238 EN ROUTE FOR DAGHESTAN. 



wounded. Windows are to them works of super- 

 erogation. When they come back to their houses 

 it is only because it is too dark to work or play 

 outside ; and never morning sun wastes his life 

 shedding glory on windows which, with frowsy 

 blinds, shut in sloth as they shut out daylight. It 

 often seemed to me that if these half- civilised people 

 only loved pure water as they love the fresh air, 

 they might live to any length of days. But, alas, 

 they don't. A cold tub never occurs to them, 

 unless it comes accidentally in fording a mountain 

 vstream, or, contrary to their expectations, as a 

 shower-bath from heaven. 



At Kariur, the last station before Elizabetpol, 

 I stayed for a little rest and sport, to break the 

 monotony of our uneasy drive. Kariur is as bad 

 a station as any one could wish to see horses and 

 men living, for the most part, together. But it 

 looked a likely place for game ; and, indeed, its 

 looks did not belie it. Never in the best preserved 

 parks and woodlands of old England have I seen 

 more hares. They rose and scudded away in all 

 directions, at every stride. Sand-grouse were plenti- 

 ful, but extremely difficult to flush ; although when 

 flushed I thought them very pretty shooting, and 

 when shot very fine for the table. The meat is 

 the whitest of any fowl 1 know. Bustards we saw, 

 and wild ducks ; for the country seemed full of 

 tiny purling streams, which should make agri- 



