While Ani, the deserted stronghold and capital on the banks of the Arpa, appeals to the patriotism of Armenians, her neighbour Kars, that fortress at once of ancient and modern repute, awakens a feeling of national pride in the bosom of the English visitor. Few, indeed, of my countrymen have been privileged to gaze upon a site and scene which is associated in their memory with a most brilliant achievement of British officers. Of the sieges which Kars has sustained during the course of the present century only one has been conducted with any skill and spirit on the part of the defence. On that occasion a garrison of about fifteen thousand Turks resisted, under the strategy of an English general, a force of from thirty to forty thousand Russians for a period of over five months. The exploits of Williams and his companions in 1855 are still familiar to the townspeople. It is they who first traced the design of the fortifications, such as we see them at the present day. The old school of Russian officers still view with alarm or suspicion the approach of an Englishman to the neighbourhood of their prize. Kars is rigorously excluded from the jurisdiction of our consuls, and our travellers have rarely penetrated within her walls. On the other hand, the new school are of quite a different temper, and give free rein to the hospitable and amiable qualities which are natural to their race. They received me with open arms, overwhelmed me with attentions, and took pains to let me feel that, side by side with the Russian laurels, one in honour of their British opponents had not been allowed to fade.

I have already endeavoured to describe the characteristics of the site of Kars as you approach the fortress from the east across the plain. The plan which I now offer will at once assist that description and supplement it with a view of the surrounding features. The volcanic mass which is pierced by the river where it projects into the level expanse is due to a local outbreak of basaltic lava, which is in orographical and, probably, in genetical connection with the volcanic water-parting between the Araxes and the Kur. The real boundary of these plains on the west and south-west is formed by the breaking away to the Pontic region of the uplands of the Soghanlu Dagh; and the low water-parting between the two great rivers extends from the northern extremity of the Soghanlu to the Kisir Dagh which confines Lake Chaldir on the west. Upon that line of intermediary elevation the principal points of eruption have been the Kabak Tepe or Kizilkaya (10,010 feet), and, further north, the Buga Tepe (8995 feet). Minor emissions of volcanic matter have issued from radial fissures, which may be traced back to these parent stems. In this manner we may connect the Ainalu Dagh, on the west of Kars, with Kabak Tepe; and, perhaps too, the local eruptions which have produced the rock of Kars with the system of the Ainalu.1

It is with a feeling of astonishment, which will not be diminished by better acquaintance, that the traveller surveys the site of the fortress. That impression will be derived not so much from the course of the river—although one would expect to see it flowing towards rather than from the south, the direction of the Araxes to which it is tributary—but rather from the phenomenon which attends its approach to the cliffs on the northern margin of the plain. It is seen for some distance following at the base of a low ridge which culminates further eastwards in the towering parapet behind the town. All of a sudden, when the obstacle becomes most pronounced, instead of indulging in an easy and not very lengthy bend and taking the rampart in flank, the wayward stream throws its waters at the face of the cliff and disappears in an almost invisible gorge. For a distance of about four miles, measured along its banks in the trough of the chasm, it cleaves the mass of gloomy rock; then issues into the plainer land on the north of the rampart, which it has isolated from the heights on the west. An insular mass of mountain, rendered impregnable on one side by the precipices which overhang the river, and easily defended on other sides—such a site must have been fortified from the earliest times, commanding as it does a wide area of fertile plains.

At the commencement of our era the district but not the town is described by Strabo under the name of Chorzene.2 It is possible that the Chorsa or the Kolsa of Ptolemy occupied the position of the present Kars.3 But it is not before the Middle Ages that we become apprised of its certain existence, when it is mentioned under its present name by the imperial author Constantine, and under that of Karutz by Armenian writers.4 From both sources we learn that it was a capital of the Bagratid dynasty before the rise of Ani to the dignity of a royal residence. It was conferred by Ashot the Third (A.D. 951–977), the founder of the fortunes of Ani, upon his younger brother Mushegh together with the prerogatives of local kingship. The kinglets of Kars were submerged by the wave of Seljuk invasion; but the reigning prince contrived to appease the wrath of the conqueror of Ani, and to gain time for the cession of the principality to the CÆsars, which was effected in the year 1064 in exchange for a retreat in Asia Minor.5 The Byzantines did not remain long in the possession of their prize, and it became incorporated in the empire of the Seljuks. Nor, so far as I am aware, was it recovered from the Mussulmans until its capture by the Russians under Marshal Paskevich in 1828. The Armenians, the Seljuks, and the Ottomans have all successively imprinted their stamp upon the town, such as it has come down to our times. The only noteworthy building is a church of the period of the Armenian kings; and the citadel and walls are in part due to the Armenians and in part to the Seljuks and the Ottomans.

