The Monticellonian., 1915-05-20

IN HIS travels through Asiatic
 Russia, the land of Cossack and
 Kirghiz, Stephen Graham found
 much of interest, and in Country
 Life he thus tells some of his ex- periences:
 l issued forth from Kopal on broad moorland road, and after several hours upland tramping came to the Cossack village of Arazan-a typical willow-shaded settlement with irriga- tion streamlets rushing along the channels between the roadway and the cottages. In the pleasant coolness of five o'clock sunshine I passed out at the other end of the only street of the village and climbed up into the hills beyond. l turned a neck in the noun tains, descended by little green gorges into strange valleys and climbed out of them to high ridges and cold, wind- swept heights All about me grew desolate and rugged. It was touching to look back at the little collection of homes had left-the compact little island of trees In the ocean of moor land below me and behind me-and to look forward to the pass where all seemed dreadful and forbidding in front of me. In such a view l spread my bed and slept.
 Next morning, with great difficulty l collected roots and withered grass enough to boil pot and make my morning tea. While sitting there, the large raindrops came, and they made deep black spots in tie dust of the road, the lightning flashed across my knife, the thun.er rolled powders about the mountains and 1 sped to a cave to avoid a drenching shower.
 In a Celebrated District.
 was in a somewhat celebrated dis trict The Pass and Gorge of Abakum are among the sights of Seven Rivers land and are visited by Russian holi- day-makers and picnickers All the rocks are scrawled with the names of bygone visitors. and by that fact alone you know the place has a name and is accounted beautiful When the rain ceased and l ventured out of the cave again saw a Russian at work writing his name. He had stick dipped in the pitch with which the axles of his cart were oiled and the wheels of the cart were nearly off for him to get it. For the first time I saw how these intensely black scrawls were written on the rocks.
 It was a pleasant noontide along the narrow road between crumbling indigo rocks and heaped debris The stony slopes were rain-washed. the air fresh, and all along the way were dwarf rose bushes, very thorny but covered with scores of bright yellow blossoms on little red stems The jagged highway climbed again high up-to the sky, and gave me vision of a new land, the vast dead plain of Northern Semiretchie and of South ern Siberia. Northv ard to the horizon lay deserts, salt marshes and vast lakes with uninhabitea shores, with cred moors and wilted lowlands.
 From that height, which was evil dently the famous pass. descended into the pretty gorge of Abakum. The road was steep and marrow. the cliffs on each side sheer. A little foamin , stream runs down from the cliffs, over rubbish heaps of rocks, and accom- panies the highways in an artificially devised channel A strange gateway Las been formed iD thin partition of rock, and through this runs the stream below and the telegraph wire overhead-there is a footway, but carts are obliged to make a detour. At this gateway I saw the first inti- nation of Siberia and a reflection of the American spirit Commercial tray elers had scrawled: BUY PROVOD- NIX GALOSHES AT OMSk and BUY INDIAN TEA AND GET RICH.
 On the Road to Sarkand.
 It is a green and joyous road from Abakum eastward to Sarkand, keep ing to the mountain slopes and not faring forth upon the scorched plain that lies away northward. did not repent that the crossroads tempted me to go eastward, hugging the noun tains. Long green grass waved on