enterprising young fellow, the feminine form of the word being
nonexistent. A Russian view of the matter is amusing, however.

"I never saw such a town in which to hunt up any one," said a St.
Petersburg man in Moscow to me. "They give you an address: 'Such and
such a street, such a house.' For instance, 'Green Street, house of Mr.
Black.' You go. First you get hold of the street in general, and
discover that the special name applies only to one block or so, two or
three versts away from the part where you chance to have landed. Moscow
is even more a city of magnificent distances, you know, than St.
Petersburg. Next you discover that there is no 'house of Mr. Black.' Mr.
Black died, respected and beloved, God be with him! a hundred years ago
or less, and the house has changed owners three times since. So far, it
is tolerably plain sailing. Then it appears that the house you are in
search of is not in the street at all, but tucked in behind it, on a
parallel lane, round several corners and elbows." (I will explain, in
parenthesis, that the old system of designating a house by the name of
the owner, which prevailed before the introduction of numbers, still
survives extensively, even in Petersburg.)

"The next time you set out on a search expedition," continued my
informant, after a cup of tea and a cigarette to subdue his emotions,
"you insist on having the number of the house. Do you get it? Oh yes!
and with a safeguard added, 'Inquire of the laundress.' [This was a
parody on, "Inquire of the Swiss," or "of the yard-porter."] You start
off in high feather; number and guide are provided, only a fool could
fail to find it, and you know that you are a person who is considered
rather above the average in cleverness. But that is in Petersburg, and I
may as well tell you at once that clever Petersburgers are fools
compared to the Moscow men, in a good many points, such as driving a