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. now had remained silent—mingled its thunders with the chimes, in honour of the archimandrate'a approach. I walked by the side of old Melchisedec, and the rear was brought up by monks, and, as is usual the world over, the "great unwashed;" in this instance, with long beards and dirty sheep-skins! Two monks, arrayed in robes of gold and green, the threads of each being woven one with another, received the venerable old man at the porch of the church, and escorted him to his chair of state or throne in the body of the church, bowing and throwing the cup of incense up before him oontinually. I left my venerable friend here, not daring to accompany him any farther, and proceeded to secure a good place, where I could hear the music. But he had no sooner seated himself upon his throne than, espying me, he beckoned me to come to him, and I stood by his side again. The service then commenced. The massive gilt gates of the Iconostase were thrown open, and the officiating monks came out from the "holy of holies," and, after having approached the archimandrate, bowing and throwing incense before him continually, they turned towards the altar, and one of them read a chapter from the evangelists, after which the choir of monks commenced their chant. And I never listened with more interest to any music. It was so peculiar; it was the music of whispers; for, although I stood within six feet of the choir, the sounds seemed to come from afar and brought to me upon the evening wind, or, if I do not use too strong language, they sounded like the chant of angels in the skies. Such softness of voice I never before heard in a body of singers; and, what seemed to me the more astonishing, these voices proceeded from fullgrown, long-bearded men! During the service the archimandrate asked me how I was pleased, and told me that the service would be very long, and that I might leave when I wished. I remained some time longer, and then, after kissing the old prelate's hand, and receiving his benediction, left the church, and was again in the open square, upon the green grass. The lofty tower was olose by, and my valet told me that I ought to profit by it to see the panorama of Moscow once more, and 1 readily assented. We mounted its winding stairway, and in a few moments were at the top. And how amply was I repaid for the trouble of reaching it! It was the most gorgeous sight I ever looked upon. The sun was just setting, and its beams were thrown across and over the entire city; the gold and silver domes and crosses of the churches seemed as if on fire, and the thousand stars that dotted the green and the blue minarets looked like balls of fire. I was lost for a moment in the gran

deur of the view. I cannot describe it to you, or impart the sensations which it awakened in me. At one time, I thought I was dreaming, and was having a view of "the golden city." Then, casting my eyes to the Kremlin, the wars of the ancient Tsars, and Ivan the Terrible, rose up to my imagination. And then I thought of the conflagration of Moscow! I cast my eyes to the north, and saw in the distance "Sparrow Hills,"—the point from which Napoleon caught his first glimpse of Moscow,— and I saw in my imagination the stern child of destiny himself, mounted upon his snow-white steed, with folded arms and flashing eyes, gazing upon the wonderful city which cost him the lives of so many of his veteran guard to behold. I fancied him and his armed legions, with hands uplifted, bursting forth in one cry, "Behold! Moscow! Moscow!" and I saw his army advancing to the spot which no foreign force had before been masters of:—" Sparrow Hills," and the cross-surmounted domes of Moscow ;—the one a monument eternal to show to the world how many lives man sacrificed to exalt himself, the other testifying the love of "One like us," who laid down his life to save a rebellious world.

I remained in the tower for some time; the longer I remained the more interested I became. At about nine o'clock, drove into town

I and home, stopping at a monastery on our way, and hearing some fine music.

Sunday.—I attended church this morning at

| the British chapel, a neat little chapel, of which Rev. Mr. Grenside, an Englishman, is pastor. My valet informed me that about one hundred and fifty persons attended the church generally.

After church we drove out beyond the limits of the city to a prison where the exiles to Siberia are confined previous to their departure. Every Sunday a number of these exiles set out on foot, under a guard of soldiers, for their last home on earth; and whoever comes to Moscow from abroad to see its sights is generally present at one of these sad spectacles. Upon sending my card in to the superintendent of the prison, I was immediately let within the gate, nnd I found myself in the yard where the exiles or prisoners were already assembled previous to their starting off, which generally takes place at two o'clock. They were standing, two deep, in a line, and there were about twenty in all. Each prisoner had on a coarse gray overcoat, and a cap of the same coarse cloth. There was one woman among the prisoners. My valet immediately oonducted me to an old gentleman who was standing near the prisoners, nnd who, he said, was the "prisoner's best friend." He received me very kindly. This gentleman is an old

formerly possessed of riches, which he got rid of in doing good to his fellow-men, who visits the prison every Sunday from pure philanthropic motives, to attend to the wants of the prisoners, and aid them, as far as he is able, with the small sums of money which he collects for them during the week. He is a man of education, and speaks French perfectly.

