of prayerful people of all classes, literally, who stop to place a candle or utter a petition.  The original Virgin travels about the town, meanwhile, in a blue coach adorned with her special device, like a coat of arms, and drawn by six horses; and the persons whom she honors with a visit offer liberal gifts.  The heads of her coachman, postilions, and footman are supposed to be respectfully bared in all weathers, but when it is very cold these men wind woolen shawls, of the nondescript, dirt color, which characterizes the hair of most peasants, adroitly round their heads, allowing the fringe to hang and simulate long locks.  The large image of the Virgin, in its massive frame, occupies the seat of honor.  A priest and a deacon, clad in crimson velvet and gold vestments, their heads unprotected, even in the most severe weather, by anything but their own thick hair, sit respectfully with their backs to the horses.  When the Virgin drives along, passers-by pause, salute, and cross themselves.  Evidently, under these circumstances, it is difficult for a foreigner to get a view of the original Virgin.  We were fortunate, however.  Our first invitation in Moscow was from the Abbess of an important convent to be present at one of the services which I have mentioned,—­a sort of invocation of the Virgin’s blessing,—­in her cell, and at the conclusion of the service we were asked if we would not like to “salute the Virgin” and take a sip of the holy water “for health.”  Of course we did both, as courtesy demanded.  Some time after that, as we were driving along the principal street of China Town, I saw an imposing equipage approaching, and remarked, “Here comes the Iversky Virgin.”

* Ancient Moscow, lying in a walled semicircle just outside the walls of the Kremlin.  All the trading was done on the “Red Square,” where the Gostinny Dvor now stands, and all Oriental merchants were known by the common designation of “Chinese.”  At the present day “Chinese” has been replaced by “German,” to designate foreigners in general.

“Excuse me, madam,” said my cabman,—­I had not addressed him, but as I had spoken involuntarily in Russian he thought I had,—­“it is not the Virgin, it is only the Saviour.  Don’t you see that there are only four horses?”

“Very true; and St. Sergius drives with three, and St. Pantaleimon with two,—­do they not?  Tell me, which of them all would you ask to visit you, if you wished a blessing?”

“St. Pantaleimon is a good, all-round saint, who helps well in most cases,” he replied thoughtfully.  This seemed a good opportunity to get a popular explanation of a point which had puzzled me.

“Which,” I asked, “is the real miraculous Iversky Virgin?—­the one in the chapel, the one who rides in the carriage, or the original on Mount Athos?”