How singularly appropriate it seems that boys, hungry at all times, should be the ones to implore the god of fruitfulness to bestow upon their people an abundant harvest during the coming year!
In Petrograd the New Year is ushered in with a cannonade of one hundred shots fired at midnight. The Czar formally receives the good wishes of his subjects, and the streets, which are prettily decorated with flags and lanterns, are alive with people.
On New Year's Day the Winter Palace is opened to society, as is nearly every home in the city, for at this season, at least, hospitality and charity are freely dispensed from palace and cottage.
On Sotjelnik, the last of the holidays, the solemn service of Blessing the Water of the Neva is observed. At two o'clock in the afternoon the people who have gathered in crowds at various points along the river witness the ceremony which closes the festivities of Yule-tide. At Petrograd a dome is erected in front of the Winter Palace, where in the presence of a vast concourse of people the Czar and the high church officials in a grand and impressive manner perform the ceremony. In other places it is customary for the district priest to officiate. Clothed in vestments he leads a procession of clergy and villagers, who carry icons and banners and chant as they proceed to the river. They usually leave an open space in their ranks through which all the bad spirits likely to feel antagonistic to the ruler of Winter—the Frost King—may flee. For water sprites, fairies, gnomes, and other invisibilities, who delight in sunshine and warmth, are forced, through the power of the priest's prayers, and the showering of holy water, to take refuge in a hole that is cut in the ice beside a tall cross, and disappear beneath the cold water of the blessed river.
A PALM BRANCH FROM PALESTINE
Branch of palm from Palestine,
Tell me of thy native place:
What fair vale, what steep incline,
First thy stately growth did grace?
Has the sun at dawn caressed thee,
That on Jordan's waters shone,
Have the rough night-winds distressed thee
As they swept o'er Lebanon?
And while Solym's sons, brought low,
Plaited thee for humble wages,
Was it prayer they chanted slow,
Or some song of ancient ages?
As in childhood's first awaking
Does thy parent-tree still stand,
With its full-leaved branches making
Shadows on the burning sand?
Or when thou from it wert riven,
Did it straightway droop and die,
Till the desert dust was driven
On its yellowing leaves to die?