So vast is his empire, that unless the personality of the sovereign were not brought home to the people by these perpetual reminders there would be some risk of its becoming a mere abstraction. Every care is taken to keep alive the traditions of the army by coloured prints portraying acts of bravery and self-devotion in past campaigns. Thus the story of the soldier Ossipoff is told in nearly every barrack-room. He belonged to a garrison which defended a redoubt in the Caucasus during Schamyl’s insurrection. Besieged by an overwhelming force, the little band held out to the last extremity; and when the position was taken by storm, Ossipoff exploded the magazine, blowing himself and hundreds of the enemy into the air. To this day his name is borne on the muster-roll of his battalion, and when it is called the man next on the list replies: “He has died for the honour of the Russian army!” In the company kitchens the soldiers’ cabbage soup may be tasted. It is made with stock provided by the half-pound of fresh meat which, with three pounds of rye bread, constitutes the daily ration. On gala days the men have a mess of rice boiled with butter and raisins. The fare would probably excite loathing in the British private, but the physique of the troops is a sufficient proof that it is abundant and nutritious. The means of developing muscle are not wanting; for every barrack-ground has a gymnasium as well as a miniature fort, which is formed by competing companies at the word of command. The parade-ground adjoins the barracks. It is overshadowed by the cathedral, a splendid structure built three years ago in an ornate Byzantine style, which contains, on the left of the altar, a beautiful _eikon_ in enamel of the soldier’s saint, Alexander Nevsky, in full panoply, placed there in memory of the late Tsar. In the centre of the Champ de Mars is a pillar commemorating Geok Teppe, flanked at each corner by an Afghan cannon captured at Dāsh Keupri in 1885. Manœuvres take place weekly on the broken ground between the town and the lower spur of the Kopet Dāgh Mountains. British officers who have witnessed one of these field-days are unanimous in praising the workmanlike appearance of the troops. The riflemen in their tunics, knickerbockers, and long Russian boots are sturdy, if rather undersized; and the Cossacks are picturesquely clad in long caftans and closely fitting astrakhan shakoes. The artillery come into action at 3500 yards, and show a fair amount of dash; but the Cossacks’ performance is disappointing. A water-course encountered during a charge will reduce a regiment to a disorderly mob, and the ponies are blown long before the objective is reached. It is the belief of good judges that a cavalry regiment of Upper India would be quite a match for a similar Cossack force. The infantry show that they have been drilled assiduously, and their movements are executed with mechanical precision. It is,