to death, and goes some distance out of his way to seek help. He meets two of the police, and having shown them where the unfortunate lies, and given them a ruble to get themselves something to drink, is about to make the best of his | way home: but no; he must accompany them to the police-office, and there be locked up for the night, and taken before a magistrate in the morning; for how do they know he did not knock the man down and rob him? When, after all these annoyances, his innocence is made clear, he is dismissed, with the advice-To thank God he has got off so easily, and in future to mind his own business, and not interfere with that of the police!"" This author quotes a dozen or more similar accounts; but these are sufficient for the illustration of this one point, so we pass to another. A merchant is robbed; he gives information to the police: the thief is taken, and confesses where he has hidden the stolen property: the police officer comes, and informs the merchant that they expect to restore him his property on the following morning, and requests twenty-five rubles for the trouble they have had, which is thankfully paid. To-morrow passes, and the next day, and the next week, and nothing is heard of the matter. The merchant again visits the police-office; but the man who had the management of his affair is removed to a distant station; the books contain no records of any such matter, and all he has to do is to console himself as best he can for the loss of money and goods. A gentleman's plate-chest is robbed, and he gives information at the police office. A few days afterwards comes an officer to know if he can show them any spoons, forks, &c., like to those he has lost, as some stolen property has been discovered. He happens to have some by him-takes them to the office, and is requested to leave them, as they cannot attend to the business just then he complies, and never sees either them or his stolen property again. Of secret police, or spies, there is a well-organized body, comprising all ranks, and mingling with all classes. Each one regards his neighbour with suspicion, nor ventures to speak on any subject of importance while a servant is within hearing. "Treachery lurks in every house; the agents of the secret police are omnipresent; mistrust clouds every joy and embitters every comfort. All amusements, whether public or private, are poisoned by the consciousness that spies are lurking about like thorns amid flowers all social happiness dimned by the same hovering cloud. Clergymen, lawyers, doctors, students, officers, milliners, governesses, and ladies'-maids, servants of all kinds, male and female, labourers, mechanics, and serfs, all furnish members to the secret police. The very walls have ears: Nature, with her woods, mountains, and valleys, catches up and echoes each word; the waves bear them along, and the winds waft them to the ears of Government." The next subject attacked by our author is the prisons and prisoners, and here he says "Men are torn from their families without the ceremony of an accusation, and thrown into dungeons until it pleases the Government to accuse, condemn, or declare their innocence." We will give one or two brief accounts of histories which he narrates of persons thus unjustly imprisoned. A wealthy merchant is arrested and thrown into prison, because a relative of his has committed a forgery, and it is probable that he knew of the crime! He demands a trial, and is answered that, if he will pay two thousand rubles, his innocence will immediately be acknowledged. Another is seized and thrown into prison, and submitted to all the indignities and discipline of the place for three weeks, at the expiration of which time he is brought before a magistrate, who addresses him with-"We find you are not the guilty person; it is all a mistake: we are in fault. You can go home!" "But who will restore my lost credit? who indemnify for the money I have lost, the injury my business will sustain?" "With that we have nothing to do. I have told you it was quite a mistake. God permitted it to happenGod will make it up to you." "But I must request"- -"Silence! make no bother! Go home, and God be with you.” A baron, poor and noble, who had served in the army for fifteen years, and obtained several orders, goes to request the interference of a proud parvenu official in obtaining for him a pension. He is detained so long waiting the great man's" pleasure, that it is dark when he goes away, and by mistake he puts on a mantel not his own. He is dragged back by the menials, and accused before their master of robbery. His indignant denial of the charge, and explanation, are disregarded: he is thrown into prison, languishes there two years, is then tried as a common thief, and, in consideration of his fifteen years' services, only banished for life to Siberia !!" Each dungeon contains from one to ten persons, to each of whom is allotted a board or bench about a foot wide, which has to serve him for bed, table, and chair. The place swarms with vermin, and every morning hundreds of blood-streaks on the wall beside each bench tell of the warfare which has been carried on, and the comfort in which the prisoner must have passed the night. But every morning comes the gaoler with his whitewash brush, and covers over these sanguinary stains, in order that visitors_may admire the cleanliness of the place! Every employment is strictly prohibited, and the only amusement of old and young, rich and poor, noble and serf, innocent and guilty, all of whom have to herd together, is to saunter up and down the corridor into which their dungeons open, and peep through the iron bars at any one who may chance to pass. The diet consists of a bit of black bread for breakfast-and that not given out until ten o'clock-a plate of soup, made of chopped cabbage, and rancid butter or oil; a plate of groats or oatmeal, cooked with similar fat, and on Sundays a bit of beef, and occasionally a piece of white bread. The soup generally stinks; and the bread is so sour seldom, if ever, that quarrels result: on the conand hard, that even stomachs well-drilled can- trary, enemies become