If you should happen to have anything eatable or drinkable in your travelling basket, you need not hesitate to take it out at once, for the waiter will not feel at all aggrieved or astonished at your doing nothing "for the good of the house." The twenty or twenty-five kopeks that you pay for the samovar--teapot, tumbler, saucer, spoon, and slop-basin being included under the generic term pribor--frees you from all corkage and similar dues.
These and other remnants of old customs are now rapidly disappearing, and will, doubtless, in a very few years be things of the past--things to be picked up in out-of-the-way corners, and chronicled by social archaeology; but they are still to be found in towns not unknown to Western Europe.
Many of these old customs, and especially the old method of travelling, may be studied in their pristine purity throughout a great part of the country.

Though railway construction has been pushed forward with great energy during the last forty years, there are still vast regions where the ancient solitudes have never been disturbed by the shrill whistle of the locomotive, and roads have remained in their primitive condition.
Even in the central provinces one may still travel hundreds of miles without ever encountering anything that recalls the name of Macadam.
If popular rumour is to be trusted, there is somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland, by the side of a turnpike, a large stone bearing the following doggerel inscription: "If you had seen this road before it was made, You'd lift up your hands and bless General Wade." Any educated Englishman reading this strange announcement would naturally remark that the first line of the couplet contains a logical contradiction, probably of Hibernian origin; but I have often thought, during my wanderings in Russia, that the expression, if not logically justifiable, might for the sake of vulgar convenience be legalised by a Permissive Bill.

The truth is that, as a Frenchman might say, "there are roads and roads"-- roads made and roads unmade, roads artificial and roads natural.

Now, in Russia, roads are nearly all of the unmade, natural kind, and are so conservative in their nature that they have at the present day precisely the same appearance as they had many centuries ago.

They have thus for imaginative minds something of what is called "the charm of historical association." The only perceptible change that takes place in them during a series of generations is that the ruts shift their position.