placed; often, therefore,
it will happen that he hates the steward, who
is generally a German, and quietly contrives with
the other serfs to thwart the steward's plans.
Many tales are told of dreadful acts committed
by serfs, at. the instigation of the starosta, when
goaded to madness by the tyranny and cruelty of
stewards. I could tell some of these tales of
horror, but why rake up the memory of past
atrocities, when the whole system is doomed to
destruction by the late emancipation edict?—one
of those courageous acts for the advance of
civilisation by which Alexander the Second will be
honoured, centuries hence, whatever may be said
in his own time by carping politicians. When
this edict comes into force the starosta's
occupation is gone.

The starosta who had come to our assistance
imagined that my yeamshick was drunk,
so, without more ado, he began to kick and
beat the poor man in a most brutal manner.
Not content with his own blows, he caused
two of his satellites to aid in the kicking
and beating. The poor man, notwithstanding
our continual remonstrances, was kicked, beaten
with a stick, slapped in the face, and bore
it all without saying a word. Abuse and
blows rained on him, until my friend Harry
could stand it no longer. His English love of
fair play was scandalised at seeing one man
thus beaten by three, and, had I not restrained
him, he would soon have made short work of
the starosta and his gang. But the hindrance
of a police difficulty could not be risked. We
waited, therefore, impatiently until the men.
were tired of knocking the poor driver about.
He was then sent back to the stables, and a boy
of twelve years, or rather less, was put in his
place on the box. Against this proceeding I
strongly protested, for I thought the exchange
much for the worse. Remonstrance, however,
had no effect. The starosta assured me that he
had not in all his gang a better driver than the
boy; besides, he was brother to the pig who had
overturned us; and as the horses belonged to
them—or rather to their master—they must be
driven back by one of them to the station whence
they came. So, to the very tender mercies of
the boy we were committed until daybreak.

MEMBERS OF THE V.C.

"TWO other thieves, of the names of M'Kenzie
and Holmes, were captured last evening by our
patriotic fellow-citizens, the members of the V.C.
(Vigilance Committee)." This I read in the Alta
California, on a certain morning ten years ago.
Too well I knew the interpretation of this
paragraph. Two more wretched creatures, arrested
perhaps for comparatively venial crimes, were
about to be imprisoned, tortured, and finally
put to death, by a merciless body of men, who
having taken all power out of the hands of an
effete police, perpetrated unheard-of horrors
under the sole authority of Judge Lynch. I
need not say that to me, as to all English
residents in San Francisco, the American institution
of "lynching" was revolting. It was