The names Kars and Karutz are believed to be derived from the Georgian, in which language Kari signifies a gate. The fortress would be known in that tongue as Karis-Kholakhi, or the gate-town. It would seem to have been originally a stronghold of the Iberians, the ancestors of the Georgians of the present day.6 If this derivation be correct, we must suppose that the Kars near Marash in Asia Minor, which is mentioned by a writer of the seventeenth century, was named after the city in northern Armenia.7 During the Bagratid period the province of Kars was called Vanand,8 and the river Akhurean. This last name was also applied to the present Arpa Chai from the confluence with the river of Kars to its junction with the Araxes. These appellations have disappeared during the long spell of Mussulman rule, nor have they been revived by the Russians. I must not weary my reader with an attempt to follow the fortunes of Kars from the eleventh to the nineteenth century. But it may interest him to know that among its conquerors figure two great names, that of Timur in the fourteenth century and that of Shah Abbas in the seventeenth. Nadir Shah attempted in vain to effect its capture in 1744, although he brought up no less than sixteen large cannons and spared no pains to reduce the Ottoman garrison.9 The memory of this failure and of that of the Russian general Nesvateff in 1807 had confirmed the Turks in the conviction that the place was impregnable when the army of Paskevich appeared beneath the walls.10

The appearance of the fortified town upon that historic occasion must have been much more imposing than at the present day. Mounting the hillside from the plain on the south, the walls and houses of black stone rose then as now to the very summit of the ridge. But instead of ruinous parapets, interrupted by wide breaches, a double wall with an interval of about 16 feet frowned out upon the advancing host. The inner rampart was defended by towers, the outer by bastions; and the whole circumference of the figure which enclosed the western portion of the insular rock measured 2555 yards. The height of the walls ranged between 14 and 28 feet, and they were from 3 to 5 feet thick.

At the north-west angle of the enclosure, and immediately overlooking the river, which winds at the foot of vertical cliffs, was placed the inner fortress or citadel—Narin Kala—consisting of not less than three fortified spaces of which the most westerly or innermost was the keep. It was built throughout of solid stone. For a considerable space on the side of the plain the outer wall of the city was flanked by a moat, communicating with a marsh. In the plain itself the suburb on the south, which has now been transfigured by the Russians and composes the modern town, was surrounded by walls and defended by towers. A fort had been erected on the horn of the Karadagh, beyond the smaller suburb of Bairam Pasha. On the left bank of the river the only work of importance appears to have been a quadrangular fort with towers at the angles, called Temir Pasha, and protecting the outlying houses on the margin of the stream.11

The Russian army approached from the side of GÜmri, the present Alexandropol, and passed within sight of the walls to the banks of the river where they encamped near the village of KÜchik Keui. Their number amounted to about seven thousand men, while the besieged counted about eleven thousand under arms. But Paskevich was allowed to occupy the high land on the left bank, and to direct his attack from the south-west as well as from the south. The fortified suburb, Orta Kapi, was stormed on one flank and the Karadagh on the other. The citadel capitulated on the same day, the fifth after the commencement of operations. Kars was restored to the Turks after the termination of this war, and was again besieged by the Russians in 1855. Four British officers were despatched by our own Government to direct the defence, and the garrison numbered some fourteen thousand infantry, fifteen hundred artillery, and a small body of cavalry. The enemy, under Muravieff, were more than double this strength; the advance was again made from the side of GÜmri, and the Russian headquarters were established in the vicinity of the river, on the south-west of the town. But on this occasion the Russian general discovered that all the approaches had been protected by works, which covered a large area. Under the conditions of modern warfare Kars is most assailable from the heights on the west, which rise from no great elevation along the left bank of the river, until they reach imposing proportions just north of the site, on the further side of the chasm. There they form a plateau which must be higher than the rock of Kars, and which overlooks the ridge of that insular mass, the town itself being turned towards the plain. Once gain possession of this line of heights and the old town is at your mercy. Realising this fact, General Williams and his subordinates had erected a line of forts to bar the approach on this side. The principal work on the west was situated some two miles from the town, at the extremity of the higher levels in that direction. It was called Fort Takhmas or Tahmasp. Inside of that position, immediately covering the heights on the north, a string of fortifications was constructed on the plateau, commencing on the south-west with Fort Lake, the strongest of all, and terminating on the north-east in Fort Teesdale near the edge of the cliff, where the river has almost effected its passage through the gorge. While such was the disposition of the defences on the left bank, the protected area on the right bank, the side of the plain, was considerably extended. A line of breastworks, enclosing a wide rectangular space, was taken from the foot of the Karadagh on the east to the margin of the river on the west. At the angles of this enclosure stood the Karadagh fort on the north, and the forts of Hafiz Pasha and Kanly on the south. The point of junction with the river was defended by Fort Suwari, and breastworks and redoubts, placed upon commanding positions, joined these works of the plain to those upon the heights already described.12