sworn friends; all shake not swallow it, consequently the groats or oat-hands and embrace, and the drinkers do acmeal is to many the sole food. The water for every purpose is drawn from one of the filthiest canals in Petersburgh, and is foul, slimy, green, and swarming with insects. Once-aweek friends and relatives are allowed to see the prisoners, but only under strict surveillance, and after having been carefully searched; and even then, if they have not wherewith to fee the soldiers or gaolers in attendance, the interview is limited to a mere greeting. The punishments and cruelties described are too harrowing for repetition. In speaking of the serfs, he says, "They are sold like slaves; and at the present time (1845), such notices as the following are of daily occurrence in the advertisement sheets of the Petersburgh newspapers: At No. 33, of the Newski Perspective, is a young maiden, well acquainted with all feminine domestic occupations, to be let or sold. Particulars to be obtained, &c., &c.' At No. 60, in the Erbsen-street, is a family consisting of a young widow, with two boys and a girl, to be let or sold, as the owners, being about to travel, do not at present need them. Particulars may be obtained from Irvan, the coachman, who will also show two young horses and a cow, which are for sale." According to him there is no nation so inclined to believe in fatality as the Russians. "Tschto delat! (what can one do?) exclaims every Russian, whatever happens. "What could have induced you to steal?" "A tschto delat tschnort snaet, satschem ja ukral" (it was not my will; the devil would have it so) is the spirit, if not the actual words of the reply in short, all the lower classes, and many of the educated Russians, believe themselves to be mere puppets in the hands of fate, incapable of free will or action. And both authors unite in stating that the Russians in general have a very humble opinion of their own abilities, and are quite willing to admit the superiority of foreigners and foreign manufactures. They both, also, admit that there are no people so given to brandy-drinking and intoxication. The serfs drink to drown all sense of misery, to gain courage to support their trials, and to raise their spirits to something like enjoyment. "If a child is born, the father gets drunk to celebrate the event; the mother takes a glass or two to strengthen her, and ten to one but a drop is given to the poor babe. The lover offers his sweetheart brandy; and if she drinks, it is a sign of consent. A wedding is not properly kept, unless all the guests measure their length under the table. Good fortune is celebrated by brandydrinking; misfortune drowned in the same liquor. Birth-days, saints'-days, holidays, all are so many signals for indulgence in the same passion. But," says Kohl, who contrives to throw some brightness on everything, "although it is generally admitted that in their love of spirituous liquors the Russians surpass every other nation, drinking affects them very differently to what it does others. It is very tually appear to drown care; for the deeper a have one. Pious persons attach great value to these consecrated palm-branches, and hang them up over their beds, and preserve them from year to year. On the last days of the fast, eggs are in great request, it being the custom to place one in the hand of every friend or acquaintance you meet. These eggs are boiled hard, and stained with red. Nor is it only real eggs which are used: coloured and plain ground and flint glass, porcelain, ivory, mother-of-pearl, sugar, and even gigantic pastboard eggs are used. These latter are mostly filled with bonbons, or contain toys or flowers: the smaller ones are trinketcases, peep-shows, or hide some relic, saint, or angel in their interior. Many are the elegant presents, and many the amusing tricks conveyed through the medium of the Easter eggs. Good Friday is not much observed. On the eve of Easter Sunday, about nine o'clock, the churches open; but all is silence and gloom within them. The people gradually glide in like so many shadows, and kneel down in voiceless prayer. The midnight hour chimes; and as the last stroke dies away, the chandeliers appear, the torches which each person carries become lighted as if by magic, and the grand chorus, "Christohs woskress ihs mortwui" (Christ has risen from the dead), bursts forth from every lip. All who are at all acquainted shake hands and salute each other, repeating the glad tidings "Christohs woskress." The world appears to awake from a lethargy, and noise, bustle, and brilliant illuminations succeed to the preceding darkness and silence. With the morning comes the feasting; but the lower classes will not commence until their viands have been blessed by the priest; accordingly they bring them to church, and set them out in two long rows, which often extend down the middle of the church, through the doors, and round the building. The priest walks between these, sprinkling holy water on each side of him, and the owners stand on the outside, to see that their property is duly sanctified. The fair re-appears; a grand levee is held at the palace; the streets swarm with gay equipages, conveying splendidly attired people to and fro; and few, if any, of the 10,000 droschka which ply for hire in Petersburgh are idle for a moment. The whole of the Easter week is one long holiday and merry-making: then comes "Conclusion Sunday," when the festivities of Easter are solemnly put an end to; and to that succeeds "Remembrance Monday," when families visit the graves of lost relatives, taking with them wine and provisions. They first attend mass in the church, where the priest prays for the repose and happy resurrection of all those whose names are presented to him; and then they adjourn to the graves, where the sincere mourners pray, and present their eatables to the beggars, who hover about in swarms; while the others make a table of the grave, and feast and drink until but little remembrance of anything remains. On Whit Monday a very curious custom pre vails. The tradesmen display their marriageable daughters in the summer-gardens. The young ladies are