CHAPTER XII. 



STOPPED BY THE POLICE. 



ON Saturday noon, July 26, just four weeks out from 

 Moscow, we drew rein a moment to inquire of 

 some moujiks the distance to Ekaterinoslav, which we 

 could see ahead of us, spread over the slope leading up 

 from the southern bank of the Dneiper to the steppe 

 beyond. 



A few versts through the sandy, fly-plagued bottom 

 lands of the Dneiper, and we were crossing the river 

 over one of the finest iron bridges in Russia. There 

 was a railway track, and a road for ordinary traffic, 

 above. The broad, though shallow river, far below, 

 presented a scene that was made up of slowly floating 

 rafts and small river steamers, carrying passengers, or 

 towing curious round-roofed barges. Small boats, of 

 the pointed half-moon pattern affected by the Cossacks 

 of the Dneiper, were also moving languidly hither and 

 thither. A small toll was collected from teams and 

 horsemen crossing the bridge. Foot-passengers paid no 

 toll. 



Ekaterinoslav, which from a distance made a favor- 

 able impression on our minds, seemed to mock at our 

 delusion as we sought a closer acquaintance. Russian 

 cities, like the Russian character and nearly all Russian 

 institutions, are seen to the best advantage when not 

 too closely inspected. A city where all the roofs of 



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