CHAPTER II.

RUSSIAN DRIVER-VILLAGE OF DIMIRDJI--TAUSHAN BAZAAR THE SALGHIR-RUSSIAN COUNTRY-HOUSEZAKOUSKA-DINNER-VILLAGE —VISIT TO A SERF'S DWELLING-CONDITION OF SERFS-DRESS OF THE PEASANTS-SUPERSTITION-WANT OF LABOURERS.

WHIP! whip! and off we go, up the steep road which leads from the south coast to Simpheropol; and the driver, knowing the hard task his poor, thin little nags are expected to perform, encourages them something in this manner-" Pull away, my children, pull away; God will help you; now-never fear; on you go, my little pigeons;" and ever and anon cracks his short and shabby whip to give emphasis to his words, insinuating at the same time to what consequences a noncompliance with his request to proceed might lead.

To the right, we look down on an extensive valley, thickly covered with small gardens and fields, and dotted over with immense walnut trees; and beyond it, beneath a ridge of basaltic columns, stands the village of Dimirdji, the cot

tages of which can scarcely be distinguished from the masses of rock which have rolled down from the heights, crushing in their fall many of these habitations. High above all, towers the mountain of the same name, with its rugged and barren summit; and leaving behind us, on our left, the Babugan Mountain, covered from summit to base with wood, we take our upward course across the shoulder of Tchatir Dagh. After a succession of jerks and stoppages, we reach an obelisk, erected to point out the resting-place of the Emperor Alexander in 1824, at a height of 2,800 feet above the level of the sea.

We then wend our way down a steep and difficult road to Taushan Bazaar, a Russian posthouse, in the very heart of the wood; and after following for a few miles, through a narrow and thickly-wooded valley, the course of a small rapid stream which joins the Salghir, a more open country breaks upon the view.

The Salghir, one of the largest of the Crimean rivers, is only worthy of the name of a river in autumn and winter, for in summer it is often so dry, that it is easy to get across without wetting one's feet, by jumping from one stone to another The road to Simpheropol lies along the banks, and frequently even in the bed of the Salghir.

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Sometimes (as there is no bridge), in consequence of the storms of rain or snow, its current becomes so rapid, and its depth so great, that it is impossible to attempt to cross it. Its course, from its source in the mountains to some miles beyond Simpheropol, may be traced by the orchards all along its banks, and the rich verdure of the meadows and fields of tobacco. It is a common thing to shelter these orchards by a screen of tall Lombardy poplars, which, with their spiral tops towering above the wide-spreading fruit trees, make a pleasing variety in the landscape, and compensate, in some measure, for the want of the cypress, which cannot stand the cold of the climate on this side of the mountains.

Tartar villages with their humble mosques, and gentlemen's country houses becoming more and more frequent, betoken our approach to a town.

But if we like to get a peep into one of these establishments, we must turn up this avenue of ash and poplar trees, and visit the proprietor of these little red, green, and yellow houses, which look half-hid among the trees, for all the world like the toys we used to play with in the days of our childhood.

We have stopped, then, at one of them, nearly the whole side of which is one enormous window;

and the hot-house plants which are within, are shaded from the burning rays of the sun by the thick bushy verdure of the splendid Bignonia radicans, with its clusters of bright orangecoloured bells, which reaches to the very roof of the house. In a small ante-room stand a number of attendants, and in the large room with the large window, into which we are ushered, we find the landlord chatting with some friends, and the table prepared for dinner. After the usual salutations, and whilst covers are being added, we are invited to whet our appetites by partaking of what is called the zakouska, which is a sort of déjeuner served immediately before dinner, and usually consisting of cheese, smoked, salted, or pickled fish, caviare, raw onions, radishes, and brandy or liqueur, all of which are laid out on a side table.

This preliminary course being ended, we take our places at the hospitable board, which is only as yet furnished with a plate of soup before each person.

The soup finished, our host rings a small handbell by his side; the attendants enter, change the plates, and disappear, being succeeded by the major-domo, who presents to each of the party the dish next in order, and so on, till the whole dinner

has passed in review. Coffee is then handed round to all, and cigars and chibouks to the gentlemen, after which each one retires to enjoy his siesta. As I have never adopted this indolent habit, I shall go out a little and look about me.

The houses form quite a little village. The largest our host's dwelling-house-has an open gallery in front, which is covered with the beautiful verdure of the virgin vine. Near it, surrounded by rose trees of every shade and hue, are the apartments allotted to his lady visitors. Lower down in the garden, is the one in which we have just dined, below which again is a suite of rooms for the use of the gentleman visitors. These are all separated one from another by flower-beds and gravel-walks; and here also, in a large space of ground, enclosed by lilac bushes, and shaded by accacia trees, are placed, during the summer months, all the exotic plants of the greenhouse, forming a most enjoyable drawingroom for the summer evenings.

A little way off, the steward's house, the coachhouse, stable, dairy, ice-house, and other offices, surround a large court-yard; at the other side of which are again enclosures for the cattle and poultry.

About a quarter of a mile from the mansion