a people of slaves, when patriotic sentiments produce profound emotions, they are dreaded: everything that is national, including even music, becomes a means of opposition.

It is so in Russia, where, from the corners of the farthest deserts, the voice of man lifts to heaven vengeful complaints; demanding from God the portion of happiness that is refused him upon earth. Nothing more strikingly reveals the habitual sufferings of the people than the mournfulness of their pleasures. The Russians have consolations, but no enjoyments. I am surprised that no one before me should have warned the government of its imprudence in allowing the people an amusement which betrays their misery and their resignation. He who is powerful enough to oppress men should, for consistency's sake, forbid them to sing.

I am now at the last stage on the road to Nijni. `We have arrived on three wheels, and dragging a prop of wood in the place of the foiu`th.

A great part of the road from Yaroslaf to Nijni is a long garden avenue, traced almost always in a straight line, broader than the great avenue in our Champs-Élysees at Paris, and flanked on either side by two smaller alleys, carpeted with turf and shaded by birch-trees. The road is easy, for they drive nearly always upon the grass, except when crossing marshes by means of elastic bridges, a kind of floating floors, more cmious than safe either for the carriages or the horses. A road on which grows so much grass can be little frequented, and is therefore the more easily kept


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