into the Kingdom of heaven," and argue that in
order to be pleasing to God, man--and in some instances woman--must
become like the angels, whom they assert to be sexless, on the
ground that "they neither marry nor are given in marriage."

We notice the hold which religion, in its vast variety of forms,
has over the popular mind of Russia. No one who has visited, however
casually, a Russian city can doubt this; the icon hangs in the
station office, and men bow to it, the cabman crosses himself ere
he drives over a bridge; shrines are interposed between shops, many
of which latter are devoted to the sale of crucifixes, swinging
lamps and sacred pictures; green cupolas and golden crosses gleam
against the sky, look which way you will. So it is in the village,
the white wooden church stands out in front of the black wooden
houses, crosses are placed in the cattle pastures to ward off evil
spirits, the folk cross themselves if they yawn, lest "chort,"
the devil jump in at their mouth, and the drunkard, at the tavern
door, kneels and uncovers as the procession passes on its way, may
be to bless the waters but now released from the winter grip of
ice, or may be to leave some neighbour in the communal graveyard.
We notice, too, the stern logic with which the peasant theologian
follows up the ideas of his sect, how he works out his own salvation
along lines which he himself lays down, and in so doing invents
some new creed almost daily; for a Russian newspaper can hardly
ever be taken up without seeing the discovery of such in one corner
or other of the vast Empire. That he has the full courage of his
opinions, that he will suffer for conscience' sake--Russian officials
only know how bitterly--that he will lay down his life, or--almost
equal sacrifice for him--forsake his land and "_izba_," and face
the future among the wild native races which bound European Tsarland
on its north and east--not so very long ago--he suffered the knout
and the stake rather than recant one iota of what he thinks to be
the only true rendering of the Biblical text, all this must in
common fairness be allowed to the poor Russian.

_ST. PETERSBURG_

_J. BEAVINGTON ATKINSON_

Cronstadt, the strong fortress which stopped the advance of the
English squadron in the last Russian war, is as the water-gate of
St. Petersburg. A bright July sun made no unpleasing picture of
the huge hulks of the men-of-war, and of the many-masted merchant
ships whic