No one would take the least notice, but all would
go on singing as before. Then a choir-boy, after a moment or two, would
do the same, his companions continuing to sing till their turn of being
moved within came also. I have seen soldiers in the ranks do just the
same when bareheaded at an outdoor service. There is so much spontaneity
and elasticity and liberty in Russian worship. They do just as they feel
"led by the Spirit" to do.

[Illustration: _The Cathedral at Riga._]

One of the most interesting experiences I had last year was attending on
the Feast of the Epiphany--the appointed day for that and similar
services--the blessing of the Neva. The ceremony takes place just
outside the Winter Palace at Petrograd. Diplomatists and other visitors
who wish to look on, stand within at the windows, but I much preferred
to be outside, even though it was bitterly cold and we had to be
bareheaded. There was a magnificent and bewildering gathering of Russian
ecclesiastics, gorgeously vested. Priceless _ikons_ were carried, and
beautiful banners of rich embroideries, the whole effect being strangely
Eastern in character. A few only could enter the small _kiosk_ on the
river's bank where the water, brought in a silver basin, was blessed.
But the thrilling thing that day was the glorious singing, chant and
refrain, which so richly filled the air, stirring the very depths of
one's being, and the innumerable rows of deeply attentive soldiers in
their long grey coats, whose frequent bowings and devout crossings
all through the ranks showed that, though they were there officially,
they were there to worship also. The Emperor walked from the palace
amongst others and returned to it, bareheaded like any common soldier,
with a perfectly plain overcoat like the rest, and nothing whatever to
distinguish him from the crowd. He was unattended and moved quite freely
with the rest, and could not be recognized except by a few of us
standing near the door, who were already familiar with his appearance.
There was but little cheering in consequence, though he acknowledged it
in that modest and unaffected way which always distinguishes him. It was
then that I saw the Grand Duke Nicholas for the first time, the
generalissimo in the war, a magnificent man. He had certain
announcements to make, or directions to give, and his grand voice rang
out on the clear air so that every one could hear. "A real leader of men
that," one felt instinctively witho