out the numbers attached to their several articles, shoving, crowding, hustling the while, to get near a long table, upon which the luggage is eventually placed. On the other side of this table the officials of the baggage department are leisurely turning over the several packages, and in their turn bawling out the numbers attached to them; for example: "Vingt-cinq," cries an official. "That's mine! Hallo! where are you taking it to? C'est à moi, I say!" By this time the portmanteau is thrown on one side; the man, not understanding the owner's phraseology, has dropped "vingt-cinq," and is coolly examining another article.

Multiply this incident by (I like to be within the mark) fifty, and you may have some idea of the Babel and confusion, the delay, the trouble, and the annoyance consequent upon the above system of distributing passengers' luggage.

With us it is not nearly so bad. The railway porters are numerous and obliging, and will always get your luggage for you as quickly as they can. But if you have much luggage it takes some time and trouble to collect it and to have it packed on your cab, all of which is saved by the American check plan, to say nothing of the security against robbery which it affords.

The line from Garrisons to Staatsburg, whither we were bound, followed the course of the Hudson the whole way. In many places we crossed small bays or indentures of the river, thus actually travelling through the water upon a slightly raised causeway of very narrow dimensions. These bays are very beautiful, wooded down to the water's edge, the trees in many parts hanging over the rocks and forming a natural arch, beneath which, in years gone by, Hawkeye and Chingagook were doubtless frequently concealed when Le Reynard subtil and the bloodthirsty Hurons were on their trail. In little more than an hour we arrived at Staatsburg, where we left the cars.

THE RUSSIAN STEPPE.*

ALTHOUGH SO many books have appeared already about Southern Russia, the wheel of time rolls on so rapidly there, and the enormous changes produced by the aspiration to civilisation are so sudden, that what was true about the country yesterday is incorrect to-day. At present, Europe is looking anxiously towards these regions, for the fifth act of the world's great tragedy will indubitably be performed there, and no one can calculate how long the fourth will still keep the mind in a state of suspense. Hungary, the Danubian Principalities, and the northern provinces of Turkey are struggling for regeneration. Southern Russia, once the first station of the great migration of nations, is yearly increasing in importance, both strategetically and politically, and an entire new state of Südöstliche Steppen und Städte. Von Dr. W. Hamm. Frankfurt: Sauer

länder.

things will be produced there so soon as the emancipation of the serfs is perfected. All these are reasons why attention should be directed to these remote regions.

Dr. Hamm travelled down the Danube from Pesth to Odessa, the sight of which latter city from the sea he declares the most splendid he is acquainted with, and thence made an excursion to the steppe, which will form the subject of our article. On a fine summer evening the traveller quitted the city seated by the side of a Russian friend, and proceeded in a four-horse brougham along a road which ran so close to the sea that the curling waves often washed the wheels. On the next morning they reached the plateau, from whose gentle elevation a magnificent prospect is obtained of the silvery, winding Bug, and beyond it the great arsenal of Nikolayeff, standing on a peninsula washed by the mighty river. After a frightful storm, of whose violence a northerner can form no idea, and being all but drowned by the torrents of rain, our travellers at length reached, late at night, their first halting-place-a "choutor," or countryseat of the gentleman, the inhabitants of which greeted their long-absent master reverentially. The next morning, Hamm, whose sleep had been murdered in spite of his fatigue by countless death's-head moths and impertinent flies, hurried to the front door, and here-But let him describe it in his own words:

What a prospect! The sun's mighty ball had just appeared on the horizon, and the steppe extended, endless and immeasurable, in all directions. It produced the same grand and yet oppressive effect upon me as I felt when I stepped on the deck of a vessel for the first time, and saw around me nothing but sea and air. The few houses were the only thing that reminded me of humanity on the great silent desert, in which the eye lost itself in the distant blue horizon. The brownish verdure which covered the plain was here and there gently rippled by the breeze, and the sparkling dewdrops on the grass resembled the spray of rolling water. In lieu of pointed-winged sea-gulls, predacious birds slowly circled over their hunting-ground, but there was no other living thing far or wide. In vain did the eye seek some object on which it could dwell: the brown plain stretches out monotonously and without a break-there is not a bush, a tree, a rock, smoke from a friendly chimney to reveal the vicinity of man-only steppe, and nothing but steppe. Wondrous are the mighty fissured mountain giants of Switzerland, fearful and oppressive is the dark sea in its might, or the breakers thundering against the cliffs, but equally grand is the effect the steppe produces in its nude vacuity, and by the frightful isolation into which it plunges man, and the feeling does not disappear, nor do you grow used to it, it is daily rearoused, and daily acquires depth. So I felt, at any rate, after living for many weeks in the heart of the steppe.

