to dilate, in conversation with a stranger, upon
the considerable sum of which I was the bearer;
but I mentioned that business of unusual
importance had prompted my journey, and
mentioned the name of the firm to which I was
accredited.

"You don't say so, my dear sir," exclaimed
the Dutchman; "Druce and Co., of Nevskoi
Prospekt, and the Admiralty Quay! In that
case, permit me to congratulate you in advance,
upon the brilliant reception that awaits you.
The hospitality of that great house is splendid—
sumptuous. Here is Wilna. What on earth
is the matter?"

M. Van Marum might well ask! The train
had just stopped with a jarring jolt, the brakes
were giving out a grating noise, the steam-pipe
had begun to utter its angry roar of impatience,
and thump! thump! went the buffers of the
carriages together, as we came to an abrupt halt.
On our right appeared the town of Wilna, with
its grey roofs, and the domes of the numerous
churches sheathed in polished metal, bronzed
and gilt, or blazing with green and vermilion,
under the watery rays of the setting sun. But
we had stopped just outside the station, whence
came hollow and prolonged noises; the guards
ran up and down as fast as their lengthy serge
coats permitted, and the little bell of the
telegraph gave out its shrill tinkle incessantly.

'" Some accident?" I said, jumping up to
look out of the window. I took a long look,
but could not exactly make out the cause of our
detention. Something was in the way, something
that blocked up the rails, but why it was not
shunted off to make room for our progress, I
could not conjecture.

"It looks like a line of bullock-cars," said I,
resuming my seat.

My companion thrust his head out of the
window, saying, "Not so, my dear Monsieur
Bainbridge. Those are the carriages that
soldiers travel in. The government must be
forwarding troops in haste along the railroad. Something
must have happened in the south."

And so it proved. A strong force of troops
was being sent to the south and west, to repress
some threatened outbreak among the Polish
peasants or Russian serfs, and the authorities
had pressed all the staff and rolling stock of the
line into their service. The rails from Wilna to
St. Petersburg were dotted with waggon-trains
loaded with men, horses, stores, and artillery.
For forty-eight hours there was no hope that
the regular passenger traffic could go on, and
it was compulsory that we should stop at Wilna,
where the guard assured us we should find
accommodation worthy of even such distinguished
personages as ourselves. There was no help for it.

"Come along, Mr. Bainbridge," said my new
friend; " I know Wilna well. There is but one
inn above the rank of tavern, and if we do not
make haste it will be filled up by these Hebrew
brokers, whom you now hear jabbering out
lamentations in our rear. Quick! This way. Those
are your trunks? I'll see to them for you.
Cloak-room, nonsense! Pardon me; you should
never trust effects out of your own custody in
Russia. Here is the drosky of the hotel, which
the proprietor fondly calls his 'omnibus.' Jump
in!"

I congratulated myself, as we jolted along, on
the good fortune which had procured me so
potent an ally as my Dutch friend, for I began
to feel my own helplessness pretty strongly. As
I looked up at the dim lanterns that lighted
the fronts of the shops—shops adorned with
huge gaudy pictures of saints, and the inscriptions
over whose doors were in the Cyrillic
character—unintelligible to me—I began to experience
the sensation of being beyond the pale of
civilisation. The groups lounging about the
brandy-shops were talking in the Russian
language, which has a soft sweet sound, but, at
the same time, one rather melancholy and
monotonous. But the current of my ideas soon
changed when we rattled into the court-yard of
a slovenly hotel, that appeared principally to
consist of stables. Van Marum thundered out
a demand for the " gospodin," and so peremptory
was his voice, and so perfect his fluency in the
difficult Muscovite language, that we soon had
the landlord, a greasy Russian Jew, cap in hand,
before us. A long discussion ensued.

"It is vexatious," said Van Marum. " The
inn is very full; some stupid fair has attracted
brokers and buyers from a distance; and there
remains ' ONLY ONE ROOM.' Come and see it."

Accordingly, preceded by the gospodin,
upstairs we went, and the landlord, producing a
key, unlocked and opened the door of a large
bedroom, decently furnished. The bed was
supplied with sheets, which, although coarse, were
almost white, and the curtains, floor, and heavy
eider quilt, though villanously dirty when judged
by a Prussian standard, were clean for Russia.

"You will be able to sleep here?" asked the
Dutchman, good naturedly.

"But you, monsieur?" returned I; " I ought
not to monopolise all the accommodation the
house affords, and, in fact, your claim is far
better than mine."

Van Marum laughingly answered that he
should do very well. He was, he said, used
to take the rough and smooth of life as he found
them, and he could sleep in the salle, wrapped
in his cloak, as he had done before.

This, however, I opposed, for I felt shocked
at the barefaced selfishness of taking up my
quarters in the only habitable chamber, merely
because the politeness of my fellow-traveller
offered it to me. I flatly refused to take
possession unless my new acquaintance could be
lodged as well as myself.

A compromise was at last suggested. There
was but one bed, but there was a sofa in Number
Eight. On this sofa a sort of impromptu bed
was hastily rigged up for my companion's use,
the luggage was brought up-stairs, and we went
gaily down to supper.

I still found my Dutch friend, whom I was
inclined to like better and better the more I saw
of him, an invaluable Mentor. He unravelled
the mysteries of a Russian bill of fare, conjured