alked past it into the old town, of high houses
and narrow streets, like a part of Paris.

In Lithuania the roads were paths winding through forests full of stumps
and roots. The carriage hardly squeezed along, and eight little horses
attached to it in the Polish way had much ado to draw us. The postilions
were young boys in coarse linen, hardy as cattle, who rode bare-back
league upon league.

Old bridges cracked and sagged when we crossed them. And here the
forests rose scorched and black in spots, because the peasants, bound to
pay their lords turpentine, fired pines and caught the heated ooze.

Within the proper boundary of Russia our way was no better. There we saw
queer projections of boards around trees to keep bears from climbing
after the hunters.

The Lithuanian peasants had few wants. Their carts were put together
without nails. Their bridles and traces were made of bark. They had no
tools but hatchets. A sheepskin coat and round felt cap kept a man warm
in cold weather. His shoes were made of bark, and his home of logs with
penthouse roof.

In houses where travelers slept the candles were laths of deal, about
five feet long, stuck into crevices of the wall or hung over tables. Our
hosts carried them about, dropping unheeded sparks upon the straw beds.

In Grodno, a town of falling houses and ruined palaces, we rested again
before turning directly north.

There my heart began to sink. We had spent four weeks on a comfortless
road, working always toward the goal. It was nearly won. A speech of my
friend the marquis struck itself out sharply in the northern light.

"You are not the only Pretender, my dear boy. Don't go to Mittau
expecting to be hailed as a novelty. At least two peasants have started
up claiming to be the prince who did not die in the Temple, and have
been cast down again, complaining of the treatment of their dear sister!
The Count d'Artois says he would rather saw wood for a living than be
king after the English fashion. I would rather be the worthless old
fellow I am than be king after the Mittau fashion; especially when his
Majesty, Louis XVIII, sees you coming!"

IX

Purposely we entered Mittau about sunset, which was nearer ten o'clock
than nine in that northern land; coming through wheat lands to where a
network of streams forms the river Aa. In this broad lap of the province
of Courland sat Mittau. Yelgava it was called by the people among whom
we last posted, and the