irest and most discriminating of Russian travellers: "Nature has not
properly brought out the moral and intellectual capacity of the
Caucasian highlanders. Through the superficial crust of ignorance and
wildness you may see in every mountaineer a frank and acute intellect,
and, brigand though he may be, he still shows evidences of human
feeling and of a soul. His brigandage, indeed, is only the external
roughness which results naturally from his education, his circumstances
and his mode of life. Beneath it there are intellect, feeling, manliness
and strength of character. Under certain conditions of course these very
traits go to make up the daring, skilful mountain-brigand whom we know;
but separate him from his surroundings, educate him in the civilized
world, and you have a capable, energetic, intellectual and feeling man.
Love of honor and love of fame are, generally speaking, among the
strongest actuating impulses of the mountaineer's character; and these
were the very impulses which kept him always hostile to the Russians,
which impelled him constantly to engage in partisan warfare, and which
enabled him to resist so long and with such terrible strength all
Russia's efforts to subdue him. Was it merely for plunder that parties
of mountaineers used to assemble in front of our lines and throw
themselves furiously upon our outposts? No: the leaders of those parties
reminded them in forcible and eloquent speeches of the deeds of their
heroic fathers and forefathers, of the glory to be won in battle with
the _giours_, of the exploits of their brothers and countrymen who had
left their bodies on Russian soil; and they fought for honor and fame.
What made the Chechenses hold out so long and so desperately, suffering
hunger and peril and hardship, dying, and sending their children to die,
in battle? Was it a spirit of blind submission to Shamyl and their
religious leaders, or an unreasoning hatred of infidels, or a thirst for
plunder and rapine? Not at all. It was the love of independence--the
natural devotion of brave men who were fighting for their country, their
honor and their freedom."

GEORGE KENNAN.

THE GIFT.

You brought me a flower of spring
When the winter airs were cold,
And the birds began to sing,
And the gloom turned swift to gold.

The world looked chilly and dark,
But you called a flash from the sky:
Your clear eye