It was not without a feeling of regret that I took my departure from St. Petersburg. Short as my visit to Russia had been, it was full of interest. Not a single day had been idly or unprofitably spent. Indeed, I know of no country that presents so many attractions to the traveler who takes pleasure in novelties of character and peculiarities of manners and customs. The lovers of picturesque scenery will find little to gratify his taste in a mere railroad excursion to Moscow; but with ample time and means at his disposal, a journey to the Ural Mountains, or a voyage down the Volga to the Caspian Sea, would doubtless be replete with interest. For my part, much as I enjoy the natural beauties of a country through which I travel, they never afford me as much pleasure as the study of a peculiar race of people. Mere scenery, however beautiful, becomes monotonous, unless it be associated with something that gives it a varied and striking human interest. The mountains and lakes of Scotland derive their chief attractions from the wild legends of romance and chivalry so inseparably connected with them; and Switzerland would be but a dreary desert of glaciers without its history. In Russia, Nature has been less prodigal in her gifts; and the real interest of the country centres in its public institutions, the religious observances of the people, and the progress of civilization under a despotic system of government. Of these I have endeavored to give you such impressions as may be derived from a sojourn of a few weeks in Moscow and St. Petersburg—necessarily imperfect and superficial, but I trust not altogether destitute of amusing features. On a pleasant morning in August, I called for my “rechnung” at the German gasthaus on the Wasseli-Ostrow. The bill was complicated in proportion to its length. There was an extra charge of fifteen kopeks a day for the room over and above the amount originally specified. That was conscientious cheating, so I made no complaint. Then there was a charge for two candles when I saw but one, and always went to bed by daylight. That was customary cheating, and could not be disputed. Next came an item for beefsteaks, when, to the best of my knowledge and belief, nothing but veal cutlets, which were also duly specified, ever passed my lips in any part of Russia. Upon that I ventured a remonstrance, but gave in on the assurance that it was Russian beefsteak. I was too glad to have any ground for believing that it was not Russian dog. Next came an item for police commissions. All that work I had done myself, and therefore was entitled to demur. It appeared that a man was kept for that purpose, and when he was not employed he expected remuneration for the disappointment. Then there was an item for domestic service, when the only service rendered was to black my boots, for which I had already paid. No matter; it was customary, so I gave in. Then came sundry bottles of wine. I never drink wine. “But,” said the proprietor, “it was on the table.” Not being able to dispute that, I abandoned the question of wine. Various ices were in the bill. I had asked for a lump of ice in a glass of water on several occasions, supposing it to be a common article in a country on the edge of the Arctic circle, but for every lump of ice the charge was ten kopeks. Upon this principle, I suppose they attach an exorbitant value to thawed water during six months of the year, when the Neva is a solid block of ice. I find that ice is an uncommonly costly luxury in Northern Europe, where there is a great deal of it. In Germany it is ranked with fresh water and other deadly poisons; in Russia it costs too much for general use; and in Norway and Sweden, where the snow-capped mountains are always in sight, the people seem to be unacquainted with the use of iced water, or, indeed, any other kind of water as a beverage in summer. They drink brandy and schnapps to keep themselves cool. However, I got through the bill at last, without loss of temper, being satisfied it was very reasonable for St. Petersburg. Having paid for every article real and imaginary; paid each servant individually for looking at me; then paid for domestic services generally; paid the proprietor for speaking his native language, which was German, and the commissioner for wearing a brass band on his cap, and bowing several times as I passed out, the whole matter was amicably concluded, and, with my knapsack on my back, I wended my way down to the steam-boat landing of the Wasseli-Ostrow. As I was about to step on board the Russian steamer bound for Revel—an eager crowd of passengers pressing in on the plankway from all sides—I was forcibly seized by the arm. Supposing it to be an arrest for some unconscious violation of the police regulations, a ghastly vision of Siberia flashed upon my mind as I turned to demand an explanation. But it was not a policeman who arrested me—it was only my friend, Herr Batz, the rope-maker, who, with a flushed face and starting eyes, gazed at me. “Where are you going?” said he. “To Revel,” said I. Almost breathless from his struggle to get at me, he forcibly pulled me aside from the crowd, drew me close up to him, and in a hoarse whisper uttered these remarkable words: “Hempf is up! It took a rise yesterday—Zweimal zwey macht vier, und sechsmal vier macht vier und zwanzig! verstehen sie?” “Gott im Himmel!” said I, “you don’t say so?” “Ya, freilich!” groaned Herr Batz, hoarsely: “Zwey tausent rubles! verstehen sie? Sechs und dreissig, und acht und vierzig.” “Ya! ya!” said I, grasping him cordially by the hand, for I was afraid the steamer would leave—“Adjeu, mein Herr! adjeu!” and I darted away into the crowd. The last I saw of the unfortunate rope-maker, he was standing on the quay, waving his red cotton handkerchief at me. As the lines were cast loose, and the steamer swung out into the river, he put both hands to his mouth, and shouted out something which the confusion of sounds prevented me from hearing distinctly. I was certain, however, that the last word that fell upon my ear was “hempf!”

