THE LAND OF THOR.*

IT may be open to question how far an enlightened public will be benefited by the rough-and-ready pen-and-pencil sketches of a

half educated American coming fresh from California to do the grand tour. From his own stand-point we do not doubt he tells us with tolerable accuracy what he sees, and with no necessity to

arrive at his conclusions we may yet learn something from an houest traveller, even though he, in common perhaps with too many of his countrymen, mistakes rollick for humour, coarseness for fun, and dogmatism for knowledge. These are little draw- backs, no doubt, but we imagine these sketches were originally thrown off for the benefit of some Californian newspaper, and we do not share Mr. Browne's enthusiasm about the state of that

highly favoured country, or think that after careful study and personal observation of every State in Europe, we should come to the conclusion that it was in the present state of the nineteenth century the moat enlightened country in the world. But Mr. Browne may fairly retaliate that we never were there. And possibly there is something in the air which throws a glamour over the eyes. Gold has a glitter ; is it possible he mistakes it for sunlight ? Still, even a man who questions gravely if any nation in Europe possesses a future at all, who denies that Russia can improve beyond a very narrow range, asserts that England has reached her culminating point, and adds, "The States of Germany, what future have they? Alas ! the past and present must answer.

France, where is her future? Another revolution, another emperor, another and another bloody history of demagogues, reaching as far as human eye can penetrate through the dim vistas of all time to come;" and who speaks of Switzerland as a desert of glaciers, but for its historical associations,—even this man may have something to tell us. The half cultivated Cali- fornian could scarcely be expected to enter .much into the subtle- ties of French thought ; and be had, he tells us, his own special grudge against the Germans—there was not in all Germany a spot where he could chew tobacco and spit in peace. Matters were better, however, in the land of Thor, and though the Russians fed him on veal till he " was afraid to look the cows in the face," he seems to have escaped dyspepsia, and, on the whole, to give such of us as have no intention of visiting Russia, and no interest in the higher grades of Russian life and thought, a tolerably sufficient insight into their national habits and manners, and a really good description of their chief cities.

The effect of the size of. St. Petersburg is well'put, its churches and palaces dwindling into insignificance in the space. "A vague sense of loneliness impresses the traveller from a distant land, as if in his pilgrimage through foreign climes, he had at length wandered into the midst of a strange and peculiar civilization : a boundless desert of wild-looking streets, a waste of coloured palaces, of gilded churches, and glistening waters, all perpetually dwindling away before him in the infinity of space." While the strange people, in unfamiliar costume, and speaking an unknown tongue, with "the costly luxury of the palaces, the wild Tartaric glitter of the churches, the tropical luxuriance of the gardens (it was summer), the brilliant equipages of the nobility, the display of military power, the strange and rest- less throng, for ever moving through the haunts of business and of pleasure, and the wonderful commingling of sumptuous elegance and barbarous filth, produced a singular feeling of mingled wonder and isolation." It may interest those who have never realized the extent of the Winter Palace to know that 6,000 people lodge within its walls. Its colossal dimensions and the splendour of which it must once have been the theatre were sufficient to impress even a mind familiar with the hotels of California. Mr. Browne's efforts to reach the United States' Consulate without knowing the way or a word of Russian are sufficiently amusing. After hopelessly trying to make himself understood, he came upon a German name on a bakery sign, which looked, he says, " in that desert of unintelligible Russian like a favourite quotation in a page of metaphysics." But to the traveller Moscow has far more points of interest than St. Petersburg, and Mr. Browne hurries thence, not without informing us that but for American enterprise Russian railways would have gone to pieces long ago. The country traversed between the two cities was not calculated to impress a stranger favourably as to the effects of despotism. As our author, not without justice, observes, much is forgotten or hidden beneath the glitter and magnificence of large cities which comes out plainly enough in village life, only we fear this holds true elsewhere than in Russia.

• The Land of Thor. By J. Buss Browne. London : Sampson Low, SOD, and Marston.

