Aspect of the country—Sketch of the peasants—Forebodings of evil—State of the serfs—Anecdotes of proprietors—The French waiting-maid—Shameful treatment of serfs—State of crime—Mutilations and murders—Revenge for a beating—Dreadful vengeance of the serfs—Pleasing anecdote—Wealthy serfs—Recklessness of the nobles—Selling slaves—The cook and his sorrows—Anecdotes—Serf apprentices—The old gourmand—A good bargain and a bad one—The gardener—A boorish audience—The peasants—Superstitions and ignorance—Anecdotes. In the summer-time the country in Russia is very agreeable; the unconstrained hospitality of the proprietors, the manner of living, _sans gêne_, is particularly pleasant. Of course where estates consist of some five hundred square versts, and comprise immense forests and lakes, with a very scanty population, it would be absurd to expect that cultivation and flourishing appearance which we so much prize in England; yet there is a great deal to like and admire, notwithstanding. The plains extending far and wide, unenclosed by hedges; the bright green fields of flax or waving corn in the midst of forests of sombre pine; the broad silvery lake swarming with fish; the numerous eagles careering aloft in the clear blue sky; the peasants in their gaily-coloured costumes, merrily singing their native airs while at their work, or sitting down under the shade of the birch-trees taking their frugal repast; whilst in the background is seen rising from among the woods the white church with its blue dome bespangled with gold stars, its tapering gilt spire and numerous glittering crosses, all rendered doubly brilliant by the rays of an unclouded sun—all this makes a scene peculiarly Russian, but not the less beautiful. When the peasants have finished their repast, they devoutly turn towards the church and make the sign of the cross as they bow in gratitude for their daily bread; they will then throw themselves down in the shade to take their midday nap of two hours during the excessive heat:[7] this is not laziness, for the poor men generally get up at three o’clock in the morning, and do not leave off labour until ten at night; the continual twilight of a Russian summer enabling them to continue thus long at their employment. Towards the evening, if it be the eve of some saint’s day, or great national holiday, we shall see them lively and merry enough, all dressed in clean shirts of the brightest hues, and gay sarafanes, dancing in the space before their houses, singing their native airs to the tinkling of their triangular guitars, as if slavery were but a name and its burthens feathers. Alas! this is the sunny side of their existence. Could we but see the oppression of the land-stewards and the ill-treatment they meet with, we should soon discover how many clouds cast a shadow on their daily course. Men and women in name, and children in their thoughts and ideas, they are now governed like so many infants;