of the atmosphere.  “Clime of the Lotus Eaters be hanged!” he broke out impetuously, making a furious slap at his face; “the poet doesn’t say that the Lotus Eaters were eaten up themselves by such cursed mosquitoes as these, and they’re sufficient evidence that we’re in Kamchatka—­they don’t grow as big as bumblebees in any other country!” I reminded him mildly that according to Walton—­old Isaac—­every misery we missed was a new mercy, and that, consequently, he ought to be thankful for every mosquito that didn’t bite him.  His only reply was that he “wished he had old Isaac there.”  What summary reprisals were to be made upon old Isaac I did not know, but it was evident that Dodd did not approve of his philosophy, or of my attempt at consolation, so I desisted.

Maximof (max-im’-off), the chief of our drivers, labouring under a vague impression that, because everything was so still and quiet, it must be Sunday, rode slowly through the scattered clumps of silver birch which shaded the trail, chanting in a loud, sonorous voice a part of the service of the Greek Church, suspending this devotional exercise, occasionally, to curse his vagrant horses in a style which would have excited the envy and admiration of the most profane trooper of the army in Flanders.

“Oh! let my pray-er be-e-e (Here! you pig!  Keep in the road!) set forth as the in-cense; and let the lifting up of my han-n-n-ds be—­(Get up! you korova!  You old, blind, broken-legged son of the Evil Spirit!  Where you going to!)—­an eve-n-ing sacrifice:  let not my heart be inclined to—­(Lie down again, will you!  Thwack?  Take that, you old sleepy-headed svinya proclatye!)—­any e-vil thing; let me not be occupied with any evil works (Akh!  What a horse!  Bokh s’nim!).  Set a watch before my mouth, and keep the do-o-o-r of my lips—­(Whoa!  You merzavitz!  What did you run into that tree for?  Ecca voron!  Podletz!  Slepoi takoi!  Chart tibi vasmee!)”—­and Maximof lapsed into a strain of such ingenious and metaphorical profanity that my imagination was left to supply the deficiencies of my imperfect comprehension.  He did not seem to be conscious of any inconsistency between the chanted psalm and the profane interjections by which it was accompanied; but, even if he had been fully aware of it, he probably would have regarded the chanting as a fair offset to the profanity, and would have gone on his way with serene indifference, fully assured that if he sang a sacred verse every time he swore, his celestial account must necessarily balance!

The road, or rather trail, from Jerusalem turned away to the westward, and wound around the bases of a range of low bare mountains, through a dense forest of poplar and birch.  Now and then we would come out into little grassy openings, where the ground was covered with blueberries, and every eye would be on the lookout for bears; but all was still and motionless—­even the grasshoppers chirping sleepily and lazily, as if they too were about to yield to the somnolence which seemed to overpower all nature.