The splendid physique of the men, the strong wholesomeness of the women in my host’s stanitza, won my complete admiration. I have never seen a better average of the human animal. The weak, or sickly, if they existed, remained at home and out of sight. There was, too, a geniality, a cordiality, which little suggested the proverbial brutality of the Cossacks. On the Sunday afternoon the young people of the stanitza congregated together at one corner of the great square and sang folksongs. They have rare voices, the Cossacks, and from across the square the sound of their combined voices was thrilling. The picture they presented was a gay one, for the girls without exception wore dresses and scarfs of brightest colors. My host was as good as his word in taking me to call among his friends. We went into houses in every quarter of the village, drank tea, and, through my interpreter, I told them about that far off place which to them was but a mysterious name--America. The stories of darkest Africa which were told me as a child never fascinated me more nor seemed more wonderful than did the things they heard about America seem to them. In every house I remarked upon the cleanliness of the interior. The floors in the crudest houses were scrubbed and polished, and the assortment of holy pictures near the icon was in some instances quite astounding. They were always pleased when I noticed their icon and holy pictures. I tried never to lose sight of the fact that I was among “Cossacks,” but I must confess that this often required an effort. The kindliness of the men, the hospitality of the women, was constantly giving the lie to the traditions of these heartless people. Whenever I could I asked the men to tell me of their exploits--their soldiering, and of massacres and pogroms that they had taken part in. They would always relate these experiences in a matter-of-fact way, emphasizing that they did what their officers told them to do. Their disputes with their own neighbors--the Circassians, Ingoosh, and other Caucasian tribes--they viewed differently. These half-civilized people who live by brigandage and raiding they deemed it a mere matter of course to kill whenever they got the chance. On the other hand, they regretted that they were sometimes sent to massacre women and children, but, as the riding-master explained to me, it was the will of the Czar. That is one of the terrible things of czardom. In the name of the Czar are perpetrated the foulest deeds ever conceived by the diabolical minds of men. “It is a point of honor with us,” said the riding-master, “to obey. We are given our lands free. We have much freedom and many privileges--and in return we give our services. It is not our business, these massacres and pogroms. It’s the Czar’s. He gives us what we want and we in turn give him what he wants.”