The Neva at this season of the year presents a most animated and picturesque appearance. A little above the landing-place of the Baltic steamers, a magnificent bridge connects the Wasseli-Ostrow with the main part of the city, embracing the Winter Palace, the Admiralty, and the Nevskoi, generally known as the Bolshaia, or Great Side. Below this bridge, as far as the eye can reach in the direction of the Gulf of Finland, the glittering waters of the Neva are alive with various kinds of shipping—merchant vessels from all parts of the world; fishing smacks from Finland and Riga; lumber vessels from Tornea; wood-boats from the interior; Russian and Prussian steamers; row-boats, skiffs, and fancy colored canoes, with crews and passengers representing many nations of the earth, are in perpetual motion; and while the sight is bewildered by the variety of moving objects, the ears are confounded by the strange medley of languages.

Through this confused web of obstacles, the little steamer in which I had taken passage worked her way cautiously and systematically, catching a rope here and there for a sudden swing to the right or to the left, stopping and backing from time to time, and feeling with her nose for the narrow channels of the river, till she was fairly out of danger, when, with a blast of the whistle and a heavy pressure of steam, she dashed forth into the open waters of the gulf.

As we gradually receded, I turned to take a last look at the mighty Venice of the North. The gold-covered domes of the churches, rising high above the massive ranges of palaces, were glittering brilliantly in the sunlight; the variegated shipping of the Neva was growing dim in the distance; the masses of foliage that crowned the islands were of tropical luxuriance, and the whole city, with its palaces, fortifications, and churches, seemed to rest upon the surface of the waters. It was a sight not soon to be forgotten. I turned toward the dark and stern fortresses of Cronstadt, now breaking in strong outline through the golden haze of the morning, and thought of the grim old Czar who had thus battled with Nature, and planted a mighty city in the wilderness; and thus musing, sighed to think that such a man should have lacked the warmth divine which sheds the only true and enduring lustre upon human greatness.

After the usual detention at Cronstadt for the examination of passports, the steamer once more started on her way, and in a few hours nothing was in sight save the shores of the gulf dim on the horizon, and the sails of distant vessels looming up in the haze.

I now, for the first time, had leisure to look at my fellow-passengers.

A Russian steamer during the pleasure season is a floating Babel. Here, within the limits of a few dozen feet, were the representatives of almost every nation from the Arctic circle to the tropics—Finns and Swedes, Norwegians and Danes, Tartars and Russians, Poles and Germans, Frenchmen and Englishmen, South Americans, and—I was going to say North Americans, of which, however, I was the sole representative.

It was a motley assemblage—a hodge-podge of humanity, a kind of living pot-pourri of dirty faces and dirty shirts, military uniforms, slouched hats, blowses, and big boots. There was a Russian general, who always stood at the cabin door to show himself to the rest of the passengers. I don’t know for the life of me what he was angry about, but his face wore a perpetual frown of indignation, scorn, and contempt; his black brows were constitutionally knit; his eyes seemed to be always trying to overpower and knock somebody under; his lips were firmly compressed, and his mustaches stood out like a dagger on each side, with the handles wrapped in a bundle of dirty hair under his nose. So tight was his uniform around the body and neck that it forced all the blood up into his face, and wouldn’t let it get back again; and it seemed a miracle that the veins in his forehead did not burst and carry away the top of his head, brains and all. Opposite to this great man, in an attitude of profound humility, stood his liveried servant—a very gentlemanly-looking person, with an intellectual baldness covering the entire top of his cranium. This deferential individual wore a coat beautifully variegated before and behind with gold lace; a pair of plush knee-breeches, white stockings, and white kid gloves; and was continually engaged in bowing to the great man, and otherwise anticipating his wants. When the great man looked at a trunk, or a carpet sack, or any thing else in the line of baggage or traveling equipments, the liveried servant bowed very low, looked nervously about him, and then darted off and seized hold of the article in question, gave it a pull or a push, put it down again, looked nervously around him, hurried back and bowed again to his august master, who by that time was generally looking in some other direction with an air of great indifference—as much as to say that he was accustomed to that species of homage, and did not attach any particular value to it. The passengers regarded him with profound awe and admiration, and seemed to be very much afraid he would, upon some trifling provocation, draw his sword and attack them. I was determined, if ever he undertook such a demonstration of authority as that, to resent it with the true spirit of a Californian, and cast about me for some weapon of personal defense, but saw nothing likely to be available in an emergency of that kind except a small bucket of slush, with which, however, it would be practicable to “douse his glim.” This great man, with his attendant, was bound for the sea-baths of Revel, where he would doubtless soon be buffeting the waves like a porpoise—or possibly, in virtue of the commanding powers vested in him by nature and the Czar of Russia, would sit down by the sea-shore like Hardicanute the Dane, and order the waves to retire.

