two or three at the entrance of each polog, and took up the willow branches which had been provided.  In a moment a venerable native, whom we presumed to be the father of one of the parties, emerged from one of the pologs near the door, leading a good-looking young Korak and the dark-faced bride.  Upon their appearance the excitement increased to the pitch of frenzy, the music redoubled its rapidity, the men in the centre of the tent joined in the uncouth chant, and uttered at short intervals peculiar shrill cries of wild excitement.  At a given signal from the native who had led out the couple, the bride darted suddenly into the first polog, and began a rapid flight around the tent, raising the curtains between the pologs successively, and passing under.  The bridegroom instantly followed in hot pursuit; but the women who were stationed in each compartment threw every possible impediment in his way, tripping up his unwary feet, holding down the curtains to prevent his passage, and applying the willow and alder switches unmercifully to a very susceptible part of his body as he stooped to raise them.  The air was filled with drum-beats, shouts of encouragement and derision, and the sound of the heavy blows which were administered to the unlucky bridegroom by each successive detachment of women as he ran the gantlet.  It became evident at once that despite his most violent efforts he would fail to overtake the flying Atalanta before she completed the circuit of the tent.  Even the golden apples of Hesperides would have availed him little against such disheartening odds; but with undismayed perseverance he pressed on, stumbling headlong over the outstretched feet of his female persecutors, and getting constantly entangled in the ample folds of the reindeerskin curtains, which were thrown with the skill of a matador over his head and eyes.  In a moment the bride had entered the last closed polog near the door, while the unfortunate bridegroom was still struggling with his accumulating misfortunes about half-way around the tent.  I expected to see him relax his efforts and give up the contest when the bride disappeared, and was preparing to protest strongly in his behalf against the unfairness of the trial; but, to my surprise, he still struggled on, and with a final plunge burst through the curtains of the last polog and rejoined his bride.  The music suddenly ceased, and the throng began to stream out of the tent.  The ceremony was evidently over.  Turning to Meranef, who with a delighted grin had watched its progress, we inquired what it all meant.  “Were they married?”—­“Da’s,” was the affirmative reply.  “But,” we objected, “he didn’t catch her.”—­“She waited for him, your honour, in the last polog, and if he caught her there it was enough.”—­“Suppose he had not caught her there, then what?”—­“Then,” answered the Cossack, with an expressive shrug of commiseration, “the beidnak [poor fellow] would have had to work two more years.”