His description of the poor in the villages, in their unfur- nished huts, huddling round the fire-place and sleeping in a mass, but neither starved nor altogether ill clothed, is a picture sad enough, but stranger to the American than to those amongst us who know the point of degradation to which thriftless poverty can attain. It is scarcely so much in their physical as in their mental abasement that the true evil of Russian serfdom is to be seen ; in the absence of progress, and of hope, which lies at the base of all progress. Still, Alexander H. has done much, the serfs of to-day scarcely comprehend how much, and the Emperor seems to have a summary mode of enlightening them. Mr.

Browne tells a good story of the mode in which despots get their orders understood,— These troubles went on from time to time, till eventually a deputation of three hundred serfs made their way to St. Petersburg and solicited an audience of the Emperor. His Majesty, probably in no very amiable mood, called the deputation before him, and demanded what they desired- They answered that they wished an explanation in regard to his order of emancipation, which many of their people did not understand. Some thought they were to bo free in two years, but many thought they were free from the date of the order, with the simple condition that they were to pay sixty rubles to their masters the first year, and thirty the second ; others, again, that they were free without any condition what- ever. All they wanted to know was, were they free or not? If free, why were they forced to labour for other people ; and if not free, was there any prospect that they ever would be ? The Emperor asked, " Can you read ?" Some answered that they could read, others that they could not. "Have you read my order ?" demanded the Emperor of those who could read. "Yes, your Majesty," they replied, " we have read your order, but wo don't understand it." All who could read and had read the order were removed on one side. "Now," said the Emperor, turning to the others, "has this order been read to you ?"—" Yes, your Majesty," they replied, "but we don't understand it."—" Very well," observed the Emperor ; "you seem- to be an intelligent set of men, capable of learning, and we shall' see that the order is made intelligible. We had supposed it was perfectly clear in its terms, but, since you do not or will not comprehend' it, all you who can read must be whipped." The literary portion of the deputation were then taken off by a file of soldiers, treated to a score or two of lashes each, and sent back to the people to explain the manifesto. "And all you," said the Emperor, turning to the unlearned members of the deputation, "must serve three years as soldiers, during which time. we shall see that you are taught to read." They were accordingly taken off, and furnished with a general outfit of uniforms, and are now serv- ing their imperial master in a military capacity.

Moscow, seen first in the light of a Russian summer's day, was a sight not soon to be forgotten, the golden cupolas, the green- roofed houses, amid all, the Kremlin, surrounded by green-capped' towers and frowning embattlements, " while high above all, grand-

and stern, like some old Czar of the North, rises the magnificent tower of Ivan Viliki, enclosing within its walls the palaces of the Emperor, and many other beautiful buildings which crown the eminence which forms the sacred grounds. All the associations which cluster thickly round Moscow, old and new, might be suffi- cient to make any man pause before he despairs of the future of Russia. And yet the beauty and magnificence of the city, with its palaces and boulevards, its wealth, and the brave memories which hang around it, are set with a background black enough.

The devoteeism which distinguishes its people takes the form of the lowest superstition, while anything like mental culture strug- gles feebly, ahnoet ineffectually, up towards the light, from the

midst of the dense ignorance and profligacy of the city. It is a. strange place. Here is a gang of prisoners setting out for the dreariest exile the imagination ever pictured ; there, the Peterskoi

Gardens, in their luxurious splendour. Oriental beauty, and Oriental idleness, under the cold iron hand of the North.

Our author expresses his sense of the comic far better with his pencil than his pen, and we cannot quit Moscow with him without. calling attention to a picture of himself in the market-place, utterly ignorant of the language, pestered by every form of costermonger,. urging upon him dogs, pigs, skillets, and tongs.

We have not thought it worth while to comment upon Mr.

