hotel at Ras Beirût, standing out in the corridor in a similar state of alarm. This trembling of the earth makes one shudder in spite of all philosophical stoicism. The recent shakings in the Island of St. Thomas and in South America, and the eruptions of Mount Vesuvius, indicate that this fearful foe of man is still at work. The lesson of warning is lost, it seems, upon the living witnesses of these catastrophes, for the Doctor assured me that in 1837 it was frightful to witness the intense selfishness and the hideous rascality developed. The survivors in the surrounding villages left their friends to die amid their own crumbling houses, and hurried to Safed to strip the dead and plunder the living. Ibrahim Pasha sent a detachment of troops from Acre to protect the poor Jews from robbery and

murder; but they themselves were utterly callous in regard to their fellow-sufferers. After the Relief Committee had labored day and night to build an hospital, they were obliged to pick up the wounded and carry them with their own hands, or to pay their surviving friends exorbitant prices to do it! Gibbon tells of earthquakes that visited Syria during the decline and fall of the Roman Empire. One of these ruined Beirut, when the famous law-school of Justinian was in its prime. These historical facts are of practical interest, and they have had a palpable effect in Beirût upon the Church-building Committee, who have altered the proportions of the new church tower, with reference to the possibility of an earthquake in our day.

Ar this season of the year, as the traveler meets in the streets of St. Petersburg or Moscow the Russian peasants, in their coats of coarse brown cloth or of sheepskin, with their legs swathed in cloths, bound round and round by the cords which fasten on their bast sandals, men and women looking alike, he at once recalls the wild-looking figures of Dacians and Sarmatians, which he has seen in the bas-reliefs on Trajan's column. Nor is this resemblance, which was first noticed by the elder De Ségur, merely accidental, for a careful comparison will show him that those figures must be portraits of ancient Slavonians, the ancestors of the modern Russian. Conservatism-adherence to traditions-is pictured on their faces and in their dress. But it would be rash to condemn them on this account as incapable of progress, before inquiring if they do not possess some original germs of progress, some ideas, more or less developed, which are part of modern civilization.

The Russian peasant is usually fair, with light or brown hair, parted in the middle and rather long, blue or gray eyes, a full round face, with a thick short nose, large lips and good teeth, and is

He is, however,

short and thick-set. sometimes tall, and in the south of Russia has a darker complexion, and black hair and eyes. Red hair is very unusual. His beard grows slowly, and often, when he is thirty, he has only a few straggling tufts of hair; after that it seems to take a sudden development, and the old men have long and shaggy beards, which serve as a protection against the cold. The men, especially the young men, are often very handsome; the women rarely so, though occasionally in certain villages one may find a real beauty. The man wears a pair of loose baggy breeches, tucked into his boots, if he has any, and over it a shirt, with loose sleeves, girt about the waist with a cord. The habit of wearing the shirt outside of the breeches is a peculiarity of all Slavonic people, even the Poles. The Russian proper always has the shirt fastened on the left side of the neck, with three small buttons. The Little Russian fastens it in front in the middle. The shirts and breeches are usually of some coarse home-made cotton stuff, or of cheap calico, generally pink or red. If the weather is cold he puts on a long caftan of coarse cloth. This is usually without a

collar, and cut very sloping in front, like a dressing-gown. It is apparently the same as the Tartar and Asiatic Khalat. In winter he wears, beside, a coat of sheepskin, with the wool inside. When new this is very handsome, as it is always embroidered round the neck and down the front. But, however clean it may be inside, and it does not always contain fleas, the outside is soon dirty and greasylooking. His feet in summer are bare; in winter he wears high boots of felt or leather, or winds cloth round his legs, and wears a sort of sandal made of basketwork, of the inner bark of the linden. His head is covered with a sheepskin cap, sometimes with the wool very long and shaggy, or with a tall felt hat almost brimless. On a holiday or Sunday the peasant is very gay; his breeches are of black velveteen, his boots polished and crinkled, his shirt red cotton or silk, and he wears a waistcoat, and a short sleeveless coat of dark blue cloth, or of black velveteen, and has on his head a janty little cap edged with the ends of peacock feathers.

