indeed, to drown Russia in blood and themselves to perish in blood.
But when I described the metropolitan night asylums in one of the popular dailies and in several monthlies, the official press protested violently, and the papers which published my articles were fined.
On the confines of the gigantic city of palaces and luxury, somewhere behind the cemeteries set apart for beggars and suicides, rise in several districts black, massive, prison-like structures of many storeys, void of any adornment, dilapidated, their windows broken and closed up with soiled garments, pierced by projecting, crooked vent-pipes from the iron stoves.
The windows are dark, although it is only nine o'clock in the evening. Over the doors only flickers the yellow flame of a lantern showing beneath the board with the inscription "Night Asylum."
A crowd of dark figures throng in front of the gates, shivering with cold, sobbing, sighing, or weeping silently.
At last the gates open narrowly, and sturdy men admit the wretched few for whom there is still room in the asylum; however, a small coin pressed into the hand of the door-keeper will let in twice the number.
The village paupers have been admitted to the asylum. They are marched with others through dark, mud-covered courtyards, ascend iron stairs, and enter the "office," where their passports are inspected, and where they receive the number of their rooms. At
