Memories of the Neva. 173 



would howl and yell themselves red. Yet nowhere was 

 there horse-play, or unseemly noise ; nor could I conceive 

 a crowd, composed, too, let it be understood, largely of 

 women, in which there was so' little talking. There was a 

 considerable admixture of the very poorest people, of both 

 sexes, who wore the heavy, unsavoury sheepskin tied round 

 the waist with a strap, and did not generally lead you to 

 suspect that their expenditure in soap was excessive. Here 

 and there a private soldier, in some strange uniform, mixed 

 with the spectators ; but, putting these out of the question, 

 the main features of the crowd were those with which we 

 are all familiar at home. 



Shortly before one o'clock a sudden hush passed over the 

 masses of people, and in a moment every hat was removed. 

 It was something to command one's instantaneous respect 

 to see this reverent act, which would have been performed 

 with equal alacrity if, instead of a drenching rain, a dangerous 

 frost had prevailed. Devoutness begets devoutness. Per- 

 haps I am a bad Protestant to say it, but nothing within my 

 observation has ever borne with it the conviction of actual 

 devotion so much as the services of the Russo-Greek 

 Church, and perhaps to this we may attribute the marvellous 

 attention the ignorant Russ pays to religious observances. 

 Just as your sledge-driver in passing a chapel, shrine, or 

 picture, will drop his reins und cross himself, these rough- 

 looking spectators bared their heads, and went through the 

 thumb and forefinger signs and tokens enjoined by their 

 faith. 



The quick eyes of the crowd had caught a glimpse of the 

 procession emerging from the palace door. A priest, wear- 

 ing his white hair and his beard long and curled, walked 

 first with a burning lamp. A second held a crucifix aloft. 

 Two banners appeared next. The priests slowly descended 



