82 THROUGH RUSSIA ON A MUSTANG. 



red shirts, black velvet trousers, and top boots. The 

 women were in all the colors of the rainbow, with red 

 well in the ascendency. Arriving at a little old, dilapi- 

 dated ikon by the wayside, the merry-makers, one and 

 all, removed their caps and crossed themselves de- 

 voutly, then, proceeding on their way, struck up another 

 bacchanalian refrain. 



Soon we reached the groggery. It was a cheap log 

 house, roofed with tin, and with a little porch at the 

 door. On the porch stood an old moujik with a gal- 

 lon demijohn of vodka, from which he was rilling glasses 

 holding about a third of a pint. He seemed to be 

 treating the crowd. One of these portions costs fif- 

 teen kopecks, or about eight cents. The best vodka is 

 made from rye, the worst from potatoes. A moujik 

 can get howling drunk for fifteen cents. 



On Sundays and holy days the vodka shop is the 

 rallying point of the male population. His rags may 

 be insufficient to cover his nakedness, his house may be 

 tumbling about his head, his family may be upon the 

 verge of starvation, but the improvident moujik hands 

 out his last kopeck for vodka, then runs in debt. He 

 pledges his growing crops, his horse, his* only cow, 

 engages his labor in advance at a ruinous discount. 

 He becomes insolvent, and is unable to pay his share of 

 the mir's taxes. 



But the moujik is not the only member of Russian 

 society who contributes to the enormous revenue de- 

 rived from the sale and consumption of vodka. 

 Curious as it may seem to American readers, the Rus- 

 sian priests are notorious boozers. A village priest 

 may get drunk as often as he pleases, and by so doing 



