versation with one of these merchants Siberia was halfjokingly described to me as a big village the main street of which, extending from Nishni Novgorod to Ke-akh'-ta, was about five thousand miles long, where there were always half a million horses on the road, and where everybody knew everybody from one end of the street to the other.

Perm-De-Tartarization of Russia-The Siberiak-Heavy rain-Autumnal tints -Kazan-Search for a Professor-Museum-Tartars-Steamboat accidentThe Volga-Nishni Novgorod-Moscow-Museum-St. Petersburg.

It was quite dark when we reached Perm, on Saturday the 10th of September, and we at once drove to the steamer Samolot, or "self-flyer," delighted to bid a long adieu to .tarantass, tyel-ay-gah, and Tartar yems-chik, and to find ourselves once more directly st+ aming towards Europe and civilisation.

Russia has made enormous progress since the abolition of

serfdom, yet the moment you cross its frontier you still feel that you have left Europe and European ideas behind, and are, to all intents and purposes, amongst Asiatics in Asia. The Mongols are at home there, but you are a foreigner. The late Emperor, no doubt, did much to de-Tartarise his vast realm, and, from what I can learn, with, if comparatively slow, yet with sure, results. I am told that the most European town in all the Russias is Irkutsk. Some day, doubtless, this city will be a second New York, the capital of an Asiatic United States, a free Siberia from the Ural to the Pacific. This change will probably not be brought about by revolution. The Russian is too law-loving a man to try and free himself by force from the mother country. He will trust to the accidents of diplomacy. Siberia will some day be free. Every Siberian imbibes the notion of freedom with his mother's milk. Though born in Russia, or the child of Russian parents, he repudiates his nationality, calls himself a Siberiak, and is proud of his country. He looks down upon the Russian as the Yankee scorns the Britisher.

We left Perm in the morning of the 16th of September; a strong sou-wester blowing, which, during the afternoon, ended in a deluge of rain. A day later on the road we and all our goods would most likely have been drenched through. From the river we did not see much of the town; the banks were steep, and we only saw that part built in the valleys, which came down to the water's edge. At a distance the lower valley seemed to be full of public buildings, and the upper one of factories.

We had heavy gales and showers all the next day. Only

at intervals could we enjoy a walk on deck. The banks of the Kama are hilly and well wooded, and the trees were then in all the brilliancy of their autumnal tints. I have only seen in America any hue approaching the chromeyellows of the birches, or the fire-red of the poplars. This was thoroughly Siberian, yet we were enduring all the miseries of the worst season of European climate. In the morning rain and wind, in the afternoon wind and rain. Another feature in the landscape showed that we had left Siberia the much greater extent of land under cultivation, and the increased number of villages. What struck me most was the immense amount of traffic on the river; we were continually meeting steamers towing two, three, four, and in one instance ten large barges laden with goods en route for Siberia.

We ought to have reached Kazan at eleven o'clock the next morning, but a driving hurricane of wind and rain, in our teeth, delayed us until three in the afternoon. The town lay some four versts inland, and was connected to the river by a tramway. We bargained with an Isvoschik to drive us direct to the University, a huge pile of buildings surrounding, in a rambling fashion, a large courtyard, possibly intended for a garden, where confusion reigned supreme. Six hundred students from all parts of Russia and Siberia are educated at this University, where, no doubt, the elements of disorder everywhere so rife in the Russian character, are thoroughly inculcated. I had a letter of introduction from an eminent ornithologist in St. Petersburg to Professor Peltzam, whose acquaintance I was most

anxious to make, as he had visited the Petchora the year before Harvie-Brown and I were there. After seeking in vain in various official buildings, we at last found an old woman, who conducted us to the Professor's house in the University grounds. Madame Peltzam came to the door, and the following colloquy took place: "Is the Professor at home?" I asked. "No." "Is it possible to send for him?" "No." "Can Madame inform me where we might find him?" "No idea." "Can Madame tell us when the Professor will be at home?" "Possibly late at night, or early to-morrow morning!" I explained that I had letters of introduction to the Professor, and intended to leave for England early the following morning, and was most anxious to see him. Madame was sorry she "could give us no further information." Nothing more was to be said, yet what was to be done? Fortunately I remembered that I had another letter to a Professor in Kazan, Professor Kovalefsky. The Isvoschik drove us to his house. The Professor was at dinner, but most kindly came at once to see us. I explained my vain attempts to find Dr. Peltzam, and asked if he could arrange for me to see the ornithological museum. He at once offered to conduct me thither in half-an-hour, and promised that Dr. Peltzam should be there to meet me. When I called again, at the expiration of the prescribed time, the Professor was waiting to escort us to the museum, and informed me that Dr. Peltzam was already there. This was the second time that a Russian lady had denied to me all knowledge of the whereabouts of her husband, of whom I was in quest, and on both