He had a large vocabulary of their language at the tip of his tongue, and, when he visited them, could dispense fairly well with the services of an interpreter.

He used frequently to visit his particular friend Ospan, the Volostnoi Oopravitel of the Noura district, who was continually begging him to join the aool and become one of them. 'Why do you work so hard?' Ospan would say. 'Buy some fat-tail sheep and come and live with us; my men will look after your animals for you; you will not have to do anything; you will have all the koumiss you want, and plenty of mutton tallow; you will grow fat; what more can a man want?' How he resisted such seductive appeals, I do not know.

Our preparations were on an extensive scale, for in the East appearances count for a great deal. We sent forward large new yurtas, our best rugs, silk hangings, and cushions; and we groomed our horses to the last point. Also we took a small private store of provisions; for at times the menu of the East becomes unendurable to the palate of the West.

On the day appointed, we started on horseback, with a cavalcade of friends, servants, and Russo-Kirghiz interpreters. We were decked out in everything Kirghiz we could muster; our horses were weighted down with heavy silvermounted bridles of native workmanship; those of us who could endure them suffered tortures on Kirghiz saddles. Mine was a Cossack affair, something like a Texas saddle, but with a thick leather cushion strapped across the seat. It is strange how many ways there are of accomplishing the same thing, and how wedded each of us is to his own. I considered these Cossack saddles the most awkward things in the world, whereas the Cossacks regarded my beautiful Whippy with the utmost contempt.

Rucker was in great glory. On his feet were huge felt linings encased in Kirghiz-made leather boots with silver mountings. On his legs were sheepskin trousers, untanned, having the wool inside, and these were tucked into his boots. Above, he wore a khalat, a loose wadded coat of gorgeous silk, with a silver-mounted belt around his waist, from which hung several pouches of fancy leather, heavily silver-mounted. On his head was a pink silk malachai, lined with the fur of the red fox. We were very proud of him, and we hoisted him into the saddle, as his costume deprived him of the natural power of

movement.

'Kusain,' he shouted, "fasten my koumiss skins on my saddle.'

Kusain hung a skin of koumiss holding about two gallons on each side of the saddle; and with this his outfit was complete.

We were a gay party and galloped over the steppes enjoying the bright air of spring. We naturally grouped ourselves round Rucker, and were making merry over the bags of koumiss which were bounding at his side, when, suddenly, there was a loud explosion, and Rucker and all of us were covered with a shower of the powerful-smelling fluid. Koumiss ferments with great violence, and the heat of the sun had distended the skin bottles to the danger point. Probably Rucker's horse was jostled by his neighbor's and the blow was sufficient to start the charge. Every one within fifty feet received his share, but Rucker himself was a sad sight. The evil stuff dripped over his pink malachai and his crimson and green khalat. Stains of various hues spread in channels all over him. Worse than all was the peculiarly pungent perfume which he exhaled. For days he was a burden to himself and to us, but to his particular Kirghiz friends he was a source of great delight.

Several miles from the aool, and long before we could see it, we saw a large party of gayly dressed riders dashing toward us; they had ridden out to meet us and escort us in honor to our

tent.

'Salaam Alaikum! Aman! Aman!'

It all seemed very gay and very simple and natural. They turned and rode with us to the encampment.

When we arrived at the aool, it was the scene of the most animated life conceivable. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, had come in to enjoy the sport, for such a pominka might never occur again during their lifetime. A hundred piebald two-year-old horses had been allotted for slaughter, to feed the multitude, a number hitherto unheard of, and as for the sheep, no one thought of counting them. All day and night the feasting went on; from tent to tent great steaming platters of boiled meat and skins of koumiss were carried. Every one ate and drank for three days to his utmost capacity.

When our arrival was known, the head-men of the aool called at our tent to welcome us. Our samovar was set on the usual round table, about six inches high, and round it we all squatted on rugs on the ground. The tea was dispensed by our servant. It is served in small cups and saucers, boiling hot, of course. As soon as the Kirghiz receives his cup, he immediately pours half of it into his saucer, nibbles off a small piece of sugar which he holds between his teeth, and sups the tea with an appreciative gurgle. As he drinks the tea, he obtains the sensation of sweetness with an extraordinarily small consumption of sugar. As soon as his cup is empty, the attendant replenishes it without asking any question. When he has had enough, he turns his cup, bottom side up, on his saucer.

After tea, the bard began to sing, and the usual compliments were exchanged.

"The Ulkum Bai is a great lord of mighty wealth,' said the head-man; 'we know he has much money, for he spends thousands of roubles every day. He places bread in the mouths of many Kirghiz, and we are grateful to him for it. The name of Peel' (the nearest approach they could ever make to my name) 'will endure like a rock in our memories for ever. But the Bai is as thin as the poorest Kirghiz on the Steppes. If the Bai will look round, he will see that all rich men are fat. We cannot understand why the Bai is not also fat.'

