Kremlin partake, more or less, of this
character. In some of them, the old bones and other relics held
peculiarly sacred are inclosed within iron gratings or railings, and
are only accessible to the visitor through the services of a priestly
guide. Every visitor must, of course, pay for the gratification of his
curiosity; so that the bones of the most venerated characters in the
history of the Russian Church are turned into a considerable source of
profit. It may well be said that every saint pays his own way, so long
as there is a fragment of him left in this world. If one could be
assured of the truth of all he learns during a tour of inspection
through these receptacles of sacred relics, it would indeed confound
all his previous impressions that the days of miracles had passed.
There is a picture in the Uspenski Saber, the bare contemplation of
which, combined with a fervent appeal, it is confidently asserted,
recently effected a sudden and wonderful cure in the case of a
crippled man, who was carried there from his bed, but after his
devotions before this picture walked out of the door as well as ever;
and every where about these sacred precincts pictures and carved
images are abundant which at stated intervals shed tears and manifest
other tokens of vitality.

Outside, on the steps of those churches, the stranger encounters
innumerable gangs of beggars, who watch his incoming and his outgoing
with the most intense eagerness--rushing toward him with outstretched
hands, calling upon all the saints to bless him and his issue forever
and ever, and sometimes bowing down to the earth before him, in their
accustomed way, as if he himself partook of some sacred attributes.
Apart from the wretched aspect of these poor creatures, among which
were the lame, the halt, and the blind from all the purlieus of
Moscow, there was something very revolting in the debasement of their
attitudes. To assist them all was impossible; and I often had to
struggle through the crowds with feelings akin to remorse in being
compelled to leave them thus vainly appealing to my charity. When
alone, hours after, the weary and pathetic strain of their
supplications would haunt me, bearing in its sorrowful intonations a
weird warning that we are all bound together in the great fellowship
of sin.

And now, while we are taking our last lingering look at the Kremlin,
the mighty bells of the tower toll forth a funeral knell. A priest
lies dead in one o