cape as ourselves, as the business of carrying the
mail does not produce navodka. The post between Irkutsk and
Krasnoyarsk passes twice a week each way, and we frequently
encountered it. Where it had just passed a station there was
occasionally a scarcity of horses that delayed us till village teams
were brought.

A postillion accompanies each convoy, and is responsible for its
security. Travelers sometimes purchase tickets and have their vehicles
accompany the post, but in so doing their patience is pretty severely
taxed. The postillion is a soldier or other government employe, and
must be armed to repel robbers. One of these conductors was a boy of
fourteen who appeared under heavy responsibility. I watched him
loading a pistol at a station and was amused at his ostentatious
manner. When the operation was completed he fixed the weapon in his
belt and swaggered out with the air of the heavy tragedian at the Old
Bowery. Another postillion stuck around with pistols and knives looked
like a military museum on its travels.

[Illustration: THE CONDUCTOR.]

From our dining station we left the main road, and traveled several
versts along the frozen surface of the Birusa river. The snow lay in
ridges, and as we drove rapidly over them we were tossed like a yawl
in a hopping sea. It was a foretaste of what was in store for me at
later periods of my journey. The Birusa is rich in gold deposits, and
the government formerly maintained extensive mining establishments in
its valley.

About nine o'clock in the evening we voted to take tea. On entering
the station I found the floor covered with a dormant mass, exhaling an
odor not altogether spicy. I bumped my head against a sort of wide
shelf suspended eighteen or twenty inches from the ceiling, and
sustaining several sleepers.

"Here" said Paul, "is another _chambre a coucher_" as he attempted to
pull aside a curtain at the top of the brick stove. A female head and
shoulders were exposed for an instant, until a stout hand grasped and
retained the curtain. The suspended shelf or false ceiling is quite
common in the peasant houses, and especially at the stations. The
yemshicks and other attaches of the concern are lodged here and on the
floor, beds being a luxury they rarely obtain. Frequently a small
house would be as densely packed as the steerage of a passenger ship,
and I never desired to linger in these crowded apartments. A Russian
house has little or no ventilation, and