at mingling thus intimately, as it were, with those hitherto to me historical characters, on whose faith depend the destinies of Europe. My next neighbour, a man of high rank--general, or what not--might have been a Czernicheff, Wittgenstein, or some other celebrated man; he wore a Russian uniform, and was covered with decorations. As he spoke French fluently (what Russian does not?), and seemed an honest-hearted man, free from vanity, we soon got into conversation, spite of my shabby old pelisse. Never was I more astonished than when, in answer to my question who the smart-looking lancers were who kept the ground, he replied “Cossacks.” A very fine set of tall, handsome, genteel-looking young men, faces exhibiting a delicate pink and white complexion fit for a lady, quite undefiled by beard or mustache; dressed in scarlet jackets without any lace, fitting like stays; large blue-green overalls, with a broad red stripe, and, as usual, the waist drawn into the capacity of a decent grasp; their arms a sabre, brace of pistols stuck in their waist-belt, and a long red-shafted lance without the pennon; small rough horses--not of a piece with the delicate man and the quality of his equipment. The cuirassiers wore black-varnished cuirasses; and one regiment was entirely mounted on beautiful isabels, or cream-coloured horses. But the horse-artillery, as _en régle_, attracted my most particular attention. These, as far as men and horses went, appeared most efficient: the men stout, of active make, and not too tall; their dress smart, though exceedingly plain--dark-green; their equipment, arms, and horse appointments all of the same description--plain, substantially good, and sufficiently neat, without anything superfluous. The gunners’ horses were stoutly-made serviceable animals; but the draught-horses (which seemed an anomaly, though they know best) were much smaller--and such little wild-looking beauties as one would be proud to show off in Hyde Park, or down Bond Street. The worst part of the whole were the guns and carriages--the former of very light calibre, and polished like brass candlesticks (not above 3-pounders, I should think); the latter very low, light, and painted bright green, looking more like toys than service articles. To these the horses were harnessed three abreast; the outer one on the off side, more for show than use, prancing along with the neck bent outward in the true classical position, to which it was confined by a side rein. The effect of this, as far as appearance goes, is certainly good. My friend the general, pointing out these pretty horses with an air of triumph that led me to suspect him of being in the corps, assured me that they had been almost incessantly on the march ever since the retreat of the French from Moscow. They were with the pursuing force, took their share of the campaign in Saxony 1813, advanced to Paris in ’14. When the Russians retired,