ctors are ordering them to wear the common gray felt
boot of the peasants, with the top of it reaching to the knee. It is
without doubt the most hideous and unshapely object the mind can
conceive, being all made of one piece and without any regard to the
shape of the foot.

St. Petersburg can hardly be called a typical Russian city. It is too
near other countries, but to us, before we had seen Moscow and Kiev,
it was Russia itself. We arrived one bitterly cold day, and went first
to the hotel to which we had been recommended by our friends.

I shall never forget the wave of longing for home and country which
settled down upon me as we saw our rooms in this hotel. It must have
been built in Peter the Great's time. No electric lights; not even
lamps. Candles! Now, if there is one thing more than another which
makes me frantic with homesickness, it is the use of candles. I would
rather be in London on Sunday than to dress by the light of candles.

Even an excellent luncheon did not raise my spirits. Our rooms were as
dark and gloomy and silent as a mausoleum. Indeed, many a mausoleum I
have seen has been much more cheerful. It was at the time of year also
when we had but three hours of daylight--from eleven until two. Our
salon was furnished in a dreary drab, with a gigantic green stove in
the corner which reached to the ceiling. Then we entered what looked
like a long, narrow corridor, down which we blindly felt our way, and
at the extreme end of which were hung dark red plush curtains, as if
before a shrine. We pulled aside these trappings of gloom, and there
were two iron cots, not over a foot and a half wide, about the shape
and feeling of an ironing-board, covered with what appeared to be gray
army blankets, I looked to see "U.S." stamped on them. I have seen
them in museums at home.

I gazed at my companion in perfect dismay. "I shall not present a
single letter of introduction," I wailed. "I'm going to Moscow
to-morrow."

Instead of going to Moscow in the morning, we went out and decided to
present just the one letter to our ambassador. He was at the Hotel
d'Europe, and we went there. Behold! electric lights everywhere. Heaps
of Americans. And the entire Legation there. My companion and I simply
looked at each other, and our whole future grew brighter. We would not
go to Moscow, but we would move at once. We would introduce
electricity into our sombre lives, and look forward with hope into the
great unknown. W