Next day we took the steamer to Coblenz, stopped there an hour for breakfast, and came back the same way to Frankfort, where we arrived in the evening.  I undertook this expedition with the intention of visiting old Metternich, who had invited me to do so at Johannisberg; but I was so much pleased with the Rhine that I preferred to make my way over to Coblenz and to postpone the visit.  When you and I saw it we had just returned from the Alps, and the weather was bad; on this fresh summer morning, however, and after the dusty monotony of Frankfort, the Rhine has risen very considerably in my estimation.  I promise myself complete enjoyment in spending a couple of days with you at Ruedesheim; the place is so quiet and rural, honest people and cheap living.  We will hire a small boat and row at our leisure downwards, climb up the Niederwald and a castle or two, and return with the steamer.  One can leave this place early in the morning, stay eight hours at Ruedesheim, Bingen, or Rheinstein, etc., and be back again in the evening.  My appointment here appears now to be certain.

Moscow, June 6th, 1859.

I will send you at least a sign of life from here, while I am waiting for the samovar; and a young Russian in a red shirt is exerting himself behind me with vain attempts to light a fire—­he puffs and blows, but it will not burn.  After having complained so much about the scorching heat lately, I woke to-day between Twer and here, and thought I was dreaming when I saw the country and its fresh verdure covered far and wide with snow.  I shall wonder at nothing again, and having convinced myself of the fact beyond all doubt, I turned quickly on the other side to sleep and roll on farther, although the play of colors—­from green to white—­in the red dawn of day was not without its charm.  I do not know if the snow still lies at Twer; here it has thawed away, and a cool gray rain is rattling on the green tin of the roofs.  Green has every reason to be the Russian favorite color.  Of the five hundred miles I have passed in traveling here, I have slept away about two hundred, but each hand-breadth of the remainder was green in every shade.  Towns and villages, and more particularly houses, with the exception of the railway stations, I did not observe.  Bushy forests with birch-trees cover swamp and hill, a fine growth of grass beneath, long tracts of meadow-land between; so it goes on for fifty, one hundred, two hundred miles.  Ploughed land I do not remember to have remarked, nor heather, nor sand.  Solitary grazing cows or horses awoke one at times to the presumption that there might be human beings in the neighborhood.  Moscow, seen from above, looks like a field of young wheat:  the soldiers are green, the cupolas green, and I do not doubt that the eggs on the table before me were laid by green hens.