Before one of the churches two crosses are erected, to commemorate the union of Poland and Russia. Tradition says that they also mark the scene of the strangest duel that was ever heard of,—two brothers being jealous of each other on account of their own sister’s love, fought here and slew each other. The province of “Little Russia” lies between Russia proper and Poland, and for the possession of it the two kingdoms have fought till it has sometimes been thought they would devour each other. As I saw people going into a court-yard I followed them, into a little chapel, where a corpse was lying in state. It was of an old man; thirty or forty candles were burning around him, but he was raised on a platform so high that his face could not be seen. Leaving him, I came out and met a funeral procession. The body was borne in a hearse, surmounted with a gorgeous crimson canopy, and drawn by six horses richly caparisoned and led by six grooms. The Emperor could not have desired a more ostentatious funeral; all hats were removed as the procession passed, and this practice, which prevails on the Continent generally, and especially in France, is a beautiful and becoming tribute of respect, which I would be glad to see prevalent at home. They uncover their heads when the King passes by; and what monarch is mightier than he to whom the stateliest head must bow. Ours were the only English names on the register of the hotel, the largest in the city; we called at another hotel, and not an English name was there, and during the three days we were in Warsaw we did not hear a word of our tongue, except when we spoke ourselves. We were not, however, as much disturbed by this as the lady was in Paris, who was out of all patience and spirits hearing nothing but French day after day. One morning she heard a cock crowing, and exclaimed, “Thank God, there’s somebody who speaks English.” [Illustration: POLISH PEASANTS.] CHAPTER XXIII. FROM WARSAW TO ST. PETERSBURG. WE were to leave Warsaw in the course of the forenoon. At half-past eight we came downstairs, and found the breakfast-room closed, and nobody up in the house who could provide the morning repast. As time was precious, we went out to another hotel, and it was still closed; when at nine o’clock we succeeded in getting in, there was no one stirring but the landlord himself, and he managed to get breakfast for us with his own hands. Returning to our own hotel we called for the bill, and found the prices for rooms and board one-third more than we were assured they would be, by the same man who now made the charges. I mention all these little things to show the ways of the world we are travelling in. We do not remember any country, nor any hotel, where we were more systematically imposed on, and where we got so little for so much, as at the Hôtel l’Europe, the largest and most pretentious house in Poland.