aloud.

"True!" said a voice in English behind me. I turned, and saw the man
who had noticed me so earnestly in the one horse chaise. He was a tall,
robust man, dressed very plainly, and even shabbily, in a green uniform,
with a narrow tarnished gold lace; and I judged him to be a foreigner,
like myself, though his accent and pronunciation evidently showed that
he was not a native of the country in the language of which he accosted
me.

"It is very true," said he again; "there is nothing like travel!"

"And travel," I rejoined courteously, "in those places where travel
seldom extends. I have only been six days at Petersburg, and till I came
hither, I knew nothing of the variety of human nature or the power
of human genius. But will you allow me to ask the meaning of the very
singular occurrence we have just witnessed?"

"Oh, nothing," rejoined the man, with a broad strong smile, "nothing
but an attempt to make men out of brutes. This custom of shaving is not,
thank Heaven, much wanted now: some years ago it was requisite to have
several stations for barbers and tailors to perform their duties in. Now
this is very seldom necessary; those gentlemen were especially marked
out for the operation. By------" (and here the man swore a hearty
English and somewhat seafaring oath, which a little astonished me in
the streets of Petersburg), "I wish it were as easy to lop off all old
customs! that it were as easy to clip the _beard of the mind_, Sir! Ha!
ha!"

"But the Czar must have found a little difficulty in effecting even this
outward amendment; and to say truth, I see so many beards about still
that I think the reform has been more partial than universal."

"Ah, those are the beards of the common people: the Czar leaves those
for the present. Have you seen the docks yet?"

"No, I am not sufficiently a sailor to take much interest in them."

"Humph! humph! you are a soldier, perhaps?"

"I hope to be so one day or other: I am not yet!"

"Not yet! humph! there are opportunities in plenty for those who wish
it; what is your profession, then, and what do you know best?"

I was certainly not charmed with the honest inquisitiveness of the
stranger. "Sir," said I, "Sir, my profession is to answer no questions;
and what I know best is--to hold my tongue!"

The stranger laughed out. "Well, well, that is what all Englishmen know
best!" said he; "but don't be offended: if you will come home with me I
will give you a glass of