be allowed to see the civilization of these romantic parts of the earth, or whether the stern passport regulations of the Governor General of Turkestan would shut the gates against so peaceful an invader.
In the second class of the Siberian express, which runs twice a week from Moscow to the Far East and has every conceivable comfort on board, including a restaurant and a library, the traveller can always find interesting company, if he is that way inclined. Russian officers returning to their regiments in Eastern Siberia are frequently met with. These gentlemen are generally very proud of themselves, nor do they let that pride suffer from lack of advertisement; but they are always most polite and courteous, like all Russians, and if you treat them like ordinary individuals they will show that under their uniform is a humanity which differs very little from your own. They are sure to tell you all about themselves, and their bravery and their personal contributions to the glory of Russian arms. But they are particularly fond of getting together in the corner of the library on the train in little coteries to enjoy a glass of cognac and a cigar. The place is soon filled with clouds of tobacco smoke and a perfect babel of voices is heard. Language pours forth in such torrents that not only does one fail to understand one word, but one marvels how any human being can manufacture at such a rate even reasonably grammatical sentences. Under such circumstances the Slav is a most communicative creature and bears strong resemblance to other races of the Continent, more particularly to those of Southern Europe. A stolid Englishman, unless he is accustomed to such social gatherings, is out of it.