Then there was an old lady and her three daughters who sat on the camp-stools by the step-ladder; the same fat old lady, bedizened with finery, and the same three young ladies, with strong features and dismal dresses, which the traveler encounters all over the Continent of Europe. The old lady was in a state of chronic agony lest the young ladies should be forcibly seized and carried away by some daring youth of the male sex; and the young ladies were conscious that such was the general purpose of mankind, and that they were in imminent danger of being preyed upon in that way, and, consequently, must always hold down their heads and look at the seams in the deck upon the approach of any gallant-looking cavalier with a handsome face and a fine figure, to say nothing of the expressive tenderness of his eyes and the gracefulness of his manner, and many other fascinating features in the young gentleman’s appearance, of which they could not be otherwise than entirely unconscious, since they had not taken the slightest notice of him, and never contemplated encouraging his advances. The old lady was a very discreet and proper old lady, and the young ladies were very discreet and proper young ladies, and they were going to the baths of Revel after their last winter’s campaign in the fashionable circles of St. Petersburg; and any body could see at a glance that they were of a distinguished and fashionable family, because they had a courier and two lapdogs, and carried a coat of arms on their trunks and bandboxes, and were taken with violent headaches soon after leaving Cronstadt, and used smelling-salts.

Next was the man who belongs to no particular nation, speaks every language, and knows every body—a shabby-genteel, middle-aged man, of no ostensible occupation, but always occupied. “Sare,” said he, “I perceive you are an Englishman. I always very glad am to meet with Englishmen. I two years spent in London.” “Indeed!” said I; “you speak English very well, considering you learned it in England!” “Yes, sare—in London—I was in business there.” “Mercantile?” said I. “No, sare; I attended to mi-lor Granby’s ’orses.” “Oh! that indeed!” “Yes, sare;” and so the conversation went on in a manner both entertaining and instructive. In the course of it, I gathered that my shabby-genteel friend was going to Revel to attend a ’orse-race.

Another conspicuous group on the deck soon after attracted my attention—the hungry people. This group consisted of some six or eight persons, male and female, of a very Jewish cast of features, well-dressed and lively, evidently Germans, since they spoke in the German language. Scarcely had the steamer cast loose from the quay when they opened the pile of baskets, boxes, and packages by which they were surrounded, and, taking out sundry loaves of bread, lumps of cheese, sausages, and wine-bottles, began to eat and drink with a voracity perfectly amazing. I was certain I had seen them a thousand times before. Every feature was familiar; and even their constitutional appetite was nothing new to me. I had never seen this group, or their prototype, in any public conveyance, or in any part of the world, without a feeling of envy at the extraordinary vigor of their digestive functions. Here were pale, cadaverous-looking men, and sallow women, who never stopped eating from morning till night, in rough or calm weather, in sunshine or storm; ever hungry, ever thirsty, ever cramming and guzzling with a degree of zest that the sturdiest laborer in the field could never experience; and yet they neither burst nor dropped down dead, nor suffered from sea-sickness. Doubtless they had just breakfasted before they came aboard; but, to make sure of it, they immediately breakfasted again. As soon as they were through that, they lunched; then they dined; after dinner they drank coffee and ate cakes; after coffee and cakes they lunched again; then they ate a hearty supper, and after supper whetted their appetites on tea and cakes; and before bedtime appeased the cravings of hunger with a heavy meal of sausages, brown bread, and cheese, which they washed down with several bottles of wine. I don’t know how many times they got up to eat in the night, but suppose it could not have been more than twice or three times, since they were at it again by daylight in the morning as vigorously as ever. I am inclined to think that some people are physically so organized as to be insensible to the difference between a pound of food and ten pounds, as others are unconscious of the difference between wit and stupidity, sense and nonsense; such, for instance, as the humorous group, who sit by the companion-way, and keep themselves and every body around them in a continued roar of laughter. It is good to be merry; but I must confess it is not within the bounds of my capacity to discover a source of merriment in such pranks of wit as these people enjoy. A young fellow makes a face like an owl—every body roars laughing, the idea is so exquisitely comical. Another pulls his comrades by the hair, and every body shouts with uproarious merriment. One sly chap shoves another off his seat and takes possession of it—a feat so humorous that the whole crowd is convulsed. A bad orange, pitched across the deck, strikes an elderly gentleman on the bald pate—well, I had to laugh at that myself. By-and-by, a stout, florid young gentleman turns pale and groans; three or four officious friends, with twinkling eyes, seize him by the arms, and drag him over to the lee-scuppers, where he manifests still more decided symptoms of sea-sickness. His friends hold him, rub him, chafe him, and pat him on the back; one offers him a meerschaum pipe to smoke; another, a bunch of cigars; a third, a piece of fat meat; while a fourth tempts him with a bottle of some wine, all of which is uncommon fun to every body but the unfortunate victim. Thus the time passes away pleasantly enough, after all, taking into view the variety of incidents and scenes which constantly occupy the attention of a looker-on. I had taken a deck-passage for cheapness, and made out to get through the night by bundling myself up on a pile of baggage, and catching a few cat-naps whenever the noise created by these lively young gentlemen would permit of such a feat.

By seven o’clock in the morning we were steering into the harbor of Revel.