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EASTWARD BOUND. 3
Asia. There creeps over you a longing for the stillness of
the desert and its great loneliness, where you are free to
meditate upon the chances and changes of human life. Do
not, however, imagine that the explorer is the first visitant
in every region he visits. If fortune is with him—and for-
tune was with the explorer whose wanderings are described
in this book—he may happen to discover traces of a civili-
zation which disappeared 1,000 years or more ago, and light
upon evidences of races whose destiny is unknown, except
that they were swept away from off the earth as the dust
haze is blown off the face of the desert. And do not
imagine that the rewards which fall to the successful tra-
veller are reaped by a summer-day dance upon the soft
petals of roses. No ; the traveller has to take many a
heavy and weary step before he reaches the goal of his
desires, and many is the gloomy and dreary hour he spends
in his smoke-reeking tent whilst resting at the end of an
arduous day.
It was a bright and beautiful midsummer day when I
said good-bye to those at home and set out for Finland and
St. Petersburg. All who have ever left their home, and
those dear to them, having no prospect of seeing them or
hearing from them again for a long time—nay, in actual
uncertainty as to whether they will ever see them again
—
such will readily understand what my feelings were as the
last lingering hand-shake was exchanged. Many and many
a time since then have I seen that last glimpse of Stockholm
and those I loved standing on the quay, waving their final
farewells to me, their hearts too full for utterance.
Shrill whistles the engine and at a giddy pace I fly across
Holy Russia, through Moscow, and over the majestic Don,
rolling its muddy waters down to the Black Sea. Like
shooting stars the towns disappear one after the other. The
bulb-shaped spires of the churches peep up above the
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