Almost the first words he spoke to me were— "These poor unfortunates have reason to remember your noble, your good Washington." His remark surprised me—I could not understand it,—when he explained that George Washington was the founder of a library which now gives to every exile a good book to take with him to his dreary home. It was Washington who originated the idea and furnished the first sum of money towards establishing a fund for procuring books to be given to the Siberian exiles. And now, not an exile starts upon his long and wearisome journey without his book to read, if he will, upon his way. Thus, even in the wilds of Siberia the memory of our Washington is precious, and will endure for ever. The money Washington sent when President of the United States.

While we were talking, I observed a benevolent old Russian merchant approach the exiles and distribute among them some pieces of money from the bag he held in his hand. Prom my observation I am prepared to say that the Russians are very generous. I contributed a mite for the poor fellows, which they thanked me for. I ascertained from Mr. G., the prisoners' friend, the offences for which they were going to Siberia. The greater part of them were to go to the "colonies," so called, where they were to remain, but they would have their liberty. I also learned from Mr. G. that some of the Siberian colonies were very flourishing. On their arrival, the exiles are furnished with a tract of land, which they must cultivate, or starve. Among the number was one poor fellow, who was sent for smuggling. There was one very hard case among them,— that of a peasant, or serf, for whom, because he had not worked and paid to his master a yearly revenue for the last three years, his master had procured an exile to Siberia! This poor fellow was heavily chained about his feet. But the hardest part of the story is yet to be told. The poor peasant had a wife and two little children—-one quite an infant,— and she and her little ones were to accompany him in his exile! The mother and children were seated in a rude little cart, drawn by one horse, and they wore to follow the prisoners as they went onwards. One of the prisoners was to work for life in the mines:—his crime was murder. The woman had killed her child; through shame she strangled it at its birth.

She was a young woman. I pitied her, and was glad to learn that she was only an exile to the colonies. The prisoners appeared to be all well clothed. The hair from half the head of each prisoner was shaven. All things being now ready, the good old man addressed the exiles, exhorting them to be patient on the road, and to obey without a murmur the orders of the officers. They then all turned to the cross upon the dome of the prison-chapel, and repeatedly bowed and crossed themselves. The order was now given to take up the line of march; and these poor fellows, '' fresh from the knout, and recent from the chain," filed off one by one, and each man was counted as he left the yard. Arrived outside the wall, a guard of soldiers and four mounted Cossacks received them. Here they stopped for a moment, and here I witnessed a heart-rending scene. A poor old woman had been anxiously awaiting the entry of the exiles from out the yard; and when at last they oame out, she saw a brother and a son in their gang. She uttered a shriek, and fell upon the ground, and there she remained, raving most piteously, clutching the earth, then looking to the exiles, and making the air ring with her screams, till the drum beat and the prisoners marched off. She then rose and followed on after the procession, crying and sobbing very loud, but she was not permitted to approach near those so dear to her. Not a word could she say to them; not even a last farewell was allowed.

I stood upon the hill and watched the exiles till they were out of sight. Some of them were in tears as they went along. They walk about fifteen miles a day, which is not so much as I supposed. After this scene, the like of which I do not oare about witnessing again, I drove to "Sparrow Hills;" and here I stood upon the spot where Napoleon and his army, joyous with anticipations never to be realized, saw the first of the old Tartar city. I oould imagine their feelings when, after the dreary journey they had made, and the toils they had endured, the beautiful city burst upon their sight. Under any circumstances, the view from "Sparrow Hills" is hardly equalled, in its kind, in the world; and what must have been Napoleon's feelings as he gazed upon the Kremlin and the gilded domes that surround it, and thought that he was soon to be master of them all! I could fancy him exclaiming with delight, "Now will the dream of my ambition be satisfied; I have conquered all Europe, and I am now about to have Asia within my grasp!"

And now I traced him and his veterans on their march. I saw his army cross the Moskova, whose sluggish stream was at my feet, and upon the other side of the river stop at the large convent of the Devrtchei, whose walls, turrets, and battlements, remain now as then, and rest for the night; and I saw it advance in the morning towards the city, meeting with no opposition on its way, becoming masters of the thrones and palaces of the Tartar kings, till the cry of " fire!" broke out from palace, temple, and hovel, and the devouring element forced the invaders to withdraw.

