Son of God, help me!' He only grew more wrathful because I did not cry 'Mercy!' to him. Thus at every stroke I uttered a prayer, and once I cried to him, 'Enough beating!' He made the man stop, and I said to him: 'Why dost thou have me beaten? Knowest thou a reason, or not?' Thereupon he ordered me beaten again on the sides, and then left me. I trembled and fell down, unable to stand longer. Then he ordered me dragged to the Government boat, where they put irons on my wrists and my ankles and threw me on the deck. Autumn it was, and it rained on me, and all night I lay under the rain.

When they were beating me I felt no pain, uplifted by my prayer; but as I lay on deck I thought to myself: 'Why, O Son of God, didst Thou let them thus torture me? I but defended thy own widows! Who will judge between Thee and me? So long as I acted by stealth, Thou didst not humiliate me thus. Now I know not in what I have sinned.'

Thus like a dirty-faced Pharisee I sought self-righteously to call the Almighty to judgment. Surely Job spoke thus; but then he was a righteous man and without blame, and did not know the Scriptures. He was without the Law, in a barbarous country, and knew God only as revealed in nature. But I was, in the first place, a sinner; in the second place, I had knowledge of the Law and I was fortified by the Scriptures. For through many sorrows are we to enter the heavenly kingdom. Yet I was thus presumptuous to the point of madness. Woe to me! Why did not the boat sink under me?

Thereupon my bones began to ache and my veins to throb with pain, and my heart stopped, and I was on the verge of death. They threw water into my mouth. At length I began to breathe again, and repented before the

Almighty, and the God of Light was merciful.

Thereafter I was brought to the fortress of Bratski and thrown into jail. Until Philip's Fast in the late autumn I sat there. Winter comes early in those places, but God kept me warm without clothing. I lay on straw, like a dog. Sometimes they fed me, and sometimes not. Mice overran the place. I slew them with my hood, for they would not give me even a stick, silly little fools that they were. I lay prone on my belly, for my back was festering from the cuts of the knout. Fleas and lice were many. I wanted to beg Colonel Pashkov, 'Forgive me,' but the strength of the Lord forbade me. We are told to be patient and long-suffering. That man finally put me into a warm izba, and there I lived with the dogs all winter. My wife and children were sent away from me some twenty versts distant. My son Ivan, yet a mere boy, made the long journey on foot to see me after Christmas. But Colonel Pashkov ordered him thrown in the cold jail where I was first confined. The dear boy was forced to stay there overnight, and was nearly frozen. In the morning he was thrust forth and ordered to go back to his mother. I did not see him. When he got back to his mother his hands and feet were frozen.

In the spring we again pushed forward. One small bundle was all that was left of my belongings. My boots and clothes were taken away. I was nearly drowned again in Lake Baikal. Then I was forced to help pull the boats up the Khilok River. It was very heavy work, and we had no time to eat or to sleep. All summer long I was thus treated. Many died from working in the water. My legs and body became blue. For two summers was I forced thus to pull boats upstream, and in the winter to

drag them across the land. Finally we reached Lake Irgen.

In the spring, the fourth since I left Tobolsk, we floated down the Ingoda River on rafts. We had nothing to eat, and some of our party died from starvation and constant labor in the water. The river was shallow, the rafts of logs were heavy, and the foremen were merciless. They beat the men with clubs and knouts, and we were not permitted to go hunting. Two of my sons died here.

But Christ touched the hearts of the Colonel's daughter-in-law and his wife, and they secretly gave us food and kept us from starving to death. They did this without his knowledge sometimes a piece of meat or a loaf of bread, or flour, or oats, or even feed from the hens' trough. My poor daughter Ogrofena would secretly go to their window to get food. Then we had either misery or joy. Sometimes, without the ladies knowing it, people would drive the child away from the window. At other times she would come back with an abundance to eat.

There was great distress in this country for six or seven years. One time they brought to me two mad women, and I, as the custom is, fasted, and likewise made them fast, and prayed, and anointed them, and did what best I could; and the women, through Christ's power, became whole and sane. I received their confession and gave them Holy Communion. They stayed with me and prayed to God. They liked me, and refused to go home. When Colonel Pashkov, however, learned that they had become my spiritual daughters he was angrier than ever, and wanted to burn me alive.

"Thou hast extorted from them my own secrets,' he said.

But how could I give them Communion without confessing them? And

without Communion one can never cast a devil out of a patient. A devil is not a muzhik. He fears no club; he fears only Christ's Cross and holy water and holy oil; and I knew no way to heal them except by these sacraments. In our Orthodox Church, Communion is never given without confession. Why then should the Colonel have been angry with me? Clearly the Devil prompted him to act thus in order to prevent his soul from being saved. But God will forgive him.

