Like the rest of the world, I was on the lookout for the censor’s work from the day of my arrival, but it was a long time before my search was rewarded by anything except a caricature of the censor himself in “Kladderadatsch.”  That it was left unmasked was my first proof that that gentleman, individually and collectively, was not deficient in a sense of humor.  The sketch represented a disheveled scribe seated three quarters submerged in a bottle of ink, from the half-open cover of which his quill pen projected like a signal of distress.  This was accompanied by an inscription to the effect that as the Russian censor had blacked so many other people, he might now sit in the black for a while himself.  Perhaps the censor thought that remarks of that sort came with peculiar grace from martinet-ruled Berlin.  About this time I received a copy of the “Century,” containing—­or rather, not containing—­the first article in the prohibited series by Mr. Kennan.  I made no remonstrance, but mentioned the fact, as an item of interest, to the sender, who forthwith dispatched the article in an envelope.  The envelope being small, the plump package had the appearance of containing a couple of pairs of gloves, or other dutiable merchandise.  Probably that was the reason why the authorities cut open one end.  Finding that it was merely innocent printed matter, they gave it to me on the very day of its arrival in St. Petersburg, and thirteen days from the date of posting in New York.  I know that it was my duty to get excited over this incident, as did a foreign (that is, a non-Russian) acquaintance of mine, when he received an envelope of similar plump aspect containing a bulky Christmas card, which was delivered decorated with five very frank and huge official seals, after having been opened for contraband goods.  I did not feel aggrieved, however, and, being deficient in that Mother Eve quality which attributes vast importance to whatever is forbidden, I suggested that nothing more which was obnoxious to the Russian government should be sent to me.

But when a foreigner offered the magazine to me regularly, unmutilated, I did not refuse it.  When a Russian volunteered to furnish me with it, later on, I read it.  When I saw summaries of the prohibited articles in the Russian press, I looked them over to see whether they were well done.  When I saw another copy of the “Century,” with other American magazines, at the house of a second Russian, I did not shut my eyes to the fact, neither did I close my ears when I was told that divers instructors of youth in Petersburg, Moscow, and elsewhere were in regular receipt of it, on the principle which is said to govern good men away from home, viz., that in order to preach effectively against evil one must make personal acquaintance with it.  I was also told at the English Bookstore that they had seven or eight copies of the magazine, which had been subscribed for through them, lying at the censor’s office awaiting proper action on the part of the subscribers.  What that action was I did not ask at the time, in my embarrassment of riches.  It will be perceived that when we add the copies received by officials, and those given to the members of the Diplomatic Corps who desired it, there was no real dearth of the “Century” at any time.