We are nicely located. From our windows we see the towers of the Kremlin, which rise above the nearest roofs. Let him who will endure remaining behind double windows! After washing and having some tea we are at the door again, and quickly make a bargain with the "izwozchik" who is to drive us over the outlined tour of the city. Horse and sleigh are a bit smaller than in St. Petersburg, but still very good. And so we are out in the sunshine, off into the snowy landscape, to gain a hurried general conception of the endless city. For two hours our good little horse draws us, gliding over bridges and pikes, up and down hill, and when we return half frozen to the hotel we have seen scarce a fraction of the periphery, but a thousand teams, with shaggy muzhiks in wicker sleighs, and, still more, little country-houses of wood, which might serve in the West for summer cottages, but which offer an inviting shelter even here in the icy winter. The whole of Moscow is a complex of official municipal buildings which are crowded together into the narrowest space, of churches and palaces narrowly crowded about the Kremlin, and of immense suburbs which lie in rings about the inner town. But these suburbs have a half-country character--broad, uneven streets and low, villa-like houses, with little gardens. Little Mother Moscow gives her children room. They do not have to crowd together in usuriously paying tenements, and houses of more than one story are quite the exception. Even in the shadow of the Kremlin a parterre for the stores and a single story above it are sufficient. Really, only the hotels stretch with three or four stories heavenward. The impression is ever recurring that Moscow has no desire to be a city, and only quite unwillingly yields to the necessity of a crowded existence. The Kremlin, which we did not lose sight of once on our whole trip, entices us strongly. It lies before us; so let us enter.