When I arrived at the village of A----, in the government of Tambov, after an endless journey in a train which went three miles an hour and stopped for an indeterminate period, never less than an hour and a half, at every station, I found a large crowd at the station gathered round a pillar of smoke and flame. One’s first impression was, of course, that a village fire was going on. Fires in Russian villages are common occurrences in the summer, and this is not surprising since the majority of the houses are thatched with straw. The houses are in close proximity one to another, and the ground is littered with straw. Moreover, to set fire to one’s neighbour’s house is a common form of paying off a score. But it was not a fire that was in progress. It was the casting of a bell which was to take place. The ceremony was fixed for four o’clock in the afternoon with due solemnity and with religious rites, and I was invited to be present. “Heute muss die Glocke werden” wrote Schiller in his famous poem, and here the words were appropriate. To-day the bell was to be. It was a blazing hot day. The air was dry, the ground was dry, everything was dry, and the great column of smoke mixed with flame issuing from the furnace added to the heat. The furnace had been made exactly opposite to the church. The church was a stone building with a Doric portico consisting of four red columns, a white pediment, a circular pale green roof, and a Byzantine minaret. The village consisted of wooden log-built cottages thatched with straw dotted over a rolling plain. The plain was variegated with woods--oak trees and birch being their principal trees--and stretched out infinitely into the blue distance. Before the bell was to be cast a Te Deum was to be sung.