decked off in every trinket the family can muster; and Kohl relates that one anxious mother, not being able to make her daughter as fine as she could wish, tied six dozen silver teaspoons on to a gold chain, and hung them in a double row round her neck, and surrounded her waist with three dozen table-spoons; while two silver punch ladles were crossed on her breast and two on her back. The girls are marshalled in two long rows, one on each side of the avenue; and behind each stands the mother, or some aunt or friend, as duenna. Between these two rows promenade all the young men who are on the look-out for wives. If one sees a face that pleases him, and her decorations lead him to suppose she is likely to bring him a fortune, he or his father, or his friend, scrapes an acquaintance with the duenna. Then ensues a regular system of bargaining; and if all the important money matters are settled to the satisfaction of both parties, the bride and bridegroom elect are formally introduced, betrothed, and married, without knowing more of each other's minds, habits, or disposition than the most perfect strangers could. If the bridegroom has parents, his wife is carried to their home, where she rapidly becomes a mere cypher, the motherin-law conducting everything. Where there are three or four married sons, all bring their wives home to the paternal roof, where they have nothing to do but to read, embroider, yawn, quarrel with each other, or intrigue for the favour of the mother-in-law. They see their husbands at meal times, and hear from them the state of the markets, and the rise or fall in stocks, or some equally interesting information. And here we must take leave of both our authors, our notice having already reached its utmost limits. If the more severe commentator has "aught exaggerated, or aught set down in malice," it is a little excusable, for he appears to have suffered much injustice at the hands of the Russians. But we are inclined to give full credit to his statements, for on all points where Kohl and he meet they agree; and on those of which he gives so dark a picture, Kohl, who evidently aims at being a popular author, is absolutely silent. To the judgment of our readers we now, however, leave them and their pictures of Russia, and its manners and customs. LENORA. M. A. Y. (From the German of Burger). Lenora, at the blush of day, From heavy slumbers started, "Art dead, or faithless, Wilhelm, say, How long must we be parted?" He was with Frederick's armed might At Prague, and there engaged in fight, Had sent no word or token To prove his health unbroken. The Empress and the Prussian King, Saw peace at last arriving. The warm embrace and kisses. And up and down, amidst the brave, Of all that warlike meeting. And when the train had passed elsewhere, And in her fond arms press'd her. God! God! some comfort send us!" "Help, God! the true believers know Has power the dead to waken." List, child. Perchance thy lover now, In falsehood has renounced his vow, "Oh, Mother-Mother! Gone is gone! The past, the past is ended! Death-death is now my gain alone, Why was I born unfriended? Be quench'd my light-be quench'd for aye, God has no kindness done me. "Help, God! nor into judgment go, On this poor child's expressions; Forget all earthly woe, like this, No bridegroom shall be wanting." "Oh, Mother! what is Hell-or Bliss- I knew but Heaven in Wilhelm's kiss, Be quench'd my light-be quench'd for aye, Thus her despair o'er every sense She wrung her hands and beat her breast, Hush! listen! listen! tramp-tramp-tramp! Watchest thou, love? or sleepest ? "We only saddle at midnight; I roused myself late for the flight, And now will bear thee thither." "Stay, Wilhelm, stay! The wind doth rush Loud whistling through the hawthorn-bush. Here, heart's love, let me hold thee, My warm arms shall enfold thee." "Let the wind whistle through the haws, Now clinks my spur; the black horse paws; Come-come: truss up thy dress, and spring "And must I ride one hundred miles "See here! see there! the moon is high; 'Tis for a bet we're flying "Yet say, where is thy bridal hall, Thy nuptial bed-where lies it?" "Far, far from hence! still, cool, and small, Eight slender planks comprise it." "Hast room for me?" "For me and thee! Come, gird thy dress; quick, mount with me. The guests are there to meet thee; The fair girl quickly dress'd, and sprung And right and left, on either hand, Before their eyes quick sunder'd, How flew the lawns, and heaths, and land! And how the bridges thunder'd! "Dearest, dost fear? The moon is high! Hurra! the dead can swiftly fly! Dost fear the dead, my own love?" "6 Nay-leave the dead alone, love." What sound is that of clang and knell ? Hark! the death-song: and tolls the bell! "After midnight inter the dead, With knell and lamentation; Come, Sexton, with thy choral throng, The clang was still'd; vanish'd the bier, And all beside, less and less near Behind his horse was falling. And further, faster still, the steed Flies like the wind with whistling speed; The horse and rider quivering, And sparks and pebbles shivering. And left and right, how swift in flight Pass'd hedges, trees, and mountains! How flew on right, and left, and right, Towns, villages, and fountains! "Dearest! dost fear? The moon is high! Hurrah! the dead can swiftly fly: Dost fear the dead, my own love?" Ah, leave the dead alone, love!" See there! about the gallows' height "Halloo, there! rabble. Ho! come here! Flies like the wind, with whistling speed; How flew they in the moon's wide light, Were heavens and stars receding! "My steed! methinks the cock doth crow; The sand is just expended; My steed! the morning air I know, Quick, hence! our course is ended: And swiftly tow'rds an iron grate Look! in the twinkling of an eye, A skeleton, before her, Holds scythe and sand-glass o'er her! The black horse wildly snorts and rears, Quick vanishing and sinking. Wild howling fills the welkin round, And groans from the deep grave resound. And now beneath the moon's pale glance, Lock'd hand in hand, the spectres dance, "Forbear! forbear! though breaks the heart 'Gainst God in heaven take no part. Now from thy body sever, |