It was a very gay scene upon which I looked. Not even on the Thames, our own river, have I seen a greater variety of craft. Steam-boats, and sailing-boats, schooners, cutters, brigs and gondolas,-- paddled along the water, or spread snowy wings to the breeze. I gazed upon them, and upon the formidable batteries, bristling with guns, which defend the "water-gate of St. Petersburg" as Cronstadt has been called, till the shadows of night fell around, and I could without risk of observation, join Whiskerandos in the hold. He was in company with another rat, of rather a foreign appearance. "My friend Dwishtswatshiksky here," said he, "tells me that we shall soon arrive at the capital of Russia." "I am very glad to hear it!" cried I; "I long to be again on shore. If we had any means of landing here, I should not care if I stopped short of St. Petersburg." I had not forgotten the pies. "You would doubtless, little brother, from natural association, like to visit Rat Island," said the stranger with the unpronounceable name. "Rat Island!" exclaimed Whiskerandos and I at the same moment. "That fortified island opposite to Cronstadt, lying across the bay upon which the place stands, and giving to its waters the appearance of a lake, was called Ratusare, or Rat's Island in the days of old." "Not the only Rat's Island in the world," observed Whiskerandos; "we have one off the coast of Devon." "And doubtless it still bears that name," said the Russian rat, with a graceful wave of his whiskers. "But things, alas! were altered here when the warriors of Peter the Great drove the Swedes from this island in 1703. The vanquished left behind them nothing but a great kettle, which in default of other trophy the Russians reared in triumph on a pole; so the name of the place has been changed since that time, and Rat Island is called Kettle Island." "It is fortunate for us, sir rat," said I, (I did not venture to attempt to call him by his name,) "it is fortunate for us that before landing in a strange country, we have met with a friend so intelligent and well-informed as you appear to be." He made me so many polite assurances of the gratification which he felt in making my acquaintance, the pleasure which it would give him to conduct us to the house in which he usually quartered in the city, and the pride which he would feel in showing us everything which he could hope would interest us, that we blunt English rats felt almost abashed at his excessive courtesy. He only followed the manners of his country, where the poorest labourer is quite overwhelming in his politeness.