The costume of the women varies more than that of the men in the different provinces; but there is always a saraphan or petticoat, usually striped in red, blue, and white, which is girt over the white shirt just beneath the breasts, or above them. Over this there is usually worn a white apron as long or even longer than the petticoat. Ifthe saraphan is tied above the breasts, the apron is tied below, and the form looks like a series of bags. The head is covered with simply a kerchief, usually rather large; but on all grand occasions the kerchief is small and of silk, and only conceals the back hair; in front is a diadem or kokoshnit, embroidered with silver or gilt. In the governments of Novgorod and Yaroslav it is always covered with real pearls, and is often of very great value. The best saraphans too are trimmed with gold or silver galloon, or with a kind of home-made lace. Every girl has around her neck numerous strings of beads, each string of a different color. She wears, too, very large ear-rings. The men also, sometimes wear ear-rings, often

only in one ear. The dress of the peasant woman is the court costume, and is always worn by the ladies on state occasions. In winter the women wear sheepskins and boots, and are only distinguished from the men by the handkerchief over their heads. Before the weather gets quite so cold they wear a little cloth jacket lined with fur, the skirt of which is very short, and is so plaited as to make a ruff standing straight out around their waists, presenting a very funny appearance.

The peasants like society, and are always collected in villages; since the emancipation they flock to the cities, especially in winter. It is exceedingly rare to find a peasant living in a solitary cottage in a spot remote from neighbors, except sometimes in the case of foresters, who are obliged by their occupation to live in that way. These villages, especially in the northern and central parts of Russia, have an almost uniform appearance. At a little distance you see a collection of low brown huts, placed apparently very close to each other, but stretching irregularly over a large space. The ragged thatch of the roofs, and the rude sheds and palisades, give a look of carelessness or unwonted destitution. But in their midst, high over all, rises a white church, with green roof and silvered dome, with a tall and often graceful belfry standing close by. The church is as neat-looking as the huts are unkempt, and the onion-shaped domes and the large frescoes of saints on the outside walls show you that the village, whatever similarity there may be in other respects, is neither in Eastern Germany nor in Poland. As you approach you pass the last trees and clumps of bushes; the fields of rye and wheat are much smaller, and divided into regular oblong patches, with other grains, and you come to some small plantations of potatoes and cabbages, or diminutive orchards of little cherry or apple trees. The country road widens into a broad street, which in wet weather is a slough of mud or a pond of water, in which the half-naked children are wading, holding up their shirts almost

above their heads. The houses are sometimes of brick, but usually of wood-huge logs put together with the utmost neatness, and with the joints carefully packed with oakum and clay. The lintels of the doors and windows, and the gables, are nearly always carved, sometimes very handsomely. The houses are always thatched with straw or reeds. The house is built in the corner of a court, with thatched sheds for the horses and cattle, the whole surrounded by a palisade of interlaced twigs. The outside door leads into a portico in the court, from which the house is entered through another door. There are usually two rooms, open to the roof, in which live a family of a dozen persons. In one corner is a huge brick stove and oven, the top of which is the most grateful bed. There is, however, usually one rude bed for the master of the house. The rest of the family sleep on the floor, or on the benches which go round the room close to the wall. There is a large square wooden table, and sometimes one or two rude chairs. In the corner nearest the door is a triangular cupboard, often richly carved, for the holy pictures, and there is in the better houses another for such few articles of glass and earthenware as the family pos

sess.

There are nearly always some coarse lithographs of saints and heroes on the walls, and among the latter always one of the Emperor, and now of Komnaissarof too, the peasant who saved the Emperor from the assassin. Other furniture there is none, except the loom and spinning-wheel, the cooking utensils, and the inevitable cradle, composed of a square board hung from a beam by strings at the corners, like the pan of a balance. There are two or at most three windows, very small, and with double sashes in winter. The floor is sometimes of hard clay, but usually of boards. Where wood is very abundant, as on the upper Volga, the houses are much better and larger, being often two stories high. It is very rare, except in Little Russia, to see a tree in the village, or any plant or vine about the houses. All the fruit and vegetables are cultivated like the grain, in

fields at some little distance from the village.

