atom of animal substance enters into the food used at that time; vegetable oil, not of the best quality, being substituted for butter: I have known a person have recourse to an emetic after having incautiously eaten something of which an egg had formed an ingredient. This lengthened mortification is borne with the most exemplary fortitude: but unhappily, that is the only virtue attached to so praiseworthy a self-denial; for the moment the hour of midnight on Easter eve announces, with the roar of artillery and the ringing of bells, the glad tidings of release to the anxious multitudes, then the city is blazing with festivity, the eating-houses are thronged, and dissipation and the grossest epicurism reign with unbridled licence. The churches up to this moment are densely thronged, especially the Kazan cathedral, around which a numerous body of priests bearing banners and torches, and followed by crowds of people, wind in procession, seeking the body of the SAVIOUR. They proclaim the search to have been unsuccessful, and commence from the altar, "Cristos voskriss," CHRIST is risen. A scene of general congratulation ensues; people embrace one another indiscriminately, and at least one good point is gained, out of the great mass of superstition and painful absurdity, in this grand display of "brotherly love." Piled up in the recesses of the church, and spread under the protecting interposition of the columns, are heaps of dishes with viands intended for the approaching banquets, after having received the blessing of the priest. It is difficult to say where devotion begins, or sensuality stops; if the service of the CREATOR be not altogether secondary to the gratification of the creature. The fast, thus scrupulously observed and riotously closed, is unproductive of the least moral good: instead of chastening the mind, and operating on its worldly tendencies, the sensual appetites, so long restrained, become impatient for its termination, and a scene of intolerable depravity and licentiousness ensues. A more complete exemplification of the parable of the unclean spirit, which, after walking through dry places, returned to its house, and found it swept and garnished, cannot be imagined. The temporal penalty is, however, in numerous instances soon paid; for it is a well-known fact, that more deaths ensue from the effects of this one debauch, than occur from like causes, throughout the empire, in a whole year. The following is the account given of the MARRIAGE AND FUNERAL SOLEMNITIES. Marriage is a drawing-room scene, under priestly auspices; lay frivolities are intermingled with ecclesiastical pageantry; and the theatrical effect is enhanced by its being made an evening performance. The exterior of the church is illuminated; but the brilliancy outside is eclipsed by the blaze of the interior, which, studded with candles and chandeliers, looks more like a saloon of pleasure than a temple of worship. The guests and friends invited to be present appear in full dress, and are marshalled to the respective sides of the building appropriated to them by a master of the ceremonies appointed for the occasion; the friends of each of the contracting parties being grouped together on either side, leaving the centre free for there are neither pews nor seats of any kind in the Russian churches. The entrance of the bridegroom is welcomed by a chant from the choristers, who take a leading part in the ceremony; no instrumental music being allowed in the Greek churches; and a bridesman immediately hurries to the residence of the bride to notify that her intended is awaiting her. This is often intimated gracefully and silently by the presentation of a bouquet of flowers. On the bride's arrival the choristers again chant a welcome, and she takes her place among her friends. The dress of the bride is as sumptuous as jewels and the most costly articles can make it, if the means of her family admit of such a display. She is ushered into the assembly by a kind of procession, headed by one of her own family, bearing before him the richly ornamented picture of her saint, which is destined to occupy a corner of her future apartment, and which during the ceremony is placed on the high altar. A small temporary altar, or reading-desk, covered with rose-coloured silk and ornamented with silver fringe and lace, is placed in the centre of the parquet, at which the priest officiates. The service is long, and consists in reading the lives of Abraham and Sarah, an exhortation to the new couple, and much singing. The rings are exchanged at the betrothal, and therefore that symbol forms no part of the service. The pair, bearing lighted tapers in their hands, and having large gilt crowns held over their heads, walk thrice round the altar, grasping the priest's robes, and during the exhortation they stand on a large piece of rich silk, which becomes