touching,—as if he bore the sins and griefs of his people all on his heart, and was lifted so far above human sympathy that no one but his God had power to comfort him. If I ever had the desire to be an emperor, one look at Alexander Second would have been sufficient to rid me of it. He looks as though he had never known what it is to be happy; as though he had felt from babyhood every whit of the responsibility which weighs upon monarchs. I feel a deep reverence for this man, who has freed his people from slavery, and many Christians from persecution, and who now is blamed by the world because he does not think it best to do more. I like to think, though, that his liberated serfs love him, and that posterity will do him justice.
Here I have left the Emperor standing all this time, while I have been wandering in political fields.
The German Hymn followed the Russian. I was rather bewildered by it; for I thought it was "God save the Queen," and wondered what propriety there was in playing it on this occasion.
The music ceased, and the cheers burst forth again, louder and fuller than ever. The bride and groom were in the centre of the box; on her right was the Emperor, dressed in Cossack uniform,—a long, scarlet coat, plaited in at the waist, with silver trimmings. The Tsarevitch wore the same kind of uniform.
The bride wore the ribbon indicating the order of St. Catherine. The ladies of the imperial family exhibited magnificent diadems and necklaces. The Grand Duchess Constantine's necklace covered her from throat to
