ny way clarified
their religious conceptions. "There are many gods," said they, "but
Nicholas is the chief"--and no matter how miserable their life, they
danced and sang, remembering no doubt how in their ancient home in the
far-off south, their ancestors also sang, filling the whole world with
their gaiety. Theirs was a fine climate and a fine country! The sun
often shone, the grass grew high, and the snow only lasted for six
months in the year. So everyone talked and danced and sang. There
were orators who held forth for whole days; there were dancers who
danced for weeks and weeks. From father to son these two ruling
passions have been handed down even to the Yakuts of the present day.
Now, as in former times--as when Artaman of Chamalga "so sang with his
whole soul that the trees shed their leaves and men lost their
reason"--the Yakuts sing, and their songs disturb the "spirits," who
crowd around the singer and make him unhappy. But he sings on,
nevertheless; though the whole order of nature be disturbed, still he
sings.

Now, as in former times, the Yakut believes in "the soul of things,"
and seeks for it everywhere. Every tree has a soul, every plant, every
object; even his hammer, his house, his knife, and his window. But
beyond these there is _Ai-toen_, the supreme, abstract soul of all
things, the incarnation of being, which is neither good nor bad, but
just _is_--and that suffices. Far from concerning himself with the
affairs of this world, Ai-toen looks down upon them from the seventh
heaven, and--leaves them alone. The country is full of "souls" and
"spirits," which appear constantly, and often incarnate in the shadows
of men. "Beware of him who has lost his shadow," say the Yakuts, for
such a one is thought to be dogged by misfortune, which is always ready
to fall upon him unawares. Even the children are forbidden to play
with their shadows.

Those who desire to see spirits must go to the _Shamans_, of whom there
are only four great ones, but plenty of others sufficiently powerful to
heal the sick, swallow red-hot coals, walk about with knives sticking
into their bodies--and above all to rejoice the whole of nature with
their eloquence. For the Yakuts consider that there is nothing more
sacred than human speech, nothing more admirable than an eloquent
discourse. When a Yakut speaks, no one interrupts him. They believe
that in the spoken word justice and happiness are to be found, and in
t