Christianity gradually but essentially modified the social life, the customs and manners of the people. It abolished polygamy; the structure of the family was no longer Asiatic, but European. It heightened the Slav virtues of hospitality and benevolence, by inculcating the humanitarian precepts of the New Testament. It conferred a dignity previously unknown, upon weakness, infirmity, poverty and labor. It modified the public sentiment in regard to crime, by teaching the inherent heinousness of sin. The oft-uttered words of Vladimir, “I fear to sin,” indicate the change that was gradually effected in the popular mind. Assassination, theft, and other crimes ceased to be regarded as private injuries, to be commuted by fines or atoned for by reprisals. They were punished as offences against humanity, in the name of the Legislator, the Father of the race. What is more precious than a Christian soul? asks one of the earlier descendants and successors of Vladimir. The new religion brought music in its train to a people who had a capacity for this art, but who were ignorant of its first principles. It brought architecture into a realm whose buildings were simply wooden tents, and whose ramparts were made of mud. In the rude city were laid the decorated aisles, the sumptuous columns, the golden cupolas and domes of the Russian church. It brought literature, first of all by the sacred books translated into the vernacular; the works of the Church fathers, among them Basil and Chrysostom; the lives of the saints, Byzantine chronicles, eagerly read by the scholastic monk; works on speculative and natural philosophy, and some few romances. Contemporary Byzantine literature was not of the highest order; but exported among a people whose thought and knowledge were limited to the recital of their national legends, their primitive poems, it aroused their germinant powers, and gave direction to their intellectual, their social, and their moral development. We have to concede, however, that the introduction of the Greek form of Christian belief was not entirely salutary in its effects upon the people at large. The Byzantine Church was smitten with the decay whereof the Byzantine civilization was perishing. It retained, indeed, the elevated truths of the Christian system, but had deplorably lost the spirit that alone “giveth life.” It had failed, generally speaking, to eradicate the distinctive vices of the Greek peoples—falsehood, treachery, perfidy, instability. In place of a regenerated nature, it required of its adherents participation in its elaborate ceremonial, the practice of its intricate rites, homage to its imposing forms. It did little for intellectual enlightenment or advancement, save in the perverted form of Oriental monachism,—a painfully unnatural mode of life, calculated to foster mental disease and general self-stultification. With no arrogations of secular or of civil power, it has associated itself throughout Russian history with