At length we were called back to Russia. When we left Dauria food again was scarce, and we all prayed to God to feed us, and Christ sent us a fat stag to eat; and thus we came to Lake Baikal. Near by Russian sablehunters were camped fishing. They were glad to see us, these beloved people; they wept as they gazed upon us, and we wept when we saw them. They gave us what food we needed. Some forty sturgeon they brought us, saying: 'Here, beloved Father, the Lord gave us these for your share; take them all.'

I bowed, and blessed the fish, and told the good men to take them back, as I did not need them. We remained with these people for a time, and having repaired our boat and mended our sail we took a store of food with us and went across the lake. The wind changed and we had to row. The lake is not wide at that point, only eighty or one hundred versts. When we landed a great storm came up. We barely reached the shore before the waves were dashing high. Near by were high mountains and lofty precipices. Twenty thousand versts have I traveled, but I never saw such high cliffs elsewhere. On the top of them are shelters and steps, and gates and pillars, and stone fences and enclosures, all made by God's hand. Onions and

garlic grow there, bigger than the Romanov onions, and very sweet. Hemp also grows there, sowed by God's hand, and beautiful grasses, flowering and very fragrant. There are many birds, geese, and swans in this country, swimming on the lake like snow, and the lake abounds in sturgeon and many other kinds of fish. The water is sweet, but there are sea dogs in it larger than any I ever saw in the ocean itself. The sturgeon and the salmon are so fat that one cannot fry them in a skillet, for nothing but oil would be left. And all this Christ our Saviour made for the use of man, so that he may be happy and glorify God. But man pursues vanity. His days pass as shadows. He prances as a goat, he swells up like a bubble, he raves like a lynx, he would devour like a dragon; he overeats and oversleeps, does not pray to God, postpones repentance till old age, and then vanishes, and nobody knows whether he goes into the light or into the darkness. God forgive me; I have sinned more than other men.

On the way back to Russia, whither I was finally summoned, I stayed one winter at Yeniseisk, and, traveling by boat all the following summer, passed the next winter at Tobolsk. And all the way to Moscow, in every town and village I preached the word of God in the churches and the market places, revealing the godless heresies of the Patriarch; and so came to Moscow. Three years did I travel on my way back from Dauria, and five years it had taken me to reach Dauria, because

on the way there one must go upstream against the current of the rivers. On our way back to Moscow we constantly passed native villages and houses. On the Obi, a great river, the hostile natives massacred twenty Christians, but after long thought they let me go

again. On the Irtysh we came upon a horde of wild men standing and waiting for our boats in order to kill


Not knowing their purpose, I approached them and landed on the bank, and they set upon our party with their bows and arrows. But I, stepping out of the boat, began to embrace them as though they were monks, saying, 'Christ be with me, and Christ be with and Christ be with you also.' And they became kind to me, and brought their women to my wife, and my wife spoke to them politely as the custom is in good society, and the women too became kind. And we knew by this time that where the women are friendly all are kind. Thereupon the men put away their bows and arrows and began to trade with me. I bought bear's meat of them, and they let me go. Coming to Tobolsk, I told this to the people, and they all marveled, for at that time the Bashkirs and Tatars were fighting the Russians all over Siberia.

In Moscow the Tsar delivered Colonel Pashkov into my hands, as was God's will, and the Colonel offered me much money in Moscow if I would conceal his misdeeds in Siberia; but I refused it, saying: 'I want thy salvation, but not thy money. Take the habit of a monk, and God will forgive thee.' When he saw that ruin was about to befall him, he sent for me, and when I came into his yard he fell on the ground before me, saying, 'God's will be done!' I forgave him, and put him with the monks at Chudovo, and blessed him when he assumed the habit of their order. At Chudovo one arm and one leg of him became paralyzed, and he could not leave his cell; but I begged Heaven to pardon him, and even yet I pray for him; and I trust that Christ in His mercy will forgive us both, poor sinners that we are.



To Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun is credited the dictum that if a man were permitted to make the ballads of a nation he need not care who should make the laws.

Ballads are out of fashion nowadays, and the songs, sentimental or humorous, which delighted our forefathers are heard no more, and even those of later Victorian times are almost forgotten.

In village inns the echoes of 'Silver Threads' or 'Just a Song at Twilight' may still be heard on winter evenings when the red curtains are drawn and the settle is moved to the fireside, but not elsewhere.

