valley on our left and suggesting, in color and topographical environment, the water of the Niagara below the falls. Just beyond the sixteen-verst post we abandoned the road, and turning sharply to the left descended to the bank of the river. Captain Maiéfski had sent forward to the picnic ground early that morning two Kírghis tents, a quantity of rugs and pillows, and his whole house-keeping outfit; and when we arrived a most luxurious camp was in complete readiness. The two tents—one of them white trimmed with scarlet and the other a deep Pompeiian red—had been pitched in a beautiful grassy nook beside the river; soft Bokharan rugs from a Kírghis kibítka had been lavishly used to line and carpet them; a polished sámovár was steaming and singing on the grass in the shade of a drooping birch, and columns of smoke and sparks were rising from two or three cheerful camp-fires. In less than ten minutes after our arrival the whole party was scattered up and down the bank of the river, every one engaged in the occupation that was to him most congenial. Captain Maiéfski and Mr. Frost, armed with long-handled nets, were rushing hither and thither in pursuit of brilliantly colored but erratic butterflies; the Cossack atamán was casting a hook and line into the river and landing every now and then a silvery fish; Mrs. Maiéfski was superintending the preparations for dinner, while Mr. Zavalíshin and I, having neither duty nor speciality, strolled aimlessly about the neighborhood, picking flowers, watching the Kírghis, and enjoying the picturesque effect of the dark-red tent against the background of green trees, the blue curling smoke of the camp-fires and the pale malachite coloring of the glacier-tinted stream.
After an excellently cooked and well-served dinner of soup, freshly caught fish, roast lamb, boiled mutton, cold chicken, pilau of rice with raisins, strawberries and confectionery, we spent a long and delightful afternoon in botanizing, fishing, rifle-shooting, catching butterflies, telling
