the services. At the close, he pointed to the
cards—then beckoned a little peasant boy, with
a shock head of white flaxen hair, dressed in a
shirt of coarse linen and trousers to match, not
very clean, who had been crossing and bending
beside a poor peasant woman, his mother:

"Come here, boy!" The boy went. Turning
to the congregation, he said: "I shall give you
a lesson you will not forget for some time. You
see these cards lying on the floor. Do you think
I put them there for nothing? We shall see!
What is your name, my boy?"

"Peter Petrovitch."

"Well, Peter Petrovitch, go and pick up
one of those cards you see on the floor, and
bring it to me. There, that will do. Now
tell me, Peter Petrovitch, what card is this?"

"The ace of spades!" said the boy, with
ready knowledge.

"Very good, Peter Petrovitch—bring me
another, that's a good boy. What card is that?"

"The queen of spades," said Peter.

"How well you know them, Peter Petrovitch;
bring another. And what may that one
be?"

"The ten of hearts."

"That will do, Peter, the son of Peter. Now
turn round and look at this picture. Can you
tell me what saint it represents?"

The boy scratched his head, then shrugged
his little shoulders, lifting them up to his ears,
then scratched his head again, and said: "Ya
naes nigh." (I don't know.)

"Now look at this one. Who is this?"

The same answer.

"And this?"

"I cannot tell."

"That will do, Peter, the son of Peter. You
may go to your mother."

Turning to the people, he continued:

"Do you know now for what purpose I put
these cards on the floor? Do you not think
shame of yourselves, tell me—say, is it not
disgraceful and scandalous, that that nice white-
haired boy can tell me in a moment the name of
every card in the pack, and yet he does not know
the name of one of the blessed saints? Oh, shame,
shame on ye, so to bring up the young, after all
the good teaching I have given ye! Go away and
learn the lesson I have given you this blessed
day. Don't forget it, and don't force me to bring
cards into this holy place again. Vassillia, pick
the other cards up, and keep them for me."

So with solemn step he left the church to play
out his interrupted game for a hundred roubles.

I have given this sketch of a Russian card-
playing priest, simply as I got it, and nearly
in the narrator's own words, omitting Scotticisms,
but retaining the train of thought. Of
its literal truth my own experience of the
priests, and my later knowledge of the friend
whom I call Sanderson, as well as Mr. Pins,
entirely assures me.

A WARM RECEPTION.

Count Pomerin's residence was on a slight
rise, sloping down among gardens and trees to
the valley. We entered his grounds by a large
wooden gateway, and passing through a short
avenue of trees over a broad well-kept gravelled
path, bordered with flowers and shrubs, a turn
to the left with a short curve brought us in sight
of the count's birthplace and principal country
seat. It was a very long and large wooden
building; but I afterwards found it to be only of
wood. It seemed to be of brick and plastered.
Three parts of it were of one story, but very
high, and the other part, which formed the
servants' establishment, of two stories. The principal
end had large broad windows looking out on a
flat lawn, intersected here and there with
gravelled walks, and I could see gymnastic poles,
swinging trees, &c., at the farther corner. In
the middle of the lawn (which might cover three
acres), and all about it, in confused disorder,
were a great many temporary structures, for what
purpose I was soon to learn.

The large windows were all brilliantly lighted
up, as if for an illumination. About twenty
serfs with blazing pine torches met us as we
turned the corner, and preceded us to the main
entrance. This was surrounded by men and
women of various degrees, all in the holiday
costume of the country, who raised a sort of
uncouth cheer as we advanced. Across the threshold
of the door there lay stretched out the
grisly carcases of the two old bears. Around
these very material mementoes of the Englishman's
skill in rifle-practice, the twenty pine-
torch bearers assembled, flaring and waving
their torches.

The vestibule, or hall, or lobby, was one blaze
of light. In the centre was a table on which
was erected a very handsome oberis, image,
or joss; in front, on the table, lay a large
silver salver containing pieces of black bread,
and stands of the same material for salt. A
lady stood on each side of the table, one old, the
other much younger; these were the mother
and grandmother of the count, countesses both.
As he leapt from his horse and jumped into
the hall over the bears the younger lady ran
into his arms and embraced him. All this—with
the twenty or thirty horsemen dismounting,
grooms in red shirts and wide black velvet
trousers stuck into their boots and falling in
folds over the sides, and a crowd of stolid
staring peasants in the background—gave the
scene a lively and uncommon character.

"What does it mean?" I said to the talkative
Scotchman.

"That's mair than I know," said he, "but I
suspect it is some kindly nonsense of my lady
countess, some old custom."

As he spoke, the count, who had been talking
to his mother, came out and said to us:

"It seems we are to have a little mummery.
My lady mother kindly insists on receiving my
guests, and more particularly the Englishman
who saved her wild boy's life, in a true old
Russian style. The ceremony is simple, over in a
moment, but let me tell you for your comfort
that after it has been gone through, feudal
fashion, my guests are peculiarly sacred in my