it grew dark torches were brought out, lighting up the red banners and the scarlet coffin of the unknown veterinary surgeon, who in a second, by a strange freak of chance, had become a hero, or rather a symbol, an emblem and a banner, and who was being carried to his last resting place with a simplicity which eclipsed the pomp of all royal funerals, and to the sound of a low song of tired but indefatigable sadness stronger and more formidable than the pæans which celebrate the triumphs and the pageants of kings. Footnote 1: By a strange irony of fate, this tune, which the revolutionaries have made their own, was originally an official tune, composed probably by some obscure military bandmaster, and played at the funerals of officers and high officials. The impression left on my mind by this funeral is deep. As I saw these hundred thousand men march past so quietly, so simply, in their bourgeois clothes, singing in careless, almost conversational fashion, I seemed nevertheless to hear the “tramping of innumerable armies,” and to feel the breath of the “Courage never to submit or yield, And what is else not to be overcome.” It is impossible for the Government or for any one else to accuse these people of displaying a provoking attitude, of badgering or insulting the soldiers or the authorities, or of not being able to keep order among themselves. _November 3rd._ Last night, after Bauman’s funeral, which passed off without an incident, at eleven o’clock a number of students and doctors were shot in front of the university, as they were on their way home, by Cossacks, who were stationed in the Riding School, opposite the university. The Cossacks fired without orders. They were incensed, as many of the troops were, by the display of red flags, and they disliked processions. _November 6th._ The last three days have been days of curious disorder and anarchy. I will try and note briefly what has been taking place.