SPORT IN THE CRIMEA. 



clouds always look as if they would knock your 

 hat off. I should have said the sky will be blue 

 by-and-by, for at present it is too dark to see, and 

 we are carefully tucked away hi bed ; the im- 

 pedimenta of the coming journey cold meats, 

 flasks of shooting powder, and jumping powder ; 

 bread, guns, and a huge string of unsavoury 

 onions all on the floor beside us. Ding, ding, 

 ding ! as if the door-bell were in a fit, then a crash 

 and silence. No one ever rang a door-bell as a 

 Russian droshky-driver rings it. He likes the 

 muscular exertion, he loves the noise, and doesn't 

 in the least mind being sworn at if, as in the 

 present instance, he breaks the bell- wire. A year 

 in Russia has hardened us to all this, so merely 

 speculating as to whether our landlord will pay 

 more for broken bell-wires this half than last, we 

 bundle out of bed and submit meekly to the re- 

 proaches of our friends outside on the cart. They, 

 poor fellows, have had half an hour's less sleep 

 than we have, and it's only 4 A.M. now, so any 

 little hastiness of speech may be forgiven them. 



But on such a morning as this, and on such a 

 conveyance as our droshky, no one could remain 

 sleepy or sulky long. The brisk bright air makes 

 the blood race through your veins, and the terrible 

 bumpings of the droshky on the uneven track, or half- 

 paved streets, keep you fully employed in striving 

 to avoid a spill or a fractured limb. Anything 



B 2 



