rge quantities are brought into Siberia, but "brick-tea" never
enters into the computation of Kiachta trade.

[Illustration: LEGAL TENDER.]

Since 1860 the quantity of fine teas purchased at Kiachta has greatly
fallen off. The importation of brick-tea is undiminished, and some
authorities say it has increased.

None of the merchants speak any language but Russian, and most of them
are firmly fixed at Kiachta. They make now and then journeys to
Irkutsk, and regard such a feat about as a countryman on the Penobscot
would regard a visit to Boston. The few who have been to Moscow and
St. Petersburg have a reputation somewhat analogous to that of Marco
Polo or John Ledyard. Walking is rarely practiced, and the numbers of
smart turnouts, compared to the population, is pretty large. There is
no theatre, concert-room, or newspaper office at Kiachta, and the
citizens rely upon cards, wine, and gossip for amusement. They play
much and win or lose large sums with perfect nonchalance. Visitors are
rare, and the advent of a stranger of ordinary consequence is a great
sensation.

Kiachta and Maimaichin stand on the edge of a Mongolian steppe seven
or eight miles wide. Very little snow falls there and that little does
not long remain. Wheeled carriages are in use the entire year. The
elevation is about twenty-five hundred feet above sea level.

There was formerly a custom house at Troitskosavsk, where the duties
on tea were collected. After the occupation of the Amoor the
government opened all the country east of Lake Baikal to free trade.
The custom house was removed to Irkutsk, where all duties are now
arranged.

There were two Englishmen and one Frenchman residing at Kiachta. The
latter, Mr. Garnier, was a merchant, and was about to many a young and
pretty Russian whose mother had a large fortune and thirteen dogs. The
old lady appeared perfectly clear headed on every subject outside of
dogs. A fortnight before my visit she owned fifteen, but the police
killed two on a charge of biting somebody. She was inconsolable at
their loss, took her bed from grief, and seriously contemplated going
into mourning. I asked Garnier what would be the result if every dog
of the thirteen should have his day. "Ah!" he replied, with a sigh,
"the poor lady could never sustain it. I fear it would cause her
death."

One Englishman, Mr. Bishop, had a telegraph scheme which he had vainly
endeavored for two years to persuade the stubborn Chinese t