On proceeding to the house indicated, I found a venerable old man, with fine, regular features of the Circassian type, coal-black sparkling eyes, and a long grey beard that would have done honour to a patriarch.
To him I explained briefly, in Russian, the object of my visit, and asked whether he knew of any Scotsmen in the district.
"And why do you wish to know ?" he replied, in the same language, fixing me with his keen, sparkling eyes.
"Because I am myself a Scotsman, and hoped to find fellow-countrymen here." Let the reader imagine my astonishment when, in reply to this, he answered, in genuine broad Scotch, "Od, man, I'm a Scotsman tae! My name is John Abercrombie.

Did ye never hear tell o' John Abercrombie, the famous Edinburgh doctor ?" I was fairly puzzled by this extraordinary declaration.

Dr.
Abercrombie's name was familiar to me as that of a medical practitioner and writer on psychology, but I knew that he was long since dead.

When I had recovered a little from my surprise, I ventured to remark to the enigmatical personage before me that, though his tongue was certainly Scotch, his face was as certainly Circassian.
"Weel, weel," he replied, evidently enjoying my look of mystification, "you're no' far wrang.

I'm a Circassian Scotsman!" This extraordinary admission did not diminish my perplexity, so I begged my new acquaintance to be a little more explicit, and he at once complied with my request.