Browne's reflections on Russian civilization, and the effects of climate, the chances of reform, and the prospects of the future. We have already said that he regards California as in the highest., state of enlightenment yet attained on earth, and we think argu- ments built on that basis rather beyond our grasp. Once out of Russia, however, where possibly the climate told upon him, Mr. Browne's style becomes more descriptive and less dogmatic. We get a very good idea of Stockholm and of the Swedes generally. Our author liked the people cordially, but Stock- holm depressed him, the silent city, innocent of the busi- ness and the bustle, the hurry and excitement, which is life to the American, seemed to him to be "sitting down in its Northern solitude, waiting, like Mr. Micawber, for something to turn up." His melancholy grew upon him ; had he been an antiquarian or a naturalist, he remarks, he might have found interests enough ; but to our for whom the libraries and museums possessed only an external interest, the prospect was sufficiently dismal. However, the season was advancing, and he soon pushed on towards Norway.

But if Stockholm was quiet, Christiania was yet more so. By no means indifferent to the beauty that surrounded or to the objects of interest within the city, quite sufficiently good-mannered to appreciate the kindliness of the people, the restless Californian was yet ill at ease, and the oppressive sense that it might be really diffi- cult to get from one place to another doubtless weighed upon him. A highway between the two most important seaports in the country

Christiania and Trondhjen, was without so much as a stage, in- deed, the best conveyance he could getbetween Christiania andLille- hammer was a "little vehicle with a body like the end of a canoe, perched upon two long shafts, with a pair of wheels in the rear, no springs ,and only a few straps of leather for a harness; a board behind for a skydskaarl or post-boy, or, as it might happen, post-girl, to sit upon ; and a horse not bigger than a large mountain goat." But-the peasantry and farmers everywhere were kindly, hospitable, and simple-hearted, knowing little indeed of the outside world ; yet dim rumours of the gold country had reached them, and our traveller was none the less- welcome that he could speak of the wonders of California, though they had some difficulty evidently in believing that an artist with a rough and rusty coat had left a State where gold was to be had for the asking, simply to make sketches in Europe. Little worthy of- notice occurs at this point of his journeT, but before bringing his travels to a conclusion, Mr. Brown visited Iceland, prompted thereto not so much by any hope of learning or telling aught that was new, or that he could not know quite as thoroughly by the perusal of a few pages written by some other traveller, but by a desire to make accurate sketches of the mountains, rivers, lava fields, geysers, people, and costumes. This he has done, and, were his-writing half as good as his sketches, his book- would be a valuable contribution to literature. At Copenhagen, on his war to Iceland, he became acquainted with Hans Christian. Andersen. "In the second story of a dingy and dilapidated house, fronting one of the unsavoury canals, a confused pile of dirty, shambling old tenements in the rear, and a curious medley of fish• and fishermen, sloops and schooners, mud scows and skiffs, in front, lives. the world-renowned author, Hans Christian Anderseir." He gives a pleasant description of the Danish improvisatore, who received him most kindly, and appeared to him to be one of the brightest, happiest, simplest, and most genial of human beings. Of course, once in Iceland, the Geysers were the great source of interest. The Little Geyser was a decided disappointment to our traveller, whose imagination had been fed on an American scale ; but the Great Geyser was very-accom- modating ; it might:or it might not have an eruption ; it was quite uncertain, the people said ; so at a safe distance he lay down to sleep, when just at midnight he was awakened by a dream of guns, and, starting to his feet, listened, and looked out. The Geyser was in full eruption,—" a tremendous volume of water, standing in bold relief- against the sky, like a tall weeping willow in winter, swaying before the wind and shaking the- white frost from its branch-es."

We have little doubt Mr. Brown's letters, for such we imagine these chapters originally to have been, satisfied the audience to whom they were addressed, as they will possibly satisfy a class of readers here, not a cultivated one, certainly. But men who like to know something of places of which they are profoundly ignorant, without caring much about the quality of their information, who prefer it flavoured with broad jokes and in a slightly depreciatory style, illustrated with really good sketches, will not grumble at these pages.