The whole of South Russia-or, as it is more frequently called, New Russia, as it is the latest acquisition of the great czaric empire-must have once on a time been one huge lake, whose eastern and western shores rose in the Hindukush Mountains and the Carpathians. When this mighty mass of water broke its way out, it left behind a mass of slime formed of decayed organisms, which now forms the celebrated Tchernozom, the inexhaustible black earth which lies upon the nummular limestone at a depth varying from a few inches to fifteen feet. It is this land which supplies the greater portion of Europe with cereals without any artificial help. It is true that moisture is an important factor of this fertility, for the sun soon burns up the young crops if the ground has not been thoroughly saturated by the spring rains. If the latter has been

the case, however, vegetation is developed with almost incredible luxuriance. The whole steppe is covered with a thick carpet of grass, which often grows to man's height; out of which grow flowers, some isolated, others collected and forming what are called steppe gardens. With amazement the foreigner notices flowers growing in the open air which at home pined in greenhouses; with delight he plucks within a narrow compass a bouquet more attractive than any nursery-garden in Northern Europe could offer him. But by the side of the useful and the beautiful are found the repulsive and the noxious. Of such is the burian, a name comprising all the useless growth of the steppe. There are strange mysterious plants among them, such as the "steppe needle," whose sharp seed passes through the skin of cattle into their heart and bowels, so that they perish miserably; the "drunken weed," eating which renders horses mad and lame, though it does no hurt to oxen; and the "cholera burr," which appeared for the first time with that pestilence, and is said to be a specific against it and hydrophobia. Lastly, we have the kurai, or common salt wort, which deserves special mention, as originating a phenomenon of which our author was more than once witness:

When the winds commence to blow more sharply over the plain in autumn the steppe begins partially emigrating. In fact, it appears to the new comer as if the verdure loosed itself voluntarily, rolled itself up, and bounded off before the wind faster than a horse could gallop. At times the mass moves forward in long regular lines, as if kept in order by a higher will, and presently it will break up, and leap onwards with the wildest gyrations, causing you to fancy that cobolds are playing their tricks. Sometimes the rolling masses are checked by some invisible obstacle: weight hangs on weight, hills rise, until at length it loses its gravity, tumbles over, and flies away with redoubled velocity before the breeze. The Russians call this apparition "Perekatipole," or the wanderers of the field, and are glad of it, because it supplies them with useful burning material.

It is often the case that one variety of plant will seize upon large regions of the steppe: thus you will see, far as the eye can reach, flat dark yellow patches, formed of the broad umbels of a species of wolf's milk, which no animal will touch. At specially favoured spots rise real bushes and thickets of burian, formed of prickly thistles and burrs, which almost attain the circumference and height of trees, and stretch out their armed branches picturesquely, like giant candelabra. Graceful flowercovered torch-weeds shoot up among them, like yellow lances; while large foxgloves, grey artemisias, and luxuriant amaranths produce an almost impenetrable virgin forest on a small scale. Such a hiding-place is the summer lair of the she-wolf, to which it cautiously flies, in order to hide its whelps from their numerous foes, at the head of which is their father; here, too, dwells the uncanny scheltopusik, a harmless lizard, whose size and serpentine form often startle the traveller who has heard of the fabulous poison-snakes of the desert. Though the steppe appears so desolate and empty-like an empty beggar's palm, as the poet says-it contains abundance of the most varied life. Long trains of ants cross it in all directions, brilliant butterflies, countless flies and bees buzz and hum over the bushes, while huge spiders form treacherous bridges from stalk to stalk, so that a whole patch is often covered with their network. Locusts and grasshoppers of many varieties hop and fly through the verdure; moles and marmots sun themselves in front of their subterranean abodes; the hares come leaping up, despising danger; bustards start from

their burian nest; while croaking hawks and kites dart along the surface, looking eagerly for their prey. All this and much more Dr. Hamm noticed in his daily walks about the steppe. He spent a month in the desert, at times paying a visit to neighbours, the nearest of whom was one hundred and twenty versts distant, but they also lived in the heart of the steppe. Hunting and shooting filled up the leisure hours after such hard toil, or a survey of the spacious district and its accessories, among which the large herds occupied a prominent place:

It needs but slight imagine to fancy oneself suddenly transferred to the South American pampas, when a tabun of half-wild steppe horses dashes past with thundering hoofs to the watering-place, driven by savage dark-skinned Tartars or gipsies in the picturesque garb of raggedness: in front is the leading stallion, with head high, ears pricked up, and expanded nostrils, as if challenging danger; on his right and left, in a cloud of brownish dust, are the merrily-bounding colts, at times receiving a warning bite from their dam to keep them from straying. The wild eyes, the long undulating manes, which often hang down to the knee, the heavy, tangled tails, which sweep the ground, and the great variety of colours, perfect the impression which was left by a repeated perusal and survey of Catlin's pictures of the droves of prairie mustangs. And remarkable, too, is the similarity of customs which two nations so far from each other employ for one and the same purpose. Just as the Gauchos and Comanches have the lasso, the Tartars and Kirghises have the arkan-a terrible leathern sling, which they throw with infallible certainty, and fetch an indicated horse out of the centre of the tabun. It is grand to see the horses when the arkan whizzes over their heads. With desperate haste they fly from the victim, and rear and kick in order to make space: the air is filled with neighing and snorts of pain, until the tangle is extricated, and the horses fly to all points of the compass. But the cries of the leading stallions soon bring the terrified animals back again to the band, and the danger is speedily forgotten, while it is again close at hand in the shape of the well-mounted keeper. There is no more exciting spectacle than a horse hunt.

