We passed a narrow road that led through the fields to the three estates of Kremon, Trelden, and Segewolde, which lie close together. The road, whl(;h was cut up by numberless old and fresh ruts made by can^iage wheels, disappeared after many windings, behind the distant hills. How gladly woidd I have turned and followed these traces' ; for, in Livonia, such patb.s always lead to handsome castles, pleasant gardens, and hospitable, merry, kind-hearted, domestic circles. But our post conductor inexorably directed our course tlirough the deserts to the right of the Aa, past the stations of Roop, Stolben, Lenzenhof, and Papendoi-f ; and the estates of Aeg'^ten, Nachtlgallen, Portugal, LTrbs, Kaulbarsch, Salesbury, &c.
Towards evening w^e reached Wolmar, the only vlUage besides WaUc, on the whole road between Riga and Dorpat. There are no villages or towns in all Livonia, except Riga, Dorpat, and Pernau, Wolmar, Walk, Lemsal, Wenden, Fellin, and Werro ; although Livonia contains 840 square miles ! This makes one town or village to every 100 (German) square miles — about the most thinly-built country in civilized Europe. Even Finland and Poland have many more towns than Livonia, and Germany counts at least twenty towns, on the same space of ground where, in Livonia, there stands but one.
We arrived at Wolmar in the evening. The little town had a look at once cheerful and tranquil. The streets were wide and straight, the houses clean and handsome, and all the windows gleamed with lights, reminding the wayfarer of the comforts of the social circle. Not all ihe convidsions of modern Europe, not the seven years war, the Polish insurrections, or the devastating thunder-storms that made the names of Napoleon Bonaparte, and the French revolution a terror to the woi-ld, have affected or disturbed
Wolmar, and its Livonian sister towns. The waves of the restless ocean have stormed past them incessantly, hut have not troubled their repose.
The small towns of Livonia do not, like those of Germany, keep pace with the spirit of the age, or take advantage of the new materials and circumstances arising around them. They have not supplied the decay of feudal institutions, with the industry, intelligence, and mental activity of the 19th century. They are gradually sinking into absolute nothingness. Not a single branch of art, manufacture, science, or industry of any kind, coiild be mentioned, in which any of these towns excel. Their literary activity is equally insignificant. Some time ago, a few of these little towns agreed to pubhsh a weekly newspaper in common. They succeeded in scraping together some interesting matter, which they published in the first number, but the next week a new number was wanted, and all they had to say had been already published. In order, therefore, not to go to the ground immediately they republished the first number, and the subscribers had to take it as a new and improved edition. The third week, however, came and all were in despair, for in no way could they collect matter for a third number ; and, in order not to warm up the same dish a third time, the periodical declared itself insolvent, and the undertaking exploded amidst general laughter.
This part of the country has one natural production, famed all over the shirt and stocking-wearing world, namely, the Livonian flax and linseed. The peculiar excellence of Livonian flax is a riddle to the agriculturist ; whether it is the soil in which it grows, the water with which it is " braked" or the treatment which it receives, that gives it its great value, or whether a particularly vigorous and excellent specimen of the flax plant was originally conveyed from Eden to Livonia, enough, no weaver or agriculturist in all Europe denies the superiority of Livonian flaic and linseed. The best of the best, however, grows at Marienburg ; it is an ell in length, as fine as the finest hair, of the healtliiest colour, and soft and shining as silk. It is a pleasure to see the laden flax waggons at the Marienburg market ; they appear hke waggon loads of the brightest silk.
The seven miles after Wolmar, we passed in total darkness, seeing neither sun, moon, or stars. In the morning we reached a little toNvn, called Walk ; this town was formerly a busy httle rival to Wolmar, but the grass now grows so high in its streets, that it is said the little cowherds sometimes cut it as fodder for their cattle.
In Walk the Lettish dialect is still spoken, but just beyond it begins the territory of the Esthonians. The Lettes and Esthonians are two very different races, and they hate one another with all the bitter animosity of contiguous nations. They never intermarry or mingle. The best Lettes inhabit the south, and the best Esthonians the north ; the frontier country, it is said, contains the worst of both.