The women wore their long hair in innumerable plaits, hanging below their fez caps, and showed their Mohammedan tendencies by partly veiling their faces as we passed. Feminine curiosity made them peep at us from sheltered corners, though they seldom ventured to show themselves completely. We turned into one of these farmyards, and found ourselves in front of a little one-storied house, standing near a mass of blackened ruins. Here we were most kindly received by Madame B---- and a large family party, consisting of an aunt, Mademoiselle M----, a sister-in-law, two young ladies, several children, and three gentlemen. Most of the party talked French, and we were welcomed with charming kindness. Soon after our arrival tea was proposed, which, thanks to the universal samovar, is almost always good in Russia. This time the pleasant meal seemed doubly excellent, for, besides grapes and water melons, there was a great bowl of cream, a luxury we had not seen for a long time. Milk, as well as butter, is almost unattainable in Sevastopol. The evening, though pleasant, was very warm, so we were delighted to see that, instead of being prepared in the little house, the hospitable tea-table was spread in the farmyard, and there we sat, surrounded by cows, chickens, turkeys, and dogs, in quite a patriarchal fashion, and enjoying ourselves greatly, for the charming family with whom we were had the rare art of viewing everything en rose, and while bearing their reverses with dignified simplicity, yet took whatever little pleasure came in their way with hearty and unaffected delight. Milking was going on, and noticing the beauty of the cows, of which there were about twenty, we asked our hostess how much milk they gave a day. She did not know, nor did any one, she said, keep an account, for there is a superstition in the Crimea that should the milk be measured the cows immediately become dry. We were kindly pressed to remain the night, but we wished to return to the children, who had been left on board the yacht. Besides, the house seemed so very small, compared with the party already assembled, that we could scarcely believe in the "possibility" of our being taken in, whatever good-will there might be. We looked around, thinking there must be some other house besides the very little one before us, but no, nothing was to be seen but some Tartar huts, a few cow-hovels, and the blackened ruins. So, with many thanks, we adhered to our original intention, and then the greater part of the party proposed to accompany us to the sea-shore. A large, powerful horse--a fine creature, but of a fiery and impetuous nature--was with some difficulty harnessed to a lofty gig, or "heavenly chariot," into which I was invited to mount. I did so, though, it must be confessed, with some inward trepidation. In another moment our hostess was by my side, and the fiery steed stood on his hind legs, as if he meant to "pose" for ever as a statue for a "horse rampant."