"A Socialist arrived in a village to convert the inhabitants to Socialism. He wanted to prove that all men were equal, and that the government authorities had no right to their authority. Consequently he thought he would begin by disproving the existence of GOD, because if he proved that there was no GOD it would naturally follow that there should be no Emperor and no policemen. So he took a holy _ikon_ and said, 'There is no GOD, and I will prove it immediately. I will spit upon this _ikon_ and break it to bits, and if there is a GOD He will send fire from heaven and kill me, and if there is no GOD nothing will happen to me at all.' Then he took the _ikon_ and spat upon it and broke it to bits, and said to the peasants, 'You see GOD has not killed me.' 'No,' said the peasants, 'GOD has not killed you, but we will'; and they killed him." It is not difficult to imagine that closing scene, knowing Russia. There would be no excitement, but all would be quickly and effectually done. The same writer draws our attention to Turgenieff's wonderfully appealing sketches of country life, though not many of his works have been translated for English readers as yet. He alludes especially in an essay of last year on "The Fascination of Russia" to his description of the summer night, when on the plain the children tell each other bogey stories; or the description of that July evening, when out of the twilight from a long way off a voice is heard calling, "Antropk-a-a-a!" and Antropka answers, "Wha-a-a-at?" and far away out of the immensity comes the answering voice, "Come home, because daddy wants to whip you!" Perhaps the reader may _feel_ nothing as he reads, but all who know and love Russia, and are stirred by thoughts of its life and people will feel that it was abundantly worth while to write down such a simple incident. They will understand and feel that stirring within, which Russia never fails to achieve again and again for those who have once lived and moved amongst her peasantry, and come under her strange spell and felt her charm. Gogol, the greatest of Russian humorists, has a passage in one of his books, where, in exile, he cries out to his country to reveal the secret of her fascination:-- "'What is the mysterious and inscrutable power which lies hidden in you?'" he exclaims. "'Why does your aching and melancholy song echo unceasingly in one's ears? Russia, what do you want of me? What is there between you and me?' This question has often been repeated not only by Russians in exile, but by others who have merely lived in Russia.