of his accession to the throne, all the Sovereigns of Europe sent him magnificent presents.  These are assembled in his library, at the Winter Palace, Petrograd; and in the centre—­accorded that place by the Russians with equal good feeling, good taste, and justice—­is a large group in solid silver, representing a huge mass of rock upon whose pinnacles stand figures representing the different parts of the empire—­Little Russia, Siberia, and so forth.  The inscription reads:  “To the Tzar-Liberator from the Liberated Serf.”  It was made by the Ovtchinnikoffs and presented by another ex-serf, who had become a millionaire railway magnate.

Mustard Seed No. 2 from America to Russia falls into a somewhat different category.  It more nearly resembles one of those grains of antique wheat found in a tomb and sprouting vigorously when finally planted in congenial, helpful soil.  I trust that my comparison may not be regarded as disrespectful.  One could not, willingly, be disrespectful to the calendar, any more than to the thermometer!

Russia, by adhering to the Julian Calendar and refusing to adopt the Gregorian, has now fallen thirteen days behind the rest of the world.  It falls behind about a day for every century.  There are several reasons why Russia has not, up to now, remedied the serious inconvenience caused by this conflict of dates.  One is—­the Gregorian Calendar is Roman Catholic, and named after a Pope.  It is, also, inaccurate.  Worst of all, the rectification might—­almost infallibly would, under ordinary circumstances—­cause trouble at the outset, especially in one incalculably important direction.

Russian scientists long ago worked out a new calendar far more accurate than the Gregorian for thousands of years, and when the change is made that calendar will be adopted.  The fundamental difficulty lies in the fact that all the people whose saints’ days must inevitably be skipped for the first year in the process of rectification will inevitably feel that they are being robbed of their guardian angels, that they are “orphans”—­a mournful word greatly beloved of the Russian masses under multiform circumstances, both material and spiritual—­and orphaned in a peculiarly distressing and irrevocable way.  They might even feel when their saints’ days came around quite correctly the next year that some spurious adventurer—­Angel of Darkness—­was being foisted upon them.

Fanatics and professional mischief-makers would certainly seize with avidity upon such a godsend of a chance, unparalleled since the days of Peter the Great’s father, when the Patriarch Nikon had the errors of the copyists in the Scriptures and church service books corrected.  But the present war has fused all parties, united all hearts in patriotism, loyalty to, and confidence in their Emperor and created a fervid inclination amounting to enthusiasm to accept even the most drastic reforms he may make cheerfully, unquestionably, as for the good of the fatherland.