HE is no longer so very young; he is one of the oldest ciaikorzi, and is now about thirty-six, or thirty-seven years of age. He was arrested in March, 1879, and is now in Siberia.
There is nothing of the conspirator in his bearing. He is a straightforward man, an excellent companion, an unrivalled talker; his language is fluent, full of imagination and piquancy, adorned with all the treasures of the rich popular Russian tongue, which he speaks as Giusti wrote the Tuscan.
He is perhaps the best of our popular propagandists. He has a manner peculiar to himself, absolutely inimitable. It is not that of Katerina Bresckovskaia passionate and prophetic, nor is it Socratic and searching like that of Michael Kuprianoff, a young man of genius who died in prison at the age of nineteen. Demetrius Clemens carries on his propagandism in a facetious spirit. He laughs, and makes the old peasants, generally imperturbable, split their sides with laughter as they listen to him. He so contrives, however, that with all this laughter some serious thought is