effect, it
would be the fresh air. Acting upon this idea, I hastily dressed
myself and descended to the front door. The _Hotel de Venise_ is
situated in a central part of the city, at no great distance from the
Kremlin. It stands back in a large open yard, with a very pretty
garden to the right as you enter from the main street. The proprietor
is a Russian, but the hotel is conducted in the French style, and,
although not more conspicuous for cleanliness than other
establishments of the same class in Moscow, it is nevertheless
tolerably free from vermin. The fleas in it were certainly neither so
lively nor so entertaining as I have found them at many of the Spanish
ranches in California, and the bugs, I am sure, are nothing like so
corpulent as some I have seen in Washington City. I throw this in
gratis, as a sort of puff, in consideration of an understanding with
the landlord, that if he would refrain from cheating me I would
recommend his hotel to American travelers. It is very good of its
kind, and no person fond of veal, as a standard dish, can suffer from
hunger at this establishment so long as calves continue to be born any
where in the neighborhood of Moscow.

The porter, a drowsy old fellow in livery, whose only business, so far
as I could discover, was to bow to the guests as they passed in and
out during the day, at the expense of a kopek to each one of them for
every bow, napping on a lounge close by the front door. Hearing my
footsteps, he awoke, rubbed his eyes, bowed habitually, and then
stared at me with a vacant and somewhat startled expression. It was
not a common thing evidently for lodgers to go out of the hotel at
that time of night, or rather morning--it must have been nearly two
o'clock--for, after gazing a while at what he doubtless took to be an
apparition or an absconding boarder whose bill had not been settled,
he grumbled out something like a dissent, and stood between me and the
door. A small fee of ten kopeks, which I placed in his hand, aided him
in grasping at the mysteries of the case, and he unlocked the door and
let me out, merely shaking his head gravely, as if he divined my
purpose, but did not altogether approve of it in one of my age and
sedate appearance. In that, however, he was mistaken: I had no
disposition to form any tender alliances in Moscow.

[Illustration: RUSSIAN BEGGARS.]

The streets were almost deserted. An occasional drosky, carrying home
some belated pleasure-