244 THROUGH RUSSIA ON A MUSTANG. 



along the streets ; and on the following morning there 

 appeared on the southern horizon the irregular out- 

 lines of the Yaila Mountains. It was the landmark 

 indicating the end of my ride on horseback. 



Though there is nothing in the shape of a mountain 

 all the way from the frozen limits of the Russian 

 Empire to the north, on the longitudinal line of my 

 journey, my last two days' ride would be over moun- 

 tain roads. The Yaila Mountains fringe the southern 

 shore of the Crimean Peninsula, which in all other 

 parts was as monotonous as any other part of the ride. 

 The mountains were as welcome a sight as land after a 

 long sea voyage ; so welcome, indeed, that a sense of 

 depression, born of the monotony of the steppe, im- 

 mediately gave way to something akin to the enthusi- 

 asm of a new discovery. " Hail ! blessed mountains ! " 

 was the mental greeting called forth by their first 

 revelation ; the truism, that our appreciation of a 

 thing is in direct proportion to its scarcity, applies no 

 less to mountains than to any other object. 



In these mountains, at Yalta, is an Imperial palace, 

 where members of the Imperial family sometimes 

 reside, coming all the way from St. Petersburg to enjoy 

 the luxury of mountain scenery and air. 



They seemed yet more to be appreciated as I drew 

 near them in the evening, and found that they had 

 conjured into existence, rows of stately poplar trees, 

 orchards of luscious fruit, and acres of productive 

 melon gardens by the roadside, where one could halt 

 and obtain from the Tartar melon gardeners the 

 choicest of " karpooses." 



Here it was, too, that I once again experienced, at 