The afternoon was beautiful, and the panorama of Moscow again seemed more beautiful than before. The sun was at my back, and the city looked like a beautiful piece of mosaic studded with precious gems—emerald, ruby, amethyst, and diamond; I left the spot with reluctance. Entering my carriage, I now drove towards the city, and made a visit to the Donskoi convent (Donskoi meaning '.'Virgin of the Cossacks of the Don,") a spot of great antiquity, celebrity, and I may add, sanctity. It is very large, and was built in 1591. It has a very warlike appearance, being surrounded by a high, antique, Tartar wall, painted in streaks of red and white, with ramparts like those of the Kremlin, and pierced with oblique portholes. Its history is somewhat peculiar. About the time it was built, Moscow was invaded by the Tartars. Not being able to oppose the superior forces of the Agrarians or Sarazens, the Tsar, Thedor Ivanovitch, ran to the kind Protectress, with all his council, and seized the Image of the Donskoya, Mother of God, which had been presented to the Great Duke Divinsk by the Cossacks of the Don. A holy procession took place around the encampments of his army, the site built upon (Sparrow Field); the image was placed in the movable tentchurch, and a complete victory was gained over the Sarazens, in commemoration of which the church was originally built. Since then a cathedral church has been added, a large, finelooking building, having a central turret, bearing a gilded cupola, with a plain, simple cross, surrounded by four smaller turrets, with gilded stars and crosses with crescents below. We had hardly entered within the walls, when we spied a monk, to whom I sent my valet with my card, to ask permission to visit the cathedral and cemetery. The monk very politely proposed accompanying me all over the monastery, and before we parted, we became well acquainted with each other. He was a young man of much intelligence (a quality rarely found among the Russian monks or priests), and his history, as he related it to me, is so interesting that I must tell you of it. His father is a general in the Russian service, and his family are near relatives of the Princes

D and V , two of the oldest families in

Russia. He received a finished education, and possessed a large fortune. For five years past

he has not been able to lie down, he suffers so much from asthma. He tried every remedy, but nothing alleviated his disease. He saw that his mother was anxious about him, and that he occasioned some trouble at home. In his words, "I saw that I could never do anything in this world; that I was only causing anxiety to my friends. I made up my mind to devote myself to God, and leave my care to him; and I came here, and here I expect to spend my days, and, at last, mingle my dust with that of the churchyard we are now about to visit."

I was quite interested in the young man's history. He seemed very cheerful, and resigned to his fate. We now entered the graveyard in which are interred members of the most ancient and most distinguished families in Russia—the Galitiens, Dolgorukis, Schertortoffs, &c., &c., as well as distinguished prelates of the Greek Church. Large sums, of money are paid for permission to be buried within the Donskoi. The general appearance of the cemetery will not compare with many I have seen in the United States; and yet there were some elegant and well-designed monuments and obelisks; and I made an interesting examination of many of them—having my thoughts on life, death, and eternity. Several of the monuments I was particularly struck with. That of Madame Barishnikoff, a lady cut off in the flower of her years, leaving eight children behind, you will also admit to be very fine: Death is holding a scythe in his left hand, and leading away a female victim; the husband is represented interceding with the grim monster to spare his wife; the children are kneeling, in prayer, that Death would not take from them their mother; but she, with a smile upon her countenance, points to heaven, and indicates her abode.

Another interesting monument is that of a soldier, who was formerly the attendant of the present Emperor, when a boy, in his walks. He was with the Emperor Alexander when the French invaded Russia. He saw a French soldier in the act of running his sword through the Emperor's body—the Emperor had been thrown from his horse: the soldier ran to him, killed the Frenchman, put the Emperor on his own horse, and told the Emperor to fly for his life; a moment after, the soldier was shot, and died. He was buried in this cemetery; and over his grave is a marble monument, and upon the monument the hat, sword, and coat, of the soldier, in cast iron, are placed.

