58 THE FOREST LANDS OF NORTHERN RUSSIA. 



No wonder that he looked on thee so intently ! 

 No one can help loving thee. 



The yellow robe, and the ornaments in thy black hair 

 I can liken only to the night. 



In the pink hue of thy snowy face 

 I see the dawn coming forth ; 

 From under thy arched eyebrows 

 There looks forth the roguish eye ! 



One look of the dark, broad-shouldered gipsy, 

 So like the spark of fire setting on fire the forest, 

 Would cause the old man to ruin himself in presents, 

 But in the heart of the young man awakens only love ! 



Yes, you will have lovers enough and to spare, 



Thy life will be both full and free, 



To thy share will fall abundance, 



To the pawky slut comes not the poor mujik (peasant). 



Such is the yemschick, one of the most interesting, if not 

 the only interesting, object of study on such a journey. He 

 may be clad in a sheepskin shoube, or in hodden grey, or, 

 like some village Lothario, in velvet coat, loose red drawers, 

 and shining boots, with one or two, or it may be half a 

 dozen peacock feathers wound round his hat the indica- 

 tion of his being a Government driver. Such are the 

 yemschick, his sentiments and his songs, these being 

 generally of love, and always in a minor key, wound up 

 and closing with a long drawn out fugue, dolorous, plain- 

 tive, rising and swelling and dying away with the cadence 

 of an ^Eolian harp ; and then there follows generally a 

 word or two of endearment addressed to his horses one 

 of them addressed as his golubchik or turtle dove, and 

 another as his doushinka or sweet little soul ; but some- 

 times words of scolding are used, such as I would not 

 willingly repeat, save to tell that during the time of the 

 Crimean war, and for some time thereafter, they had no 

 more spiteful names to call them than Palnaerston and 

 Aberdeen ! 