The Tartars are worth looking at, too, on such occasions. The different tribes of the Russian steppes-Cossacks, Bashkirs, Juvashes, Mordwines, and gipsies, are all famous riders, and from their earliest youth on horseback, so that they grow up with their steed. The most daring of riders is the Tartar, who is also a bold horse-breaker and excellent judge at the same time there is in his demeanour and features something noble and chivalrous, which is absent in the other races. And yet appearances are deceitful: any one who wishes to experience this need only to try a deal with a Tartar, and especially a horse deal. But, with the arkan in his hand, he displays himself from the most advantageous point of view. The chosen animal, generally a three-year-old colt, which has never yet felt man's hand or power, at first makes the most desperate efforts to escape the noose, but in this way only draws it the tighter, and at length throttles itself so thoroughly that it falls exhausted to the ground. The Tartar, who has leaped from his own horse, creeps up to the colt, drawing in the arkan hand over hand: in a second he has thrown a bridle over its head and thrust a bit in its mouth, and then the noose is removed. On coming to itself, the colt lies for a moment in silent amazement, but all at once it becomes conscious of its position, and springs to its feet, but in vain, for the tamer leaps on its back with equal rapidity. The startled horse may try what it pleases, but will never succeed in regaining its liberty: it is won to civilisation after a few hours' struggling,

and allows the saddle to be placed on its back. The Tartars should also be seen at a race, their greatest amusement, especially when they have induced some stranger-a bold Mujik or self-satisfied colonist-to enter the lists. They play with him like a cat with a mouse, and so perfect are their tricks, that they can calculate to a hair's breadth when it is time to make their effort. In this they never err, and in the steppe races the Tartars are always the winners. These splendid horses, taller than those of the steppe breed proper, have indeed defeated many a thorough-bred who has for years been victor on the turf.

Dr. Hamm also paid a visit to the herds, which grazed by hundreds on the steppe. They are fine animals, of the Podolian breed, which is spread over the whole of South-Eastern Europe, of a whitish grey colour, and with horns turned inwards. Living all the year round on the steppe has freed them of that stupid look characteristic of stall-fed oxen: they peer about them with their sharp eyes, and stamp their feet when they scent any danger, or a strange dog comes near them; but for all their bravery, they are suddenly frightened, and fly lightly over the plain like stags, with their tails high in the air. Unhappily, a terrible pestilence annually decimates these herds. It always comes from the east, but no one knows up to the present day its origin. The superstitious steppe peasant attributes the disease to a mysterious being, the Virgin of the Plague, known as the Morr, who hovers over the country with white wings, and seeks the spots on which she intends to impose sacrifices. In doing so, she behaves in a most irregular fashion, and springs over many leagues in order to appear suddenly in a district where she was not at all expected. The ceremonies which the country-folk perform, frequently under the guidance of their priest, to exorcise the evil spirit, are very remarkable, and but little known. So soon as the disease has broken out, all persons capable of moving proceed to the church, where a solemn mass is performed. After it, all go out to a suitable spot in the neighbourhood of the village: one of the conical Tartar kourgans or some other mound is usually selected. A narrow trench is dug through the centre of it, so that two men may pass through it side by side. At the opposite end an enormous pile of burian is erected. In the mean while all the village herds have been collected and kept together by mounted herdsmen. The old and most respected inhabitants first walk through the trench, holding two staves of different wood. They are compelled to kindle the burian by constantly turning the harder wood round in a hole made in the softer piece: no other mode is permissible, and during the ceremony, indeed, all the village fires are extinguished. The elders hurry through the crackling shrubs, and so soon as the smoke ascends, the cattle are driven in turn through the trench and the fire: they are followed by all the males of the village, while the women and girls are merely spectators. When this exorcism is ended, nothing else is done to stop the plague, and we need scarce say how inefficient the process is.

The most valuable produce of the steppe is the wool, which increases marvellously every year, as the landowners have learned that horsebreeding and cattle are of little value, so long as they have no proper market. To form an idea of the flocks of sheep on the steppe, we may mention that a German colonist on the Molotshna, who began with nothing but his sturdy hands and strong head, has now nearly three