When I Was Czar

Your letter, which was as short as old Canfield's temper, reached me in Berlin as I was starting for here. I'm off to Khiva, this wise.

You'll remember my old yarn about the Czar having saved my life years ago in a pig-sticking do in Germany-he shoved or kicked me into a bush just in the nick of time when the brute made his rush-and how we then discovered the strong resemblance between us? Well, it's still true, and things have been happening in consequence.

I ran across Burnaby's book about Khiva a while back and resolved to go there. He says that three Tartars can eat a whole sheep at a single meal, and I want to see if it's true. Any old tag's good enough excuse for a globe-trotter, so I wrote to the Czar, reminded him of the pig incident, and asked permission to go East. As a result, I'm here as his guest; we've had a chat over the old time, and I'm to go where, when and how I like all over his dominions. He's an awfully decent sort, and I'm in for a real good time. But it's been a queer show.