With certain changes in name my reader can follow this disposition of the defences upon the plan at the commencement of the present chapter, which is founded upon plans made during the last Russo-Turkish war in 1877. The Russians have since added to the strength of the works and have vastly improved the communications between them. But they do not appear, so far as I was enabled to judge, to have materially altered their arrangement. The greater range of modern guns has perhaps already necessitated a further extension of outlying forts. The old citadel has sunk into insignificance; and the defence of the future will have to deal with a very large area, and will require many times as many men as in the past. How Williams with such a small force could have held out for five months against an organised army of twice his own strength is a question which I cannot answer with satisfaction to myself. His ultimate surrender was occasioned by starvation; but he had already repulsed, with enormous losses to the enemy, the main attack, which was directed against Fort Takhmas.13 For the second time the victors were compelled at the peace to disgorge their prize, which they justly regarded as the outer bulwark of Erzerum and Asia Minor. Its permanent conquest was reserved for the war of 1877, when the Turks were left by England to their own resources, and when they practically gave it away to Loris Melikoff after the defeat at the Alaja Dagh.14

My hopes of being able to investigate this historical site reposed upon the high authority of the letters which I carried with me and upon the doubtful factor of the personality of the governor. To measure this uncertain quantity was my first object, and I set out to accomplish it in fitting style. An open landau, driven by a Russian coachman of the Molokan sect, conveyed me from the modern town in the plain along the right bank of the river and for some distance into the gorge. A metalled road follows that bank under the shadow of the precipice for the space of about half a mile. It ends at a little respite of even ground between the cliff and the water’s edge. In former days there had been planted here a grove and a flower garden, which was known as the paradise of Kars. But, since the present governor appropriated the place to himself, and built upon it his private residence, it goes by the name of paradise lost. General FadÉeff is not exactly a popular personage—if, indeed, he may still be numbered among mortal men. His abode is far removed from their habitations, and I came to the conclusion that it concealed a mystery. I rang in vain several times at the door. At last I contrived to summon a very pretty young woman with a very sulky countenance. As she spoke both French and German, I contrived to win her to my side, and she promised she would enquire after the General. She returned with a set expression which I felt I could not assail. I did, however, succeed in making her smile, and that was something pleasant in itself. His Excellency was absent; it was not known where, nor by what time he would return. I enquired whether he made a practice of sleeping out. At last she relented into suggesting I might call in the evening; she would do what she could, but she was only a subordinate member of the household. She did not come to the door when I repeated my visit, and I received the same unsatisfactory answers. The vice-governor, General Petander, examined my papers at the seat of government, but pleaded that his authority was extremely limited. He could not say when the Governor would return to his house. I was glad to escape from him to the hospitable home of Colonel Rzewuski, in command of the Uman regiment of Cossacks of Kuban. I had accepted an invitation to dine with him and Madame Rzewuski; and the party consisted of a group of as amiable and charming people as it would be possible to meet. All had travelled and knew the world. The conversation was free, and ranged at ease over every topic, including the mysterious Governor. They were immensely entertained by my own experiences in that quarter, and they repaid me by narrating the gallant deeds of FadÉeff, who appears to have been instrumental in the conquest of Kars in 1877. But they left me in doubt whether he still existed in the flesh. I thought I detected a certain legendary phraseology in their remarks about him, from which a master of the higher criticism would easily be able to establish that they were not contemporary with the personage of whom they spoke.

