spangles, silver copeck pieces (now
prohibited), gold-lace: nay, according to her
degree in the peasant hierarchy, seed pearls,
and, in extreme cases of wealth, real precious
stones. The Russian women have to the full
as great a penchant for decorating their
persons with gold and silver coins as have the
maids of Athens and the khanums of Turkey
for twining sequins and piastres in their hair.
A few years ago there was quite a mania in
society for wearing bracelets and necklaces
formed of new silver five-copeck pieces, strung
together. These are of about the size of our
silver pennies—somewhat thicker, but not
broader in diameter (a copeck is worth about
five-eighths of a halfpenny), and being beautifully
coined, are delightful little ornaments.
But the government sternly prohibited such
a defacing of the current coin of the Empire,
and plainly hinted at the possible eventualities
of the Pleiti or whip and Siberia, in the
case of recalcitrant coin-tamperers.

The Russian girl who possesses a jewelled
kakoschnik must, of course, have the rest
of her costume to match, in richness and
elegance. Some travellers—Mr. Leozon le
Duc, and M. Hommaire de Hell among the
number—declare that they have been in
Russian villages on great feast-days, the
Pentecost, 'or example, where the maidens
were promenading in kirtles of cloth of gold,
tunics of satin and silver brocade; white
silk-stockings; kakoschniks blazing with real
gold and jewellery; red morocco shoes; lace
veils of application- work falling to the heels;
heavy bracelets of gold and silver; pearl
necklaces; diamond ear-rings; long tresses
of hair interlaced with ribbons and artificial
flowers. Nothing richer or more picturesque
than this could well be imagined; but I
am afraid that Annualism is marvellously
prevalent in the description. Novaïa Ladoga,
I think, is mentioned as one of the villages
where this splendacious costume is to be
seen. That there is a Lake of Ladoga, I
know; and a village by the name of Novaïa
Ladoga is probable; but I am apprehensive
that the way to that village on gala days is
difficult, and dangerous, and doubtful; that
the only way to go to it is " straight down
the crooked lane, and all round the square;"
and that the Pentecost time, when the village
maidens walk about in cloth of gold, red
morocco shoes, and diamond ear-rings, will be in
the year of Beranger's millenium.

LEFT, AND NEVEE CALLED FOE.

I WAS once upon the deck of a packet bound
for Rotterdam; the ropes that lashed her to
the Avharf had been slipped off, and the ropes
with buffers (like an exaggerated species of
that seaweed which you pop with your
fingers) were already dropped to ease us off
the wooden pier, when a young lady who
stood near me clasped her hands, and
exclaimed:

"O, sir, my box! The black one there! It
is left behind!"

It was a large oblong ark with handles—a
governess's beyond all doubt—through which
could be seen almost, the scanty wardrobe
and the little wealth of books, as though its
sides were glass.

"Stop her! " (meaning the ship) screamed
I, indignantly.

"Move on a-head!" roared the captain.

"It's all I have in the world," sobbed the
poor governess.

I ran up the iron ladder to those cross
planks which are forbidden to passengers,
and wherefrom, the commander was giving
forth those Mede and Persian orders which
are echoed by the fiend beneath.

"Do you know this name, sir?" said I,
fiercely, presenting him with my card.

"Yes," said he, rather subdued; " but you
ain't—"

"No," said I, " I am not, but I am, hem?
—a relation of his."

"Then, put her a-starn! " said he; and
a-starn she was put accordingly, and the box
was taken on board.

The head of the packet company's firm
and I happened to enjoy the use of the
same name, though I had not really the
pleasure of his acquaintance. I think,
however, as in the case of Uncle Toby's oath, that
the ingenious device may be pardoned for the
sake of the feeling which prompted it. I
was determined that, even to the detriment
of truth, the poor lady's box—the whole of
her worldly goods, as she told me afterwards—
should not be left behind.

I have purposely been sentimental thus far
over luggage, to prevent these words awakening
ridicule and absurd association. If mere
things that have lost their owners excite our
sympathy, how much more should living
creatures—men, women, and children—who
are cut off, forlorn, abandoned, and, in two
words, left behind! I consider that a dog in
a strange city, who has lost his master, to be
one of the most affecting spectacles in nature.
How he threads the mighty throng, with his
eager nose upon the pavement, or lifts his
anxious eyes to the face of every passer-by,
standing upon three legs, poor fellow, as if
that should benefit him, giving utterance,
from time to time, to a whine of desolation
more expressive of abandonment and a
breaking heart than whole cantos of morbid
self-love; set upon by his own savage kind,
saluted with a hundred kicks, flicked at by
idle carmen, regarded feloniously by brutal
dog-fanciers; but, indifferent to challenge, to
ill-usage, to personal liberty, and even to the
pangs of hunger, in that vain search of his for
the beloved master by whom he has so
carelessly been left and never called for. Happy
for him will it be when his miserable existence
shall have been cut short by wheel of 'buss or
by edict of town council in the dog-days, when
he becomes a portion for cats or an ingredient