be a tyrant, and perhaps a drunkard. He kicks
"Jacky" about, as he styles the Russians, in
grand style—speaks of them and to them as to
brutes.

But " Jacky" sometimes makes reprisals.
He will watch like a cunning wolf on a dark
night, and with a brickbat or lump of iron
fell his tyrant to the earth by a blow on
the back of his head. This is of rare occurrence,
but it has happened of late on several
occasions.

The same day on which my friend saw the
four women going to be beaten he met the
sub-superintendent, and mentioned the
circumstance.

"Yes," he said, " the master takes the
tyrannical way. I cannot prevent it, and do
not intend to remain much longer to
witness it."

"Do you never order any of them to be
beaten?"

"No, never. The stick is not so powerful in
Russia as it once was. And even on the score
of policy it is better to avoid it, especially for
a foreigner. I have studied the Russians a little
since I came among them, and though they are
sly, slothful, and the greatest of thieves, I do not
think they are so far removed from the common
feeling of our nature as to be altogether
unsusceptible to kind and just dealings. They
have little gratitude—in fact, I do not think they
know what it means. Still I can manage them
better, ay, and get more work out of them,
too, by being cool and just, and, above all,
merciful. But this country is a bad school for an
unruly temper."

"Do you never find signs of rebellion or
insubordination amongst them?"

"Not till lately. Since this talk of emancipation,
I think I can see a sort of mutual intelligence
amongst them, which must spring from
hope, and perhaps secret meetings and talk.
Still, I do not think them malicious; they seem
easy to forget and forgive. Yet," he said, after
a pause, " God knows, I should not wish to be
the object of their hate; if once their
passions broke loose, they would be demons, not
men."

Poor man! these were the last words my
friend ever heard from him; and that was the last
time he saw him in life.

That very night a part of the mill took fire,
whether by accident or design no one could or
would tell. It was observed in time, and the
superintendent, with his two English assistants
and a few others, exerted themselves to put it
out. The director and the "stan" were carousing
in the director's house—a very frequent
occurrence; but when the alarm was given both
hurried to the scene of the fire.

Now, you know that, in Russia, the police
enjoy the peculiar and exclusive privilege of
putting out fires, and they take the lead in all
the operations. Perhaps that is the reason why
fires here never are put out, but are allowed to
burn themselves out; in order to facilitate which
process all the doors are unlocked or broken
open, all the windows smashed, and the roofs
are, if possible, torn off. All this gives a noble
draught to the flame, there is no want of bustle,
and in the cities generals in uniform hurry about
giving all kinds of orders; fellows in grey, with
brass helmets, knock against one another, and
run their engines into all manner of ridiculous
places. There is plenty of daring climbing and
pouring of water, but somehow it all ends, as I
have said, in the place burning until there is no
more to burn. On the present occasion the
sub-director determined on another method, and,
taking the matter in his own hands, he locked
the doors of the place on fire—it was the
boiler-house—to prevent any draught of wind fanning
the rising flames, and threw water on the burning
timbers, while the mill-engine was kept
going, to pump the water. They were succeeding
very fast in getting the fire under, when the
police, in the form of the drunken " stan,"
demanded entrance, and the door was assailed
from without.

"On your life, Andrea, don't open the door
yet. It will be all out in a few minutes if the
door's kept shut."

And the superintendent, after issuing this
order to the man stationed at the door, hastened
thither himself, to prevent, if possible, what he so
much dreaded. But before he could accomplish
his purpose, the man, at the sound of the
dreaded " stan," had turned the lock, and
his highness was pushing himself through the
opening door, while the director with a lot of
"stan's" officials were pressing on behind. The
sub saw there was only one way to save the mill.
He heard his men crying, " For Heaven's sake
keep that door shut. It's blazing up again."
He was a powerful man, and could have thrashed
ten " stans" into jelly, so he laid hold of the
official, words having no effect, hurled him
back among his satellites, shut and locked the
door, and stood sentry over it himself, until the
fire was completely extinguished and the danger
past.

The rest is soon told. On opening the door,
he was arrested by the " stan," in the name of
the law, for laying hands on him in the execution
of his duty. The half-drunken director offered no
effectual remonstrance. My friend had left the
village and did not return till next day; and so,
in a bitterly cold frosty night, this man, who
had saved a large mill from becoming a heap of
ashes, was dragged, his clothes saturated with
water, to the filthy lock-up, and kept all night. In
the morning he was liberated; in the evening he
was attacked by inflammation, then came brain
fever, then death in due time. Few recover here
from diseases.

If this narrative should chance to be read
by the man who could have saved the brave
fellow that night and did not, may the
remembrance burn into his heart and mend his
future ways. This noble fellow died in a foreign
land, and was buried among strangers; his place
at home was empty; his wife is a widow, his
children are orphans. But the other lives; rich,
prosperous, and, I suppose, happy, enjoying the