music floated upon the air, and over all a soft twilight gave a mystic fascination to the scene. I thought of the terrible arctic winters that for six months in the year cast their cold death-pall over the scene of glowing and tropical luxuriance, and wondered how it could ever come to life again; how the shrubs could bloom, and the birds sing, and the soft air of the summer nights come back and linger where such dreary horrors were wont to desolate the earth.

The constant dread of infringing upon the police regulations; the extraordinary deference with which men in uniform are regarded; the circumspect behavior at public places; the nice and well-regulated mirthfulness, never overstepping the strict bounds of prudence, which I had so often noticed in the northern states of Germany, and which may in part be attributed to the naturally conservative and orderly character of the people, are not the prominent features of the population of St. Petersburg. It appeared to me that in this respect at least they are more like Americans than any people I had seen in Europe; they do pretty much as they please; follow such trades and occupations as they like best; become noisy and uproarious when it suits them; get drunk occasionally; fight now and then; lie about on the grass and under the trees when they feel tired; enjoy themselves to their heart's content at all the public places; and care nothing about the police as long as the police let them alone. I rather fancied there must be a natural democratic streak in these people, for they are certainly more free and easy in their manners, rougher in their dress, more independent in their general air, and a good deal dirtier than most of the people I had met with in the course of my travels. I do not mean to say that rowdyism and democracy are synonymous, but I consider it a good sign of innate manliness and a natural spirit of independence when men are not afraid to dress like vagabonds and behave a little extravagantly, if it suits their taste. It must be said, however, that the police

scenes I had witnessed during my rambles through the city and on the way down the river, and partly by what we now saw on the island of Krestofskoi. A bridge unites this island with the Petrofskoi, and two other bridges with the islands of Kamennoi and Elaghinskoi. It was eleven o'clock at night, yet the twilight was so rich and glowing that one might readily read a newspaper in any of the open spaces. The main avenues were crowded with carriages of every conceivable description -the grandly decorated coach of the noble, glittering with armorial bearings and drawn by four richly-caparisoned horses; the barouche, easy and elegant, filled with a gay company of foreigners; the drosky, whirling along at a rapid pace, with its solitary occupant; the kareta, plain, neat, and substantial, carrying on its ample seats some worthy merchant and his family; the nondescript little vehicle, without top, bottom, or sides-nothing but four small wheels and a cushioned seat perched on springs, with an exquisite perched astride upon the street, driving a magnificent blood horse at the rate of 2.40; and English boxes with stiff Englishmen in them; and French chaises with loose Frenchmen in them; and a New York buggy with a New York fancy man in it; and hundreds of fine horses with dashing Russian officers in uniform mounted on them, and hundreds of other horses with secretaries and various young sprigs of nobility struggling painfully to stay mounted on them; and, in short, every thing grand, fanciful, and entertaining in the way of locomotion that the most fertile imagination can conceive. Don't do me the injustice, I pray you, to consider me envious of the good fortune of others in being able to ride when I had to walk, for it does me an amazing deal of good to see people enjoy themselves. Nothing pleases me better than to see a fat old lady, glittering all over with fine silks and jewels, leaning back in her cushioned carriage, with her beloved little lapdog in her arms -two elegant drivers, four prancing horses, and a splendid little postillion in front; two stalwart footmen, in plush

breeches, behind, with variegated yellow backs like a pair of wasps. Can any thing be more picturesque? It always makes me think of a large June-bug dragged about by an accommodating crowd of fancy-colored flies! And what can be more imposing than a Russian grandee? See that terrific old gentleman, sitting all alone in a gorgeous carriage, large enough to carry himself and half. a dozen of his friends. Orders and disorders cover him from head to foot. He is the exact picture of a ferocious bullfrog, with a tremendous mustache and a horribly malignant expression of eye, and naturally enough expects every body to get out of his way. That man must have had greatness thrust upon him, for he never could have achieved it by the brilliancy of his intellect. Doubtless he spends much of his time at the springs, but they don't seem to have purified his body, or subdued the natural ferocity of his temper. His wife must have a pleasant time. I wonder if he sleeps well, or enjoys Herzain's essays on Russian aristocracy? But make way, ye pedestrian rabble, for here comes a secretary of legation on horseback-make way, or he will tumble off and inflict some bodily injury upon you with the points of his 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 cling

ing 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.

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 sylvant enjoyment are revealed to us at every turn! Rustic tables under the great wide-spreading trees are surrounded by family groups-old patriarchs, and their children, and great-grandchildren; the steaming urn of tea in the middle; the old people chatting and gossiping; the young people laughing merrily; the children tumbling about over the green sward. Passing on we come to a group of Mujiks lying camp-fashion on the grass, eating their black bread, drinking their vodka, and sleeping whenever they please for this is their summer home, and this grass is their bed. Next we come to a group