From the cemetery we visited the different churches of the monastery, the interiors of which are richly gilded and decorated, and the walls covered with coarse paintings of scripture scenes. Some of them are hardly superior to the "Whale and Jonah" in St. Basil, which I have already described. The image of the Donskaya, Mother of God, is in the great cathedral, in the centre of one of the lofty and immense gilded gates which shut out the sacrament from the view of ladies; for no female is ever permitted to put foot within the sanctuary. If a Russian lady should attempt it, she might make up her mind to spend her days in Siberia. This image, like all the Russian images, is a great daub, inferior, if anything, to a tavern sign; but it is loaded with diamonds and other precious stones—the brilliant in the centre of the tiara, on the brow of the image, might be worth five thousand dollars. The Iconastas of this cathedral is very rich; it is one map of gilt, forty feet high, and as many feet broad. In one of the chnrches we were shown the tomb of Ambrosius, Archbishop of Moscow: and upon it lay his mitre of silver, studded with gems. This Bishop was murdered by his people in 1771. The plague was then raging at Moscow, and the Bishop, a sensible man, advised his people not to kiss (as is and was their wont) the images during the plague, lest some one may have kissed them who had at the time the pest, and thus the disease might be communicated. The people, blind with superstition, could not understand why they should be forbidden to kiss their images; the cry was raised that the Bishop had the devil in him, and poor Ambrosius was discovered in his hiding-place, in a gallery of the church, and most inhumanly murdered. This was related to me by the monk. Thus was Russian superstition in 1771; but I do not think it has improved much, even at this present time.

After we had been through all the churches, the monk invited me to his cell, and showed me to a little, low room, which he called his study, and to another, farther on, where he slept and made his devotions. There was a cleanliness to be seen everywhere that one rarely meets with in a Russian's apartments. The furniture was exceedingly simple, but very comfortable. It was now time to be thinking of going to town, and I rose to bid the monk good-bye. He asked me to come and see him before I left town, and proposed my visiting the monastery next Saturday evening, and hear the evening service chanted; and to come early, and take a cup of tea with him. I asked him, in leaving, if I could be of any assistance to him; and if so, to command me. He replied, "My friends often put the same question to me, and my uniform answer is, 'Pray for me!'"

When I arrived home, I ordered dinner; and in the evening took a drive to the public walks or gardens, where of a Sunday evening I un

derstood a great crowd usually assemble, to see and be seen. A dusty drive soon found me at the Vauxhall, and I left the carriage and proceeded on foct. There were a great many people en promenade, and a good show of equipages, but nothing particularly striking in the appearance of either, unless, perhaps, I except the carriages of some of the nobility, which were drawn by six horses, four abreast and at the wheels, and two in front.

I cannot say much for the beauty of the Muscovite ladies, if the exhibition to-day was a fair specimen of it. They were extravagantly dressed, but excessively coarse in their features. I did not remain long at the park.

Monday.—I drove to the Kremlin this morning, and sent up my letter and card to Baron

. He immediately gave an order that the

palaces of the Kremlin should be open for me at two o'clock, and appointed an officer to meet me at that hour and conduct me through the apartments. It was now only twelve o'clock, and, having two hours to spare, I visited the Treasury, so called, in the Kremlin. To describe what I saw there would require sheets of vellum. In the treasury is collected the wealth of all the Tsars of Russia;—the crowns of all the Tsars, their thrones, their services of gold plate, their court dresses, state beds, jewels, and I know not what else,—everything, as you may well suppose, of a richness and splendour unsurpassed in the times they were produced. What struck me the most, among the gold services of the different Tsars, was the dinner-service of Ivan the Terrible. He used to regale his guests in gold goblets about the size and shape of a frying-pan. One of these wine-bowls will hold at least a bottle of wine; and I doubt if even in Ivan's time his guests could drink many of these bumpers to the health of their Gospuda. Sad, however, was the fate of the unlucky fellow who balked on such an occasion as this. Just out of the Kremlin walls, in the beautiful place, and close by "St. Basil," the circular stone platform now stands, where the Tsar Ivan used to drag his rebellious subjects, and with one blow of his heavy sword sever the head from the shoulders of his victims.

To give you an idea of the richness of the imperial crowns, that of Catharine I. is bedecked with above 25,560 precious stones. Among other curiosities are a pair of enormous boots, worn by Peter the Great, his immense tankard, and several pieces of mechanism of his own execution. Among the gold cups I saw, chat of the Empress Ann weighs twentynine pounds.

