THROUGH WILD EUROPE 105 



they are effecting, and similar matters, until one 

 begins to doubt the evidence of one's senses, to 

 forget the abuses which are so palpably visible 

 everywhere, and to think that this must be at all 

 events an honest man, who is trying to do his duty. 

 But they are all alike. There is really no room in such 

 a system for an honest man ; he simply couldn't exist. 

 The roads are abominable. They certainly make 

 a pretence at leaving a town, but soon become a 

 mere track. The bridges are the rudest structures 

 of rough, wooden planks, extremely rickety and 

 shaky, and almost invariably with holes big enough 

 to lame a horse if he doesn't pick his way carefully. 

 In early spring the country in the plains is com- 

 pletely water-logged and saturated, the mud is 

 terrible, and the frequent puddles nearly deep 

 enough to engulf a horse. The roads are so bad 

 that nobody attempts to keep to them, but it is 

 customary to make your way over the fields on 

 each side, keeping a careful eye on the tracks so 

 as to follow the most lately-used passage over the 

 streams and ditches and bad, boggy places. Through 

 the forests a man on foot would have to wade nearly 

 up to his middle, besides having his clothing nearly 

 torn off his body by the terrible thorns, while on 

 horseback it is only possible to proceed very slowly, 

 and with great exertion to the horse, which sinks 

 into the sticky mud about a foot at each step. 



