s waxed mustache! I know he must
be a secretary of legation by the enormous polished boots he wears
over his tight breeches, the dandy parting of his hair, the
supercilious stupidity of his countenance, and the horrible tortures
he suffers in trying to stick on the back of his horse. Nobody else in
the world could make such an ass of himself by such frantic attempts
to show off and keep on at the same time. I'll bet my life he thinks
he is the most beautiful and accomplished gentleman ever produced by a
beneficent Creator. Well, it is a happy thing for some of us that we
don't see ourselves as others see us; if we did, my friends in the
hemp business and myself would fare badly. Beregrissa! Padi!
Padi!--have a care! make way, for here comes a cloud of dust, and in
that cloud of dust is a kibitka, drawn by three wild horses, and in
that kibitka, half sitting, half clinging to the side, is an official
courier. Crack goes the whip of the _yamtschick_; the three fiery
horses fly through the dust; the courier waves his hand to an officer
on horseback, and with a whirl and a whisk they disappear. _Pashol!_ I
hope they won't break their necks before they get through.

[Illustration: DVORNICK AND POSTMAN.]

Soon the main road branches out in various directions, and we strike
off with the diverging streams of pedestrians, families of the middle
and lower classes, young men of the town, gay young damsels with their
beaux, burly tradesmen, tinkers, tailors, and hatters, waiters and
apprentices, sailors and soldiers, until we find ourselves in the
midst of a grand old forest. Open glades, pavilions, and tables are
visible at intervals; but for the most part we are in a labyrinthian
wilderness of trees, rich in foliage, and almost oppressive in their
umbrageous density, while

"Deep velvet verdure clothes the turf beneath,
And trodden flowers their richest odors breathe."

Insects flit through the still atmosphere; the hum of human voices,
softened by distance, falls soothingly upon the ear; and as we look,
and listen, and loiter on our way, we wonder if this can be the
dreamland of the arctic regions? Can there ever be snow-storms and
scathing frosts in such a land of tropical luxuriance? Thus, as we
lounge along in the mellow twilight amid the groves of Katrofskoi,
what charming pictures of sylvan enjoyment are revealed to us at every
turn! Rustic tables under the great wide-spreading trees are
surrounded by family