the picturesque groups of pilgrims, staves in hand and
wallets on back, who may be seen at all hours of the day clambering
up the hill, resting under the shadow of a tree, or reverently
bowing the head at the sound of a convent bell.

Kief is not one city, but three cities, each with its own fortification.
The old town, strong in position, and enclosing within its circuit
the Cathedral of St. Sophia and the Palace of the Metropolitan,
was in remote ages a Sclavonian Pantheon, sacred to the Russian
Jupiter and other savage gods. The new town, separated from the
old town by a deep ravine, stands on a broad platform which rises
precipitously from the banks of the Dnieper. The walls are massive,
the fort is strong, and the famous monastery, the first in rank
in Russia, with its gilt and coloured domes, shines from out the
shade of a deep wood. The third division, "the Town of the Vale,"
situated between the hills and the river, is chiefly devoted to
commerce. Without much stretch of fancy it might be said that Kief,
like Rome, Lisbon and some other cities, is built on seven hills.
And thus the pictorial aspect changes almost at every step; a winding
path will bring to view an unsuspected height, or open up a valley
previously hid. The traveller has in the course of his wanderings
often to feel thankful that a kind providence has planted sacred
places in the midst of lovely scenery. The holy mountain at Varallo,
the sacred hill at Orta, are, like the shrines of Kief, made doubly
pleasant for pilgrimage through the beauties of nature by which
they are surrounded. It is said that at the monastery of the Grande
Chartreuse the monks do not permit themselves to look too much at
the outward landscape, lest their hearts should by the loveliness
of earth be estranged from heaven. I do not think that Russian
priests or pilgrims incur any such danger. When they are neither
praying nor eating they are sleeping; in short, I did not among
the motley multitude see a single eye open to the loveliness of
colour in the sky above, or to the beauty of form in the earth
beneath. It is singular how obtuse these people are; I have noticed
in a crowded railway carriage that not a face would be turned to
the glory of the setting sun, but if a church tower came into view
on the distant horizon, every hand was raised to make the sign
of the cross. While taking my observations among the pilgrims at
Kief I was struck with the fact, not only that a su