My host was determined that I should not be blindfolded, and that I should see what might be seen without endangering the safety of Kars. His own aide-de-camp had recently returned from a visit to England, where he had been accorded facilities of a similar nature, and whence he brought back the most agreeable recollections. The deficiencies in our insular manners are in such cases outweighed in the mind of the visitor by the freedom of our life, the absence of suspicion against foreign designs, and, above all, by the world-wide bond of sport. Never in the height of the hunting season at home have I listened to a more animated discussion of the relative merits of our countries and packs of foxhounds than after dinner in the company of these officers in this remote corner of Russian Asia. From hounds we passed to horses, and to an interesting experiment which had recently been made by the Colonel. It is well known that the Cossack horses are of great endurance; but they have little pace, and their shoulders are of the worst. My host had crossed one of his mares with the English thoroughbred, and had produced a colt of much promise which had only just been broken. If I did not object I should ride him on the morrow, when he would take me to have a peep at the fortifications on the heights. In spite of the twinkle in his eye when he spoke of the vivacity of the youngster, I felt that the opportunity was cheap at this price, and merely stipulated that I should be allowed my English saddle.

Very early on the following morning I sallied forth to the Colonel’s residence, and was surprised to find a whole squadron of Cossack cavalry drawn up in the road. His aide-de-camp was conspicuous in a magnificent uniform, which set off his tall and graceful figure. The band of the regiment was mustered at its full strength; but these troops were only a portion of the effective, which numbered some eight or nine hundred horsemen. The remainder were distributed over the extensive tract of country between Akhaltsykh and the Turkish frontier at Sarikamish. An iron-grey charger, over 15 hands in height, was being paced to and fro before the door. He excited the admiration and the curiosity of the onlookers, having a long and elastic walk, and arching his neck to the hand of the groom instead of stolidly following where he was led. That was a horse, they were all saying—those of the country were ponies beside him, and, as for the mounts of the Cossacks, they looked mere dross by his side. My small and plain-flap saddle, which I recognised upon his back, brought out the points of his sloping shoulder and strong loins. A word from the aide-de-camp, and the squadron was brought to attention with the band at their head. When the Colonel emerged from the doorway a salute was exchanged, and when he had mounted, the march commenced and the band prepared to strike up. None too soon had I adjusted my stirrup leathers on the iron-grey, for at the first sound he bounded high into the air. But he had plenty of room at the head of the regiment, where the Colonel beckoned me to ride by his side.

This was the second time I had ridden at the head of Cossacks; I mention the fact merely to justify the assertion that there can be few more inspiriting positions. One feels the peculiar quality of the material behind one; it is in the air and makes the pulse beat. There is no champing of bits and impatient curvetting; nor do the riders sit up in their saddles and look smart. They may be seen in every posture, lolling about in their shabby drab uniforms, and holding their reins long. But they communicate the impression that each man is a born soldier, and that one might march with them from one end of Asia to another without troubling much about the commissariat or the length of the particular stage. They are just the troops with which to traverse these vast plains. The long-backed horses are hardened to every kind of privation, and so are their owners, for every Cossack owns his mount. Where would you march? Say the word, and we go now.

On this occasion the proceedings were quite of a gala order. We passed through the main streets of the modern town upon the plain; and all the Karslis were there assembled to hear the inspiriting music and to pass remarks upon the foreigner on the grey horse. We wound along the side of the river, at the foot of the precipice crowned by the citadel, where a window in the walls of that airy edifice marks the spot whence the Turks were wont to precipitate spies. We crossed to the left bank by the lower of the two bridges, and followed along the chaussÉe upon that side. It is now the principal avenue of communication with Alexandropol; but it is destined to be replaced by a road which will pass to the south of the town, leaving this chaussÉe with its secrets for purely military use. The further we proceeded the loftier loomed the walls of the chasm, especially that upon our left hand. It rises almost vertically from the margin of the road to the edge of the plateau, some five hundred feet above the stream.