The food of the peasant is very simple, being composed chiefly of black rye bread, buckwheat grits, cabbage, and kvas, a drink made of fermented rye. Fish is eaten at all times except the severer fasts, meat but rarely. Potatoes are now a standard article of food in some provinces. On this almost wholly vegetable diet the peasant thrives, and is almost always very strong and stout. His round face shows that he does not starve himself. The meagre food of Lent, however, and the subsequent repletion during Easter-week, produce much sickness. It is not poverty which causes this diet, for it is something demanded by the climate. No Russian, however high his rank, is able to get through a dinner comfortably without the black bread, and will generally take also the buckwheat, the cabbage, and the kvas, if he can get them. The acidity of the bread is thought to preserve the people from disease. The usual dish for dinner is stchi, or cabbage soup-in Little Russia beets are substituted-which is placed in a large wooden bowl, around which the family gather, each dipping in his round wooden spoon or his piece of bread. Tea is drunk more universally in Russia than in any country out of China. The peasants use a coarse tea, pressed into the shape of bricks, which is brought overland and sold very cheaply.

During the summer the peasant rises and goes to bed with the sun. Both men and women are at work all day in the fields. About the middle of September, when the harvesting is over, they begin to use lights in the evening. They think candles too costly, and use them only in their lanterns outside. In the house they burn a thin strip of birch wood, called a lutchina, which is held between three nails on a tall support, the cinders falling in a dish set beneath. It burns with a bright flickering blaze, but requires constant renewal. The loss of time occasioned by this costs more than the candle. During the long winter evenings the women spin or weave, and the men carve wooden objects, if they have no trade,

or make their linden sandals. The woolbeater pursues his trade from house to house. He has a large wooden bow with very thick string; which he rests against the wall and keeps the string in constant vibration by striking it with a heavy notched block of wood. The wool, which is placed mediately beneath, is caught up at each ibration and torn apart, and falls into the basket in foaming flakes, as well carded as if by a machine. This bow keeps up a constant music, and as the wool-beater is usually a jolly fellow and sings at his work, he is in great repute, and his coming is a sort of festival. He gets well paid, too, for his labor. With the Russian peasant, as with the rest of us, the winter evenings are the chief time of intellectual enjoyment. While the family are working, some old woman usually tells fairy tales and legends of the early heroes, such as Ernslau Lazarevitch, Robber Nightingale, and Hero Ivan. The young girls sing. They usually collect on stated evenings in one house, beginning at one end of the village and making the round.

There is something very peculiar in these Russian songs. They are always plaintive, and usually in a minor key, and end in a peculiar cadence. Many of them are set in the old Greek modes, rather than in any modern key; and, what seems very strange, it has been found that one of the few fragments of Greek music which remain—a chorus in an ode of Pindar-is note for note the same as a popular Russian song, "In the field a birchtree stood." The burden of these songs is usually love, and often unhappy love. They seldom rhyme, and the words are often repeated over and over again with slight variations. Here is one: "Lutchina, little birchen lutchina,

Why dost thou not burn clearly, O little lutchina?

Why dost not burn clearly, not burn clearly,
Dost not light? why dost not light?
Hast thou, O little lutchina, not been in

the oven?

Not been in the oven, or hast thou not been dried, O little lutchina?"

On every holiday and Sunday evening during the summer, the girls and young

men form into a ring and walk slowly around, joining hands, and sing the khorovod, a sort of choral dance. The song turns always on love, and is exceedingly plaintive and beautiful. The music of the khorovod and the song of the nightingale rest always in the memory of the traveler as two great elements in the charm of a summer evening in the country in Russia.

