as he was about to mount his noble steed and ride forth into
the wilds. If I was amused by the crowd, I believe the crowd was greatly
amused at my proceedings. Mine own familiar friend, I verily believe,
would have passed me by on the other side, I cut so queer a figure. As
usual on these occasions, I had sent forward my portmanteau, this time
to Maros Vasarhely; but everything else I possessed I carried round
about me and my horse somehow, and I am not a man "who wants but little
here below."

Besides my _toilette de voyage_, I had my cooking apparatus, a small jar
of Liebig's meat, and some compressed tea, and other little odds and
ends of comforts. I had also provided myself with some bacon and
_slivovitz_ for barter, a couple of bottles of the spirit being turned
into a big flask slung alongside of my lesser flask for wine. Nor was
this all, for having duly secured my saddle-bags, I had the plaid and
mackintosh rolled up neatly and strapped in front of the saddle; then my
gun, field-glass, and roll of three maps were slung across my shoulders.
_Nota bene_ my pockets were full to repletion. In my leathern belt was
stuck a revolver, handy, and a bowie-knife not far off.

But the portrait of this Englishman as he appeared to the Kronstadt
people on that day is not yet complete. His legs were encased in Hessian
boots; his shooting-jacket was somewhat the worse for wear; and his hat,
which had been eminently respectable at first starting, had acquired a
sort of brigandish air; and to add to the drollery of his general
appearance, the excellent little Servian horse he rode was not high
enough for a man of his inches.

With my weapons of offence and defence I must have appeared a "caution"
to robbers, and it seems that the business of the fair was suspended to
witness my departure. I was profoundly unconscious at the time of the
public interest taken in my humble self, but later I heard a very
humorous account of the whole proceeding from some relatives who visited
Kronstadt about three weeks afterwards. I believe I am held in
remembrance in the town as a typical Englishman!

Well, to take up the thread of my narrative--like Don Quixote, "I
travelled _all_ that day." If any reader can remember Gustave Dore's
illustration of the good knight on that occasion, he will have some idea
of how the sky looked on this very ride of mine. As evening approached,
the settled grey clouds, which had hung overhead like a pall all the