154 THROUGH RUSSIA ON A MUSTANG. 



ful improvement of the streets, which in all cities, save 

 St. Petersburg, are simply abominable. 



We bought a Kharkoff morning paper of the date of 

 our arrival in that city. It contained this delightfully 

 accurate piece of news : 



Mr. Thomas Sveepos, an American gentleman who is riding on 

 horseback from Moscow to the Black Sea, will leave Kursk this 

 morning, en route to Kharkoff. He is accompanied by a Moscow 

 student, A. Krega (Sascha's name was Kritsch). After complet- 

 ing this novel undertaking, Mr. Sveepos intends riding around the 

 world on a bicycle (!). 



On the way out of Kharkoff we were honored for 

 the space of a couple of hundred yards with the com- 

 pany of a gentleman with an exceedingly rusty coat, 

 an exceedingly husky voice, and an exceedingly purple 

 nose. His nationality was as uncertain as his gait, 

 though we judged him to be a Russian of French or 

 Italian descent. Seeing us pass by, he issued from a 

 vodka-shop, and hailing us as " Franzositch corre- 

 spondenta " offered, for the price of a drink of vodka, to 

 sing us a song from Lermantoff. This tempting offer 

 was not to be resisted, and so we immediately took him 

 up, stipulating that he should sing it while keeping 

 pace with us. Receiving his reward, he doffed his hat 

 and, bidding us bon voyage, returned to wet his whistle 

 in our honor, never doubting that we were " Franzo- 

 sitch correspondenta." 



That night we stumbled upon the only genuine ex- 

 pression of hospitality, beside our hospitable reception 

 at the country mansion of Count Tolstoi, that revealed 

 itself to us on the journey, until I, after Sascha's re- 

 turn, got among the Crimean Tartars. 



