gnificent albums, which are to be
presented to the ten greatest museums in the world. The Hermitage in
St. Petersburg is to have one, the British Museum another, and so on.
Only one was to go to America, and to my metropolitan dismay I found
that it was _not_ to go to Chicago. I shall not say where it was
intended to go; I shall only say that with characteristic modesty I
asked, in my most timid voice, why she did not present it to a museum
in the city which she had already benefited so royally with her
generosity, and which already held her name in affectionate
veneration. It seemed to strike her for the first time that Chicago
_was_ the proper city in which to place that album, so she promised it
to us! I thanked her with sincere gratitude, and retired from the
field with a modest flush of victory on my brow. I cannot forbear a
wicked chuckle, however, when I think of that other museum!

We dined many times at "The Hermitage," which is one of the smartest
restaurants in Europe. The costumes of the waiters were too
extraordinary not to deserve a passing mention. They consisted of a
white cotton garment belted at the waist, with no collar, and a pair
of flapping white trousers. They are always scrupulously clean--which
is a wonder for Russian peasants--for they are made to change their
clothes twice a day. They have a magnificent orchestrion instead of an
orchestra here, and I could scarcely eat those beautiful dinners for
listening to the music. We became so well acquainted with the
repertoire that our friends, knowing our taste, ordered the music to
match the courses. So instead of sherry with the soup, they ordered
the intermezzo from "Cavalleria Rusticana." With the fish we had the
overture to "William Tell." With the _entrecote_ we had a pot-pourri
from "Faust." With the fowl we had "Demon and Tamar," the Russian
opera. With the rest we began on Wagner and worked up to that
thrilling "Tannhaeuser" overture, until I was ready to go home a
nervous wreck from German music, as I always am.

A very interesting incident occurred while we were in Moscow. The Tzar
decorated a non-commissioned officer for an act of bravery which well
deserved it. He was in charge of the powder-magazines just outside of
Moscow, and from the view I had of them I should say that the
gunpowder is stored in pits in the ground.

Something caught fire right on top of one of these pits, and this
young officer saw it. He had no time to send for w