Every house in Russia has a kind of out-of-door servant, called a Dwornick, who may be considered as the real police of the country, for it is he that guards the establishment from thieves, &c. His duties are of a very varied description; he attends to the state of the yard, sees that the roof is free from snow, brings the water from the river, and is at every one’s call night and day. Their place is no sinecure, poor fellows! and I never could find out when they had time to sleep; for in addition to all that they have to do during the day, they watch over the house at night, and from seven in the evening until the same hour the ensuing morning they are obliged by the law to sit outside of the gate, to keep a look-out for all comers. Theirs must be a very hard life; yet, to do them justice, they seemed gay enough in the long summer evenings; many a time have I heard them tinkling on their balaika, or triangular guitar, and humming the wild airs of their native village, hours after I have retired to rest. In the winter, however, it must be dreadful to be obliged to remain so many hours exposed to the intense cold of a northern climate. In all their sorrows tea and votku (a kind of Russian whisky made from rye) seem alternately to be the consolation of the lower classes. See that house at the corner; the upper part of it is devoted to the goddess Bohea, which is sufficiently indicated by the rude painting of a tea-urn, surrounded by a numerous progeny of white tea-cups on a dark-blue ground, placed over the door. The windows are open, which enables us to see what is passing within. Long-bearded shopkeepers, in their blue caftans, well buttoned-up, istvostchicks or droshsky-drivers, rough peasants from the country, in their loose shirts or sheepskins, and with queerly-cut hair, are all seated in little groups, round small tables placed in lines down the whole length of the room, as many as it will contain. Young boys, in loose shirts, and mostly without shoes or stockings, are running about attending to the wants of the guests, bringing little loaves to one, rusks to another, and tea to all. Teacups do not seem to be the fashion, for most of the guests are drinking out of glasses; some prefer cream, but the majority have a slice of lemon swimming on the top, and “a portion” of sugar in a small saucer, all ready to be used, is near at hand; they do not put it into the glass, but hold it between their teeth, and suck the beverage through it. They seem happy and contented enough as we see them now, but doubtless each could tell of some act of oppression and violence which weighs heavily on his heart, and which will inevitably be avenged some day or other by him or his children’s children! [Illustration: Cossacks of the Don and Black Sea. page 59.]