But, after all, what interested me most (for I soon grew tired of looking at crowns, thrones, gold services, and all that trash) was a souvenir of Napoleon. Everything in relation to that great man—the greatest of his own, if not any, age—interests me; and I stood for some moments by the side of the iron bedstead and cot he slept upon during his Russian campaign. "What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue!" How little did the blacksmith of the Faubourg St. Germain or St. Denis, in Paris, dream, when he was constructing the camp bedstead for "VEmpereur," that it would one day occupy a place in the Kremlin, by the side of the gem-bedecked thrones of the Tsars of Russia, there to remain, till the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, yea, even the great globe itself, should dissolve, and, like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a rack behind.

It was now near two o'clock, and I left the Treasury to visit the palaces within the Kremlin. There are two palaces,—the old and the new. The last has just been finished, and was open for the first time on the occasion of the Emperor's late visit to Moscow. The officer appointed to conduct me through the apartments of the palace was already in waiting to receive me, and he proved unremitting in his attentions. It would be needless to describe the interior of these palaces. The new palace is of a richness surpassing all others that I have seen, and the profusion of gold upon the walls and the columns of solid malachite in the rooms, quite dazzled me, accustomed as I have been the past two years to sights of this kind. I cannot particularise what I saw;—it was one blaze of luxury. Besides, these sights do not make upon me the same impression they once did. I well remember how, when, just fresh from the plain republican halls of America, I found myself within the saloons of the Tuileries, I thought nothing could exceed the splendour of what I saw about me. But now, having seen the undreamed-of luxury of the palaces of the Tsars, that of the monarchs of France dwindles into insignificance. When I leave Russia, I shall be completely what the French call "blatt" for everything I see in the way of luxury in Europe, even as the sight of American scenery, so majestic and so grand, has spoiled me for all the charms of dame Nature on the Old World side of the Atlantic. The old palace was very curious,—gilded to a degree hardly inferior to its neighbour, the new palace. Its quaint and antique appearance interested me more than did the new. I will not particularise the rooms even in this palace, except one,—a low, arched saloon, heavily gilded, and its walls adorned with old paintings. This was a sort of council-chamber of the old Tsars, and where marriage-contracts between the Tsar and foreign princes were ogreeel upon. Into this chamber the daughters

or sons of the Tsar who were to be disposed of were not, upon the occasions just alluded to, admitted; but I was shown a private room adjoining, where the young victims might sit and hear, unknown to any one within, the deliberations that were being had upon their fate. From the top of the old palace I was again gratified with another view of the Kremlin and the surrounding city. The view increases in interest every time I look upon it.

In the morning I drove a few versts in the country to Marienrosh, so called,—a promenade for the lower classes of the city. It is situated near a vast wood, and is not spoiled by art. I met here all sorts of people, and found them engaged in all sorts of amusements. I came across several bands of gipsy women, and I collected about twenty of the girls together in one of the rooms of a restaurant, and gave them a couple of roubles for singing to me some of their wild songs, and seeing them dance. I like the gipsy music very much;—it is very wild, and, except in their chorus, very sweet. Among the gipsies there were two or three very pretty girls; and one of them, after she had sung a song, very quietly and in a tant /afon manner came and

sat on my knee, and asked me to give her a

glass of wine! That was indeed a step from the sublime to the ridiculous.

There is a pretty and pathetic story connected with Marienrosh, and the place takes its name from the circumstances which there occurred. A pretty peasant girl, named Masha (Mary), lived near to this wood, with her parents, in an humble cabin. A Russian nobleman, struck with her beauty, wished to possess her for his own vile purposes; but she was deaf to all his entreaties, his promises, and his threats. At last, in a fatal hour, under a solemn promise of marriage, she forgot herself. The man then forsook her; but she followed him wherever he went. One day the nobleman called at her father's cabin, and asked for Masha. She came out, and they walked together towards a pond;—the man, in the coarse vulgarity of his soul, begging her to accept a bag of gold, and never trouble him any more. Arrived at the pond, she took the bag and threw it into the water, and, uttering a curse upon her betrayer, she cast herself into the lake, and the waters covered her.

Tuaday.—This morning, in company with a friend, I took a walk over the business portion of this queer city. We went immediately to the bazaar or bargaining-shops, and walked over its vast extent; and of all the curious places of its kind, the Bazaar, or "Gostinoi Dwor," of Moscow surpasses anything I have seen. In. Moscow, after the oriental custom, the prin

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