The Russian peasant is a singular compound of laziness, activity, carelessness, and good-nature. When he chooses to work he works well and with a will, but he must be allowed his own ways, and frequent breathing-spells. He seems to have no sense whatever of the value of time, and finds it difficult to comprehend how new methods can be better than the old, or machines than hand labor. At first he will break and put out of order all the agricultural machines, not from ill will, nor entirely from stupidity, but from his natural carelessness and his dislike to new-fangled notions. When he is once accustomed to them he will treat them carefully and even invent methods of repairing them. I have seen a peasant near Voronezh who was as proud of the new patent plough which he was using as he was of his horses. The climate demands more work to satisfy his necessary wants than elsewhere. But for luxuries he has little desire, and when he has worked enough to supply himself with fuel and food for the winter he stops. The innumerable festivals allowed by the church are a great temptation and obstacle to him. Beside Sundays there are forty-three fasts and festivals-non-working days, when even the manufactories and government offices are closed. Then there are fifty-six lesser holidays, on which the people are apt to be idle; and ten to one the peasant is good for nothing on the day after a holiday, as he has probably been royally drunk the day before. I remember once asking a boy how many holidays there were in the year: They do say," he replied, "that there are only two days that are not holidays." The peasant is shrewd, makes a good bargain, loses few opportunities to make or save mon

ey; yet at the same time he is singularly improvident. He allows his house and barns to go unrepaired, he neglects to keep up the stores of grain for a bad harvest, he will spend his last kopek in the drinking-house. Serfdom is probably more to blame than he himself for this. With his equals he is generally honest. He will always steal from his master, and will lie on the slightest provocation. These two traits mark also the negroes at the South. His greatest fault is drunkenness. At about the same time with the emancipation, the duties on liquors were unwisely lowered. Drinking-houses were started everywhere, and drunkenness assumed alarming proportions among the rural population. The vodka, the usual liquor, is the same as our rye whisky, though not usually so good, and is very strong. The love of liquor is a national failing, and nowhere, unless in England and America, is the practice and habit of drunkenness so widespread. The government have at last taken the alarm, and measures are now being taken to reduce the number of places where liquor may be sold, and to raise its price. There are some other points in which not much can be said for the morality of the peasant. Chastity is a virtue which is much more esteemed than observed. In many parts of Russia there exists a practice similar to that known to English law as usus prima noctis; but in this case it is the father of the bridegroom and not the master who enjoys the privilege. In the villages along the high-roads and the great rivers, syphilitic diseases are very common. In Little Russia, however, in respect to chastity, no fault can be found.

Perhaps the most striking and agreeable trait of the Russian peasant is his abiding good-nature. He is almost always smiling, is ready to oblige you, and is at once good friends and on almost terms of equality with you. He will get angry and pour out a torrent of verbal abuse, but he rarely turns to blows, and in the middle of his tirade will perhaps break out into a laugh and use entreaty or persuasion. When he is drunk he is never furious, but is always mild, tracta

ble, and good-natured—even affectionate. It is impossible to be among these simplehearted people without becoming much attached to them; and nowhere does one treat his servants so much as his equals as in Russia. They are always ready to talk, and you are amused with them; you may be angry and vexed at their slowness or seeming stupidity, but you don't doubt their willingness to assist you, and their good-nature disarms you. Their sympathy in all the accidents that befall you is equally pleasing; and if you go on a journey, the very manner in which they kiss your hand and wish you a fervent "Go with God!" shows that there is something more than the mere relation of master and servant. Uncivilized as the Russian peasant may be, he is seldom brutal. The statistics of crime show a very small proportion of brutal crimes, and even cruelty to animals is not common. Indeed there is little malice in the Russian nature. He is always ready to pardon and forgive, no matter how deeply he may have been injured. Patience is one of his great characteristics. He can endure ill-usage, ill-fortune, and hunger with a sort of religious stoicism, always expressing his trust in God, and saying of every accident, " Nitchevo, that is nothing." This same disregard of evil, indifference to chance, can also be seen in the young noble who stakes all his fortune on the turn of a card, or resolutely leads a forlorn hope, and to the entreaties of his friends exclaims, "Nitchevo, nitchevo." In fact the word itself is a sort of index to the Russian character.

Yet in spite of his stoicism even the Russian peasant has strong passions. If he is happy, he is very happy; if he is unhappy, he is wretched. Suicides for love are by no means uncommon in the villages. It is perhaps the strength of passion which makes holidays so necessary to him. He is willing to be kept down ever so strictly to hard work, provided only when his festival comes he can "breathe out," as his phrase goes, to the utmost, and give himself wholly up to pleasure. The Russian nobles are noted for their politeness of manner, but cour