the perquisite of the priest. This portion of the ceremony being concluded, the sacrament is administered, and the new married couple proceed to the grand altar, where they prostrate themselves with foreheads to the ground before the various pictures of the saints, and kiss them with many crossings and genuflections. The congratulations of the friends now follow; the line of demarcation is broken through, and all parties assembled, both men and women, kiss each other. A brilliant supper awaits the whole party at the house (generally) of the parents of the bride; dancing is kept up to a late hour, and not unfrequently the pleasures of the table degenerate into ex cesses. Previous to the marriage, the betrothed parties are naturally subject to the quizzings and sly jokes of their friends, including one very singular custom, to which they are expected to conform. At the dinner-table, if any one on filling his glass cries "gorkoe, gorkoe," (bitter, bitter,) the bridegroom elect is considered bound to remedy the alleged evil by kissing his intended. The funeral service varies in importance, as regards both the external display and the pomp of the Church ceremony, according to the rank of the deceased. The procession paraded through the streets, the hearse being canopied with cloth of gold, and followed by a long train of carriages, is but a prelude to the gorgeous and solemn scene which is enacted in the church. An altar, like a platform, raised on a succession of steps, receives the richly ornamented coffin; from which the arched lid is removed, leaving the corpse. prominently exposed. A crowd of officiating priests dressed in the costume appropriate to the ceremony, chant and recite the service, assisted by the choir. It is very long, consisting of several parts; at one of which lighted tapers are distributed to all the congregation, while a priest holding one of three branches, emblematical of the TRINITY, waves it round the corpse; he then pours a dark kind of incense into the coffin, and reads a long printed paper, which he afterwards thrusts into the breast of the deceased. The friends then mount the steps, kiss their departed friend, and the priest closes the ceremony by throwing a muslin veil over the body; the lid of the coffin is then replaced, and the procession winds its way to the cemetery; which, being without the city, is two or three miles distant. Few of the friends venture thus far: for, considering their duties to have been completed at the church, they leave the last act to the officials. The streets, for some little distance in the line of the procession, are strewed with the small tips of fir branches; and a most ruffianly-looking set of men, more or less numerous according to the importance of the funeral, wearing slouched hats and, loose black robes, and carrying lighted torches, follow in files by the side of the procession. THE PUBLIC SLEDGES. The public sledges are comfortable vehicles, holding two persons, with a large warm apron to cover them. The driver is seated in front with his legs dangling by the horse's tail. The motion is agreeable; but there is a great annoyance from the snow kicked up by the horse in its progress, which plentifully besprinkles the riders. The private sledges are protected from this unpleasantness by having a gaycoloured net fastened to the saddle of the horse, and brought down to the angles of the sledge. The general effect of this, added to the rich dresses of the ladies, and the costly furs and silks which are piled around them, and the plunging speed of their high-mettled horses, is extremely pleasing. The sledge of the Empress, who drives daily through the fashionable streets, is a most superb equipage: it is drawn by four magnificent horses, driven by a coachman bearded to the breast, and wearing the long blue national caftan, with a gold sash; and two richly dressed Cossacks standing on the footboard. Of course it eclipses all others. For the service of evening parties, or for nightly inclement weather, the bodies of carriages are taken off the wheels, and placed on runners ; and the crevices of the windows being well stopped with strips of fur, the season is defied, and its gaieties enjoyed without risk or exposure. The summer head-dress of a coachman (both public and private) is a very low-crowned hat, ornamented with a large buckle in front; and in winter, the hat is supplanted by a crimson velvet four-cornered cap, bordered with fur. The blue caftan is still worn; but beneath it is a robe of sheepskin, with the wool turned inwards. It is not at all an unusual thing to see the hats of the drivers of the public droshkys ornamented with peacock feathers, artificial flowers, or bits of old faded ribbon, stuck in the band. Here, for the present, we must conclude, with the intention, however, of making further extracts. THE REFINING POWER OF