besides the mountainous character of the country
there were still the same wide regions of snow,
the same dense forests, the same icy winds and
tempests. I had still the same toilsome efforts
to make, was still obliged to buy my bread with
caution at the izbouchka, and was still forced
to sleep under the snow. A discovery, however,
which I now made, procured me a great advantage.
I had remarked that travellers surprised
by night in these unpeopled districts were in the
habit of lighting a fire in the woods, and
sometimes I ventured to do so; but I only
indulged in this luxury when I was buried in
the deepest forests. One evening when, for the
purpose of avoiding Tcherdin, as I avoided all
the towns on my route, I had got into a thick
wood, I entirely lost my way, and knew not in
what direction, to turn. A snow storm, a
perfect hurricane, turned me literally round, and
pierced me through and through. To add to my
misfortunes, I had no bread. I threw myself on
the snow and writhed convulsively, invoking
death. Morning came, and with it fine weather;
my pains subsided, but I could see no path, and
my strength was quite exhausted. I tried to
judge of the right direction by the sun and the
moss on the trees, and dragged on, leaning on
my stick, until the torments of hunger again
seized me. Tired of struggling, with tears
running down my cheeks, I sunk at the foot of a
tree, drowsiness overcame me, a strange whizzing
in my head confused every idea, and I should
have fallen into a state of insensibility if it had
not been for the internal pangs which made me
conscious of life. How long this torpor lasted
I know not, but I was roused from it by a loud
voice asking me what I was doing there?

"I have lost my way," I replied, opening my
eyes.

"Where do you come from?"

"Tcherdin. I am on a pilgrimage to the
monaslry of Solovetsk, but the storm overtook
me, and I have eaten nothing for several days."

"That is not surprising; we, ourselves, who
belong to this country, often lose our way. You
were wrong to set out in such a storm. Come!
Take a drop of this."

He put a wooden bottle to my lips, and I
swallowed about a mouthful of brandy, which
while it restored my senses, burnt me like fire,
and made me dance with agony. The stranger
desired me to be calm, and gave me some bread
and dried fish, which I eagerly devoured. I then
sat down at the foot of the tree, and my
companion took his place beside me. He was by
profession a trapper (promychlennik) and was
returning home. After a short rest I rose, and,
taking his arm, was led by him to the high road,
where he left me, near an izbouchka, which I
entered. I fainted before I could sit down, and
rolled under a bench. When I recovered I asked
for some warm victuals; they gave me some
soup, but hungry as I was I could not get it down,
and almost immediately fell asleep—fell into a
kind of lethargy rather, which lasted four-and-
twenty hours: so long, indeed, that my host
began to be uneasy. He was a kind man, and
when he learnt that I was on a pilgrimage to
the holy island in the White Sea, he increased
his kindness. At length I was able to
resume my journey, after resisting his importunities
to remain another day, and, having bought as
much food as I could carry, I took leave,
promising to visit him on my way back. I will
not fatigue the reader with more of these details,
the monotony of my painful march being only
broken by my sometimes meeting with real
pilgrims and occasional yamtschiks. I shall
merely remark that I neither fell in with bears
nor robbers, though encounters with both were to
be dreaded. In the first fortnight of April—for I
could not well specify the day—I found myself
at last at the gates of Veliki Oustioug, after
two months' travel through woods and snows,
since the day on which I quitted Irbit.

It was necessary now to assume a third
distinctive character, and appear as much like a
bohomolets (literally, "adorer of God") as
possible. The worship of miraculous images
prevails greatly in Russia, and four places of
pilgrimage are renowned -  Kiev, Moskov, Veliki-
Novgorod, and the convent of Solovotsk.
Many Russians, even rich merchants, visit these
sanctuaries one after the other, but the greater
part are content with kneeling at the last-named
shrine, and thousands of the faithful make the
journey thither on foot from Siberia, chiefly in
winter, the roads not being passable at any other
season. These bohomolets, male and female,
are well received wherever they appear, and the
peasants in whose houses they rest not only give
them alms and a cordial welcome, but entrust
them with money to buy tapers for votive offerings,
and purchase prayers for the senders. I,
myself, was even obliged in my assumed quality
of pilgrim to take charge of pious gifts for this
purpose. The universal respect which attaches
to the pilgrim's character, and the little
probability of my being troubled for my passport, or
being noticed if I joined a troop of bohomolets,
counselled this transformation. I had studied
their habits of devotion in casual meetings, and
by the time I reached Veliki-Oustioug, thought
mjself sufficiently advanced to combine with
them. I was doubtful how I should break
ground, when, as I was standing in the market-
place, a young man came up and asked me if I
was a bohomolets going to Solovetsk? When I
replied in the affirmative, he wished to know if
I had a lodging, and offered to show me one, as
he also was bound thither. By this means I
obtained an introduction to a house where a
large number of pilgrims were assembled, with
whom I made acquaintance, and no question
arose about my passport. There were two
thousand of us altogether, all waiting until the
waters of the Dvina should be open to proceed
on rafts and in boats to Archangel, and thence
to Solovetsk. It was necessary that I should
accept all the consequences of my situation, my
most irksome task being not only that of singing
interminable canticles in the izba with my
companions, but of going every day to matins
and vespers, making a thousand signs, of the