The heights on the left bank are here called by the name of Mukhliss, and such is their elevation that the buildings upon them—the military hospital and the redoubts—may be seen from the plain on the south of Kars, showing up behind the insular ridge against which the ancient town is built. Opposite the old citadel they are known as Vali Pasha, and, further west, as Takhmas. On the right bank the mass of rock which falls abruptly to the river is styled Kars and Karadagh. We had arrived at a point whence the solitary house of the Governor could be clearly seen beyond the winding channel on that side. The choice was offered between two roads. The one we had been following pursued its course through the chasm; the other took advantage of some milder acclivities in the cliff to mount to the plateau above our heads. The forts upon the plateau are the interesting feature of modern Kars; the word was given to take the upper road. The Colonel and myself were still riding in front of the band, and could look back upon the long train of one of the finest of Cossack regiments defiling in half column up the incline. When we had reached a considerable elevation, all of a sudden a human figure springs into the road. It is a little gendarme, and he stands immovable in the centre of the road. The regiment is at once brought to a halt. The figure enquires whether there be a foreigner riding with them, and receives an affirmative reply. Then he points to an adjacent bifurcation of the road, one branch leading to the heights, and the other rejoining the chaussÉe at a point some distance down the stream. He directs us to take the latter way. The Colonel bites his lip, turns pale and obeys. We have come up all this distance, and now we are to go down. The ghost of General FadÉeff must be chuckling—if ghosts can chuckle—behind those windows in the speck of a house on the opposite bank!

It had been the plan of my kind host to cross the block of heights containing the forts, and thence to descend into the plain upon the north. A little Molokan village, called Blagodarnoe, is situated in the more level country on that side. A troop of his Cossacks was billeted within it, and it had been thought convenient to pay them a visit. The return journey would be made by way of the chaussÉe. There was now nothing for it but to proceed and to come home by the same route, since the little gendarme had given orders to this effect. We continued our passage through the chasm. I was impressed with the admirable communications which the Russians have established at great cost between the heights on either bank. Soon after regaining the main road we passed two opposite flights of steps, of which the one scaled the steep side of the plateau on the left, and the other that of the insular rock of Kars. Both were broad and perfectly maintained. The latter conducted from the water’s edge to the Karadagh fort, now called Fort FadÉeff, invisible on the further side of the ridge. And from the base of these steps a military road was carried slantwise towards the citadel. During the last siege the garrison suffered from the want of ready access to the outlying positions. This want has now been supplied. Troops can be moved with rapidity between the town and these positions as well as between the positions themselves.

The cliffs on either hand retain their elevation until you have reached the fourth military verst stone (over two and a half miles). Then they decline and become less rocky and steep. The formation on the right bank is continued into the distance in a low outline; that on the left already opens to plainer land at about the sixth stone (four miles). We now left the chaussÉe, and cantered over the plain, across which it was a pleasure to extend the iron-grey. He had all the makings of a very valuable horse.

Luncheon was served in one of the neat little houses of the Molokan village, and many a glass of white liqueur was consumed before the meal. On the way home there was a display of Cossack exercises, a succession of riders galloping past us in single file, and vaulting to the ground with one foot in the stirrup in full career. Or they placed their bodies parallel with the flanks of their horses, avoiding the arrows of their ancestors or the bullets of their contemporaries. Like Kurds and Circassians they raised wild shouts; but, unlike these, they never got out of hand. Last of all there was a race, conducted on strict principles, in which I cantered in, an easy winner, on the grey. The squadron then re-formed, and we retraced our steps through the chasm to the inspiriting music of the band. It soon ceased playing; and with the last strain, at first low, then gradually louder, a sad and mysterious chant broke from the ranks. It was carried like sobs into the recesses of the gorge, rising and falling like the sighing of the wind. What did they sing in that expression of bottomless misery? Their homes had been laid waste, their parents were no more, nor their horses any longer at tether or stall. Then the theme would change abruptly, and a note of triumph would be heard. Nowhere except in Hungary have I heard such moving music, giving utterance through the canons of Western harmony to the tempestuous motives of Eastern songs.

