The kibitka, according to our traveller, is made up of numerous thin strips of wood, six feet long, which are fastened loosely together like a vine trellis, and can be opened out or folded up compactly, as necessity requires. As the strips are slightly curved in the middle, the framework, when expanded, naturally takes the form of a segment of a circle. Four of these frames constitute the skeleton sides of the tent; and on their tops are placed some twenty or thirty rafters, properly curved, with their upper ends inserted in the hoop, three or four feet in diameter, that serves as a roof-tree. The method of pitching a kibitka may be thus described:—As soon as the camel with the felt and framework reaches the chosen site, he is made to kneel down, and a couple of women seize the framework, which they straightway set up on end, and extend in the form of a circle. Next the doorposts are planted, and the whole bound firmly together with a camel’s-hair rope. Then one of the women takes the afore-mentioned wooden hoop, and raising it above her head on a pole, the other proceeds to insert in their proper holes the twenty or thirty rafters, fastening their basis to the lower framework by means of hoops. When a thick fold of felt has been let down over the framework, the kibitka, which measures about fifteen feet in diameter, and eight feet in length, is complete. In appearance it is not unlike a magnified beehive of the old pattern. The Kirghiz nomads are fierce, crafty, often cruel, but they hold the life of a guest sacred. For his property, however, they have no such high consideration, and they are not above the temptation of plundering him of any article that attracts their fancy. Their chief amusements are horse exercises and falconry. They love the chase with a true sportsman’s passion; loving it for itself, rather than for the game it procures, as they can conceive of nothing daintier than a dish of mutton—a dish which they prepare with touching simplicity. For, a sheep having been skinned, they cut it into quarters, which they plunge into a large caldron of water, and boil for a couple of hours. Generally, on a principle of severe economy, they cook the intestines with the meat, not taking the trouble even to separate them. The guests arrange themselves in a circle on carpets of felt; the men, as recognized lords of the creation, occupying the foremost places, the women and children sitting in the rear. The smoking quarters of mutton are removed from the pot; each man draws his knife, slashes off a cantle, eats until satisfied, and passes what is left to his wife and children, who speedily effect a clearance. The dogs come in for the bones. Afterwards, bowls of the liquor in which the meat has been boiled are handed round, and not a Kirghiz but swallows the greasy potion with as much zest as an epicure takes his glass of dry champagne. This broth, koumis (fermented mare’s