RELIGION. Ir expands the mind of its possessor, and purifies his taste. It is a great mistake to confound riches and refinement, just as it is a great mistake to fancy that, because a man is poor, he must be coarse and vulgar. Lord Jefferies, though seated on the highest tribunal in the realm, whilst pouring forth his brutal ribaldry, was a vulgar man; and a very vulgar man was Chancellor Thurlow, sporting oaths and obscenity at the table of the Prince of Wales. But there was no vulgarity about James Ferguson, though herding sheep, whilst his eye watched Arcturus and the Pleiades, and his wistful spirit wandered through immensity; and though seated at a stocking-loom, there was no vulgarity in the youth who penned the "Star of Bethlehem;" the weaver-boy, Henry Kirke White, was not a vulgar lad. And so, if you surrender your minds to the teaching of God's Word and Spirit, they will receive the truest, deepest refinement. There may be nothing in your movements to indicate the training of the school, nor anything in your elocution which speaks of courtly circles or smooth society; but there will be an elevation in your tastes and a purity in your feelings as of men accustomed to the society of the King of kings. You will have a relish for a higher literature than the halfpenny ballad or the Sunday news, and for a more improving intercourse than the tap or the club-room can supply. And though you may not have at easy command the phrases of politeness, the most polished, if they but be in truth the children of GoD, will have sentiments and language in common with you, and a stronger affinity for you than for the most fine-spoken impiety. And in your respectful demeanour to those above you, and in your kind and civil carriage to those around you, men will see that you have learned your manners from the book which says, "Be courteous," and which supplies the finest model of gentility. The religion which is at last to lift the beggar from the dunghill, and set him with nobles of the earth, will even now give the toiling man the elevated aims, the enlarged capacity, the lofty tastes, and manly bearing, which princes have often lacked; for if vice be the worst vulgarity, religion is the best refinement. HOME STORIES. "Let not ambition mock their humble toil, The short and simple annals of the poor."-Gray. WE pity the poor, and rightly, for many things. Theirs is a life of perpetual toil, of patient labour, with small time of rest for amusement or instruction. But it is also a soil where the kindliest feelings of our nature have ample space to grow and thrive, and those only know who visit the cottages round them, how much kind feeling and what true warm hearts they hold in defiance of poverty and ignorance. Many a time the visitor is surprised with some most touching incident, where the mere passer by would see but rags and misery, only the outward signs of poverty, none of the good fruit that happily it often brings forth. Many a time may he leave some wretched crumbling hovel "a sadder and a wiser man," for he sees sickness and privation borne with uncomplaining patience, the most perfect trust in GoD under severest trials, and it may be, wonders whether with all his own advantages, his fortitude and faith could equal theirs. Indeed the cottage teaches many a useful lesson, humility, patience, and contentment, and real kindness to those who need, and this too in situations where these virtues would seem the hardest of attainment: truly those lose a great privilege who neglect to visit the poor man's home. The following are a few incidents that really happened in a quiet country village, having perhaps but little in them, yet serving to show that there is more to interest about the poor, and even more poetry of feeling about them, than people imagine. It is true there is often nothing external to excite interest, but are we always to judge by externals? Learn their stories, hear them from their own lips, see the life they lead uncomplainingly, and he must be a cold-hearted man or worldly-minded, which is much the same thing, who refuses to be interested then. Nothing in appearance could be more utterly uninteresting than two old women, sisters, who lived in this country village; where this village exists it matters little, it is enough that it really does exist, as a sweet country village should, hid among old trees, clasped round with half wooded half heath-covered hills, with one large break where the sea peeps through, and where the old grey tower the guardian of the place, looks calmly down, upon the homes clustering round it; just such a spot that no one who knew could help loving. Well, spite of their sweet home, these old women were very ugly, very ugly indeed, and yet every one who knew them was interested, was glad to visit them, and there needs but one true line to tell the secret-"love is lovelier |