This was the moment for which I had been preparing with some care. It was our custom to converse with the Kirghiz through a Russo-Kirghiz interpreter. We spoke in Russian, and the interpreter was supposed to reproduce our words in Kirghiz. The interpreter was usually a Kirghiz of no especial education or attainments. In my interviews with the native head-men, I had always felt at a disadvantage because, when I wanted to indulge in a discourse on a high plane of thought, I must first put it into Russian and then trust to the mercy of the Russo-Kirghiz interpreter. To my great annoyance, my most elevated and elevating periods were reproduced with a few guttural gurgles and tongue rattles, and of course the whole effect was lost. Before the pominka, I had especially coached my own interpreter, Noorman. "You must try hard to reproduce my words: it is I who am talking, not you; you babble all day for your own pleasure; this time I want you to use my own phrases exactly; it is perhaps a virtue to be brief, but I want to set up my own standard for myself, and, when I proclaim a full yard of magnificent sentiment, I do not want you to cut it down to half an inch.'

This, then, was the crucial moment when Noorman's training was to be

put to the test. I glanced at him with a severe look, and, assuming my most impressive manner, I turned to the headman and replied as follows:

'In our own country, we do not consider wealth merely as a means to satisfy our own desires, but rather as a responsibility for the development of the happiness of those around us.'

We all looked toward Noorman; there was a gurgle in his throat, a slight movement of his lips; then silence. He had finished. It was very depressing.

The chief broke the awkward silence and resumed on the same line of thought. 'We know the Bai is rich, but we do not understand why the Bai works so hard. Why does he not sit down and enjoy his wealth?'

traveling in this direction or in that.'

'Why do you say that you can reach one place by traveling in two directions which are directly contrary to each other?'

'The earth on which we stand is round like the orange which you see on the table,' I replied; 'you arrive on the opposite side of the ball whether you travel this way or that.'

'Why do you say that the earth is round,' the chief asked, 'when we see that it is flat?' And he waved his arm over the plain, which certainly seemed to support his idea.

Why, indeed, had I said it? It is much safer to stick to tallow and koumiss and horses. I gave the conversation a hard wrench, and, with a great

"The wise men of our country consider that wealth is a measure of success rather than an object and an aim in itself. Wealth does not produce happiness. Only the mind that is conscious of work well done can be considered truly happy.'

'B-r-r-r; G-g-g-g; B-r, G-g,' mumbled Noorman, and closed his mouth with a click.

All my training and coaching had been in vain; it was useless to pursue such lines of thought. I think the headman understood it also, for he changed the subject abruptly and said,

'Where do you live?'

'In New York,' I replied.

'I don't know where that is,' he said. 'I have heard of Akmolinsk and Pavlodar, but I have not heard of New York. If you wish to go to New York, in which direction should you travel?'

I confess to a feeling of malice, for I walked to the door of the tent, and, facing north, I stretched out one arm to the east and the other to the west. I waved first one arm, then the other. 'You can go to my country either by

guage, I said, —

'Ak burat bar?' (Have you any thoroughbred horses?) The effect was magical; every one forgot about oranges and round worlds and the duties of wealth; they all began to chatter at once; harmony and peace were restored.

For three days the pominka lasted, a continuous feast, day and night, with sports thrown in. Wrestling is very popular; even the women engage in hard-fought bouts; but especially popular are the sports and games with which horses are concerned. The sheepskin contest always draws a large crowd. The skin of a freshly slaughtered sheep is seized by a mounted rider, who gallops off; hundreds dash after him and try to wrest it from him; the man who succeeds dashes off with it himself, and so it changes hands. It is a rough sport and so is the wrestling on horseback; but every one is so good-natured and good-humored that it is seldom that any one is hurt.

One form of sport (?) they have which is not inspiring; it is, in fact, disgusting. Every aool of consequence has its eating champion, and, on festal

occasions, the champions of different aools are pitted against each other. The two champions sit down facing each other, and platter after platter of boiled meat (always without salt) is put in front of each man, who crams the meat into his mouth with his hands and gulps it down, like a wolf. Bowl after bowl of koumiss and samovar after samovar of tea disappear in like manner. The quantity which these gastronomical giants are able to consume is astonishing. An ordinary accomplishment for one hero at a sitting is:

One entire sheep

Eight gallons of koumiss Two gallons of tea. Wonderful, but horrible!

The pominka usually closes with the most popular event of all, the horserace. It is a cross-country race and starts from a point about twelve or fifteen miles away. Tiny little boys are put up as jockeys, whose little legs are too small to grip the saddle. The crowd gathers near the finish and waits patiently for an hour or two. Little specks appear on the horizon, and a number of horsemen gather to meet them. As they come nearer, the partisans of each horse close in round it and gallop by its side, urging it forward with whip and shouts. They grow more and more excited as they draw near the goal; one rider whips out a

rope and, fastening one end to the saddle of the racing-horse, ties the other to his own and drags him along. Another does the same on the other side, another hooks on to the bridle, and so on, till there may be a dozen fresh horses dragging the tired racehorse along, with terrific yells and shouts. It is a scene of the greatest possible animation; the crowd is immense, all well mounted, racing hither and thither. There is no defined finish, no judge, but there never seems to be any difficulty in deciding which horse is the winner. The honor is much prized both for the horse and the rider. It is indeed wonderful to see how the little fellows of six and eight years of age can endure such a ride. The prize may be of money, of cloth, or anything else. But, whatever it is, it is immediately distributed by the winner amongst his friends. He likes the honor of winning, but the prize itself has no attractions for him. I have never observed this habit on our Western race-courses. The odd thing is that it is all done so naturally, so goodhumoredly, without any definition of rules, or without intervention of stewards or judges or police; they play the game like real sportsmen.

We left in the dust of the finish, but we were careful to see that Rucker had no koumiss bags concealed about his person.