We had one more excitement before we reached home, which was seeing a Russian fire-engine.  We passed it in a run.  The engine was on one sledge, and following it were five other sledges carrying hogsheads of water.

I am glad we came to Russia in winter, for by so doing we have met the Russian people, the most fascinating that any country can boast, with the charm of the French, the courage of the English, the sentiment of the Germans, the sincerity and hospitality of the Americans.  Their courtesy to each other is a never-ending pleasure to me.  Poles and Russians treat their women more nearly the way our American men treat us than any nation we have encountered so far.  They are the most marvellous linguists in the world.  We have met no one in Russia who speaks fewer than three languages, and we have met several who speak twelve.  They are not arrogant even concerning their military strength.  They are quite modest about their learning and their not inconsiderable literary and artistic achievements, and they hold themselves, both nationally and individually, in the plastic state where they are willing to learn from any nation or any master who can teach what they wish to know.  There is a marvellous future for Russia, for their riches and resources are as vast and inestimable as their possessions.  They themselves do not realize how mighty they are.

Here is France grovelling at their feet, spending millions of francs to entertain the Tzar—­France, a nation which must see a prospect of double her money returned before she parts with a sou; with the cathedrals filled with couronnes sent by the French press; with no compliment to Russia too fulsome for French gallantry to invent finding space in the foremost French newspapers; hoping, praying, beseeching the help of Russia, when Germany makes up her mind to gobble France, yet dealing Russian achievement a backhanded slap by hinting what a compliment it is for a cultivated, accomplished, over-cultured race like the French to beg the assistance of a barbarous country like Russia.

I believe that Russia is the only country in the world which feels nationally friendly and individually interested in America.  I used to think France was, and I held Lafayette firmly and proudly in my memory to prove it.  But I was promptly undeceived as to their individual interest, and when I still clung to Lafayette as a proof of the former I was laughed to scorn and told that France as a nation had nothing to do with that; that Lafayette went to America as a soldier of fortune.  He would just as soon have gone to Madagascar or Timbuctoo, but America was accommodating enough to have a war on just in time to serve his ambition.  If that is true, I wish they had not told me.  I would like to come home with a few ideals left—­if they will permit me.

When I was in Berlin I asked our ambassador, Mr. White, what Germany thought of America.  He replied, “Just what Thackeray thought of Tupper.  When some one asked Thackeray what he thought of Tupper, he replied, ‘I don’t think of him at all.’”