Most of those once popular songs were in their nature ephemeral; but such fine, robust old favorites as 'Wapping Old Stairs,' - which Colonel Newcome used to render with trills and roulades in the Incledon manner, "Tom Tugg's Farewell,' 'My Friend and Pitcher,' 'O Nancy, Wilt Thou Go with Me?' 'Black-Eyed Susan,' and many others, surely deserve to survive. The songs of Charles Dibdin remember an extinct race, the old watermen of the Thames, celebrated in many a ballad in the days

When the fine city ladies In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.

Tom Tugg, his comrades with their wherries, funnies, and shallops, may yet linger on the impalpable rivers of Orcus, or ply at Lethe's Wharf, where the cry of 'Oars' or 'Sculls' is

1 From the National Review (London Tory monthly), January

perhaps not out of fashion - the Thames knows them no more.

John Braham, né Abraham, greatest of tenors, whom Lamb described as a compound of the Jew, the angel, and the gentleman, had a great affection for our old songs, and my mother, who knew him well, used to tell us how he would delight the house parties at Strawberry Hill with selections from them. Walpole's bizarre villa was then tenanted by George, seventh Earl of Waldegrave, who married Braham's eldest daughter, a beautiful and fascinating Jewess.

'My Trim Built Wherry' was Braham's favorite, and in singing this he always pronounced the hero's name "Tolmas,' for his rendering of English words was often very odd, and Lord Byron used to aver that he said 'enthusymusy' instead of 'enthusiasm,' and adopted the variant and used it in jest ever after.

That eccentric genius Sheridan wrote some fine songs which are seldom heard now. "Tell Me, My Lute,' and 'Here's to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen,' are excellent, and every lover of Dickens will remember that Paul Dombey overheard Mr. Feeder at the breakingup party whisper to Miss Blimber,

'Had I a heart for falsehood framed,
I ne'er could injure you,'

which lines he repeated to no less than four young ladies in succession.

Scots are more faithful to their old songs than we are, and wherever they forgather 'Auld Lang Syne,' "The

Land of the Leal,' 'Will Ye No Come Back Again?' and 'The Flowers of the Forest' are sure to be heard. And what exile from the land of cakes hears unmoved 'Lochaber No More'? The Muse of Scotland has favored the fair sex; three of the above, and many others equally well known, were written by women. On this side of the Border men have had almost a monopoly of our songs, both old and new.

The tendency of the Scottish character is to take life seriously, and this is reflected in their songs and poetry; but Burns has given us radiant examples of both the grave and the gay, and on the humorous side Roger's 'My Auld Breeks' has a gayety which is infectious:

My mother men't my auld breeks,

An' wow but they were duddy! And sent me to get Mally shod

At Robin Tamson's smiddy. The smiddy stands beside the burn That wimples through the clachan; I never yet gae by the door

But aye I fa' a-laughin'.

The verses which follow are from a little poem which gained the unsought favor of Queen Victoria. They were never, I believe, set to music, but are an excellent example of modern Doric, and their publication had a pleasant sequel.

I'm but an auld body

Livin' up in Deeside
In a twa-roomed bit hoosie
Wi' a toofa' beside;

Wi' my coo an' my grumphy
I'm as happy's a bee,
But am far prooder noo
Since she noddit tae me.

I'm nae sae far past wi't,

I'm gey trig an' hale, Can plant twa-three tawties An' look aifter my kale; An' when oor Queen passes I rin oot to see

Gin by luck she micht notice An' nod oot tae me!

But I've aye been unlucky,
An' the blinds were aye doon,
Till last week the time

O' her visit cam' roon';
I waved my bit apron

As brisk 's I could dae, An' the Queen lauched fu' kindly An' noddit tae me!

The poem was written by a youthful member of the staff of the Aberdeen Journal, and, as the Queen was interested in some archæological discoveries, an account of which had appeared in should be sent to her. As luck would that paper, she commanded that a copy have it, the copy contained 'She Noddit tae Me,' and the Queen was so gratified by the simple tribute that she sent to the author a special acknowledgment.

Many of the songs of our one-time sister isle are very beautiful; and what an experience to have heard Little Tommy sing 'The Irish Melodies' to his own accompaniment, "The Last Rose of Summer,' 'Fly Not Yet,' and

Oh, breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonor'd his relics are laid,

which refers to the fate of his former college companion, Robert Emmet.

Moore discreetly veiled his own rebellious sentiments, but other Irish poets of his time, and of a later date, have gloried in expressing theirs.

The most notorious of the songs of the '98 period are "The Shan Van Voght' (Anglice, "The Little Old Woman'), which tells, prematurely, of the long-hoped-for arrival of the French fleet in Bantry Bay:

The French are in the Bay, said the Shan Van Voght,

The French are in the Bay, said the Shan Van Voght,

The French are in the Bay, they 'll be here

without delay,

And the Orange shall decay, Said the Shan Van Voght.

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