Just imagine the luxury of a warm day's journey in such a vehicle, which has neither springs nor backed seats three fiery horses fastened to it, and each pulling, plunging, and pirouetting on his own account; a ferocious yamtschick cracking his whip and shrieking "Shivar! shivar!" faster! faster! the wagon, rattling all over, plunging into ruts, jumping over stones, ripping its way through bogs and mud-banks; your bones shaken nearly out of their sockets; your vertebrae partially dislocated; your mouth filled with dust; your tongue swollen and parched; your eyes blinded with grit; your yamtschick reeling drunk with vodka, and bound to draw to the destined station or some worse place; your confidence in men and horses shaken with your bones; your views of the future circumscribed by every turn of the road oh! it is charming; it is the very climax of human enjoyment.