It remains to say a few words about the town of Kars, as you see it at the present day. It is a mere shadow of its former self. The old fortress city on the side of the insular rock is scarcely better than a heap of ruins. The suburb on the plain—Orta Kapi of Mussulman times—is rapidly pushing it out of existence. This suburb contains the residences of the high officials and officers, and can boast of a new Russian church, at its southern extremity, and of a number of single-storeyed but spacious and well-supplied shops. The church displays the masonry of the grey stone found at Kars; but the bulk of the buildings have their walls painted white, and their roofing of sheet metal, coloured pink or a soft green. The aspect of this modern quarter, jutting out from the hill into the plain opposite the answering horn of the Karadagh on the east, presents a striking contrast to the uniform grey of the old city, overlooking the bay of the plain. The stone of the walls and of the old Armenian church have weathered almost black. But the majority of the ancient houses have disappeared, and the walled area is for the most part covered with rubble and ruin, or with straggling hovels, resembling those of a village. The citadel was blown up by the Russians prior to their evacuation at the close of the Crimean War,15 and has been rebuilt in a softer and yellow stone (Fig. 98). It now forms a most admirable target for artillery, being the only patch of brighter colour on a ground of the sombrest hue. The population of city and suburbs is censused at not more than 4000, of course excluding the garrison. Of these 2500 are Armenians and only some 850 are Turks. The Russians, including Molokans, number 250, and the Greeks over 300 souls. It is true that the total might perhaps be doubled if there were included in it those families who are allowed to reside here on sufferance, prior to being settled elsewhere. Kars is constantly receiving refugees from the Turkish provinces, flying before the excesses of the Kurds.

Still the number of the inhabitants has grown smaller and smaller, if we even confine ourselves to the present century. Prior to the campaign of Paskevich, we are informed by a credible authority that Kars with its suburbs contained some 10,000 families, or from 50,000 to 60,000 souls.16 After it was evacuated by the Russian army upon the close of that war, the bulk of the Armenian population deserted their homes and followed the Russian retreat.17 The figure then drops to a pretty uniform estimate of 2000 houses or families, giving a result of some 10,000 to 12,000 souls, of whom the vast majority were Mussulmans.18 It must now be further reduced by more than one-half. Perhaps the projected railway will increase the prosperity of Kars if the military regulations be relaxed. But it will be a long time before it can recover its former splendour, when the fortress city contained no less than 3000 houses, 47 mosques and 18 schools.19

I was prevented by the number and ubiquity of the gendarmes from making use of my camera. The only illustration which I am able to offer is a view of the citadel, reproduced from a photograph which has been placed at my disposal by my friend Mr. F. C. Conybeare (Fig. 98). I should have liked to reproduce the interesting features of the Armenian church, now converted into a temple of the Russian Orthodox profession and serving as the principal resort of the garrison. In Mussulman times it was used as a mosque. There can, I think, be little doubt that this is the same building which was erected by the Armenian monarch of the Bagratid dynasty, Abas, in A.D. 930.20 The teachers in the Armenian school ascribed it to this prince, but were not certain about the date. I have remarked upon the blackness of its walls from without. The interior has been covered with a yellow buff paint, and its proportions are spoilt by an elaborate altar. It wears an air of comfort and even of luxury, all the ornaments being out of keeping with the austerity of the ancient pile. The form of this church is one I have not seen elsewhere, presenting on plan four semicircular arms with a rectangular projection between each arm. The vaulting of the ceilings above the projections composes with that of the ceilings of the apsidal recesses a group of eight arches. Another monument of the same period is said to be the ruinous castle at the upper end of the wall on the east. The wall on the south has well-nigh disappeared, and what remains is almost lost among the houses. The gate on this side contains an Arabic inscription, and several Armenian crosses are inserted into the adjacent rampart. From the citadel a wall still descends the side of the precipice, and is taken by an archway over the road to the margin of the river. I cannot help thinking that the plan of the place and its essential features have not changed much since the time of the Armenian kings. Sultan Murad III. (1574–1595) is credited with extensive works, but it may be questioned whether they were much more than restorations. A renewal is ascribed to Sultan Selim, but it appears doubtful to which monarch of that name.21 The days of the fortified town, with its mediÆval castle and ramparts, are perhaps already numbered. The Russians will build in the open, where there will be room for their favourite boulevards, although trees are rare at present in Kars. The fortifications will year by year be extended over a larger area, the neighbourhood being sown with volcanic eminences admirably adapted both for the attack and for the defence.

The Armenian inhabitants have a single elementary school, or, rather, one for boys and one for girls. It is housed in the buildings adjacent to the little church of St. Mary, under the citadel at the western extremity of the rock. The teachers simply cowered with fear during my visit. The Russian school dispenses a somewhat higher standard of education, and profits by the disabilities imposed upon its rival. I was shown specimens of the Easter cards which each child had received this year from inmates of schools in France. The little French boy sends some poetry translated into Russian to his Russian contemporary. The girls here received similar presents from French girls. It would appear as if no Russian school within the limits of the Empire had been passed over by the organisers of an act of demonstrative patriotism which, let us hope, is not spontaneous with the young.