The famous Ural range, I must simply confess, did not come up to my expectations. I understand the beauty of glaciers and snow-clad peaks, barren as they may be, and I fully appreciate all the beauty of a vast plain, or the charm of a sand-covered desert; but the medium--what is neither one nor the other, neither handsome nor grand, but what so many admire and call "pretty scenery"--never appeals to me. What interested me more was the economic possibility of this long stretch of slopes. The extent of the treasures of this range is yet unknown, though there are mines which were flourishing in the eighteenth century. Suleta's shafts were sunk in 1757, and are still under the workman's tools. The mines belong largely to the Crown; they are partly worked by societies, and some are private property. The Strogonoffs and Beloselskys have all made their great wealth in these mines. Some of them seem to be inexhaustible. What is more, besides gold, silver, lead, iron, almost every mineral seems to be contained in their depths. We met a great many workmen as we stopped, apparently without any reason, on our way, winding up endless zigzags to the top of the mountain. I am rather astonished that they do not in the least look like miners. They are neither blackened by coal-dust or smoke, nor have they the gloomy expression and sad countenance of those people who are bound to work and live underground, deprived of the rays of the sun for the greater part of their lives. They look much more like farmers--people of bright disposition. I hear the wages are low; but their needs are small, so that they can easily procure all that seems necessary to their happiness. On the top of the mountain there stands a lofty granite obelisk, with a short but significant inscription. There are only two words: on one side "Europe," on the other "Asia." [Illustration: SIBERIAN HOME "Very conservative in their habits" To face page 34] We are in Western Siberia, in the midst of an expanse of steppe. It seems to be boundless, and it has nothing to mark its space. It is like a sea, with all the suggestiveness of the ocean. Our train crawls like a black reptile, like a monster of a fairy tale, breathing its steam and black smoke against the cloudless sky. What a sky it is! Pale blue, cold and without a single cloud. I am afraid I must again contradict the general opinion of travellers about this corner of the earth. I have repeatedly heard travellers tell of the gloom and tediousness of the journey across it. I cannot agree with either remark. Instead of gloom, I rather think repose would be a more appropriate expression to describe its true character; and tediousness is really a question of personal disposition.