The firelight glances o'er us,
And wind and rain, in stormy play,
Join in with lusty chorus.

'Mid rustling leaves, 'neath open sky,
I live like lark or swallow:
There's not a bird more free to fly
Than I am free to follow.
And when grim Death his bow shall bend,
My mortal course suspending,
Oh may my life, howe'er it end,
Have music in its ending!

Such music, supplemented by such a voice, strongly tempts us to remain and
hear more; but our impatient guide urges us onward, and in another minute
we stand before the dark, low-browed archway of the old church which we
have come to see.

The quaint architecture of the outside is strange and old-world enough,
but when we enter, the dim interior, haunted by weird shadows and ghostly
echoes, has quite an unearthly effect after the bustling life of the city.
As is usual in Greek and Russian churches, there are no seats of any kind,
the whole interior being one wide bare space, dimly lighted by the two
tall candles on the altar and a few little oil-lamps attached to the
pictures of saints adorning the walls. The decorations have that air of
tawdry finery which is the most displeasing feature of the Eastern
churches; but the four frescoes at the farther end (representing the
Adoration of the Magi, our Lord's Baptism, the Crucifixion, and the
Descent into Hell), rude as they are, have a grim power which takes hold
of our fancy at once. Dante himself might approve the last of the four, in
which the lurid atmosphere, the hideous contortions of the demons, and the
surging flight of the half-awakened dead, with their blank faces and stony
eyes, contrast magnificently with the grand calmness of the divine Figure
in the centre--a perfect realization of the noble words of Milton:

Some howled, some shrieked,
Some bent their fiery darts at thee, while Thou
Sat'st unappalled in calm and sinless peace.

The only occupant of the building is a tall, dignified-looking priest, who
at once takes upon himself the part of expositor; but he is suddenly
interrupted by the hurried entrance of a man who whispers something in his
ear. The priest instantly vanishes into the sacristy, and, reappearing
with something like a casket under his arm, goes hastily out, muttering as
he passes us some words which my comrade interprets as "Follow me."

We obey at once; but, in truth, it is no light matter to do so, for the