CHAPTER XVI.

Marriage ceremony-Death of Colonel Krzyzanowski— News from home - Paulina's letter during a walk.

- Impressions

ONE morning we had a plateful of kniazniki (princelings), considered a great treat at that period of the season. They are a kind of berry, peculiar to this place, and quite unknown in our country. They grow on a high, hard stalk like raspberries, but nearer the ground. When blooming, their blossom is of the colour

of a rose. Indeed, they resemble raspberries

only that they are

both in colour and shape, browner and less succulent. Their juice, though somewhat pungent, is by no means disagreeable. They have a sweet, pine-apple scent, and make most delicious preserves. The woods near Berezov teem with these berries; but though

plentiful, they cannot be easily got, as nobody is willing, for the sake of a few kopeks, to expose himself to the necessity of a fierce fight with the mosquitoes.

There is another berry, called the morozka, in shape not unlike our wild mulberry, and growing, like the kniazniki, on a stalk, though it is a much higher one. This berry is of an orange colour, deepening into red on the side exposed to the sun. It is much harder and less juicy than the kniazniki, and on that account is less esteemed.

A few raspberries may also be found here; but being rather rare, the people think it not worth troubling to seek them. They attach more value to the currants, though they are exceedingly sour, and their kernel hard and large. But in a place like this, where neither vegetables nor fruit can grow, every berry, be it ever so poor, is made a great deal of.

Hearing that a wedding was to take place in the town, we were curious to witness the ceremony; and seizing time by the forelock, went early to church, to be there before the young bride arrived. It is customary here to go to church on foot, but on the present

occasion the bride departed from the timehonoured fashion, and went in a telega—a common Russian cart-adorned, however, with

rich carpet, which was spread over it, yet the whole aspect of the vehicle presented the appearance of a funeral bier, rather than the car of the God of Hymen.

The bridegroom, whom we found waiting in the church, went to meet his betrothed at the door, where they repeatedly kissed one another. After this they were both led to the altar, prepared for the occasion in the middle of the church. Here the priest read, and the diak (deacon) sung about the reciprocal duties of the married. There were no vows, but simply an exchange of offerings by the bride and the bridegroom. After this, crowns were placed on their heads, and, thus adorned, they were led three times round the altar. This done, the ceremony terminated in the wedded couple again saluting each other with a kiss.

On my return from church, I received the mournful news of the demise of Colonel Krzyzanowski, which took place on the 1st of July. I felt sore at heart; but, upon reflection, found my grief was as inopportune as

it was useless. Why mourn over a man who had outlived the best part of himself? What had remained to him to render life desirable? Nothing absolutely nothing! Even the memory of the past, the sole treasure of the unfortunate, afforded no solace to him in his adversity. Krzyzanowski had long since ceased to live. His bodily frame, once tenanted by so ardent a soul, had indeed, as far as the ordinary law of nature allowed, retained its vitality, but it did not represent himself. Peace be to his ashes! everlasting honour to his name!

But notwithstanding these reflections, I could not avoid feeling mournful; grief hung heavily over me, and would not quit me. I longed for repose, for solitude, but could not obtain it. Solitude fortifies the soul as repose recruits the failing strength of the body. In our own country, when we are in grief, night at least can take us under its protection, throwing its dark mantle over us; but here, they who suffer are bereft of this trusty friend. Day, unceasing day, is, whether they would weep or laugh, constantly staring them in the face. The heart closes before this impassive witness, who, devoid of all sympathy, intrudes with his bright gaze

on the privacy alike of our tears and our joys.*

In the midst of this grief, the post arrived and brought me letters, amongst which I instantly recognized the writing of my dear Paulina. What emotion did it awaken within me! a dizziness seized my head, and several minutes elapsed ere I dared to touch the longcoveted letter. I had most solemnly vowed, that during my absence from home, I would bear patiently whatever might happen to me, and would not pray to God for anything for myself, but only for the health and welfare of

*These reflections of our authoress remind us of a malignant device of the Grand-Duke Constantine, the elder brother of the Czar's, which he practised on some of his victims at Warsaw, confined in the dungeons of the Carmelite Convent. In addition to the ordinary strong guard at this prison, some of the Cossacks of his body guard, with particularly bright eyes and savage countenances, were placed with the prisoners in their cells, to stare at them continually. One of my friends, whose life is preserved, had the misfortune, while thus confined, to have such a companion sitting day and night by his side, looking at him without intermission, and the agony he endured, as he told me, was indescribable. So inventive is tyranny in the contrivances of torture !-ED.