The piety of the people is very real, very sincere. Of that there can be no doubt; the greatest proof lies in the spirit of self-sacrifice and in the submission to privations which are serious and often injurious to health. Take the great festivals of their Church. Christmas Day, Easter and the feast of the Trinity are observed in all Christian lands, but the fourth holy day, the day of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin, is, so far as I know, mostly passed over with inattention. Here it is different. So sacred is the occasion that no man who can possibly help it will do a turn of work, indeed, there is a popular saying that “even the birds rest from building their nests on that day.” The very _isvostchik_ (cabman) deserts the streets, unless it be for bread’s sake—the children must be fed, coin is scarce and food dear. Lent, above all, is a sore trial to these poor people, but they bear it cheerfully. During those six cruel weeks they taste nothing but the poor and sordid food which is all that the Church allows them—an ugly soup made up of dried toad-stools, collected in summer and sold by the string, onions, pickled cucumbers, coarse cabbage, dry radishes, horse-radish and black bread; these ingredients are mixed up with an evil-smelling black oil made from hemp. The untempting mess of pottage is washed down by draughts of cheap _kvass_, a poor sort of beer brewed of rye and a little malt—a drink scarcely less nasty then the food. Upon this scanty diet the _mujik_ grows thin, but he tightens his belt and goes about his work, kept in heart by visions of drunken happiness as soon as the last stroke of twelve on Easter Eve shall have rung the knell of his misery. During one whole week of Lent every man gives himself up entirely to his devotions. At four in the morning he goes fasting to his church. There he stays without bite or sup until noon, when he leaves, and breaks his long fast with a dish of the revolting food which I have described. At four, if he can manage it, he returns to his prayers, which last till six, and yet not satisfied, he must again go to church in the evening. Whatever may be the motive power of all this devotion and abnegation—be it superstition or be it religion—it is quite impossible not to respect it, for it is as honest as truth itself.