come and passengers go, but this train, like the brook, goes on for
ever. Although the travelling was luxurious I can honestly say that this
was the most wearisome portion of the entire journey. But all things
must have an end, even on the Trans-Siberian Railway, and on the tenth
day out from Moscow we reach (unconsciously) our destination--Irkutsk.
For it is two o'clock in the morning and we are aroused from pleasant
dreams in a warm and cosy bed to embark upon a drive of about three
miles through wind and snow in an open _droshky_. But we are now in
Eastern Siberia, and comfort will soon be a thing of the past.

CHAPTER II

THE PARIS OF SIBERIA

We arrived in Irkutsk on the eve of the Russian New Year, when business
throughout the Empire comes to a standstill, and revelry amongst all
classes reigns supreme. It was, therefore, useless to think of resuming
our journey for at least a week, for sleighs must be procured, to say
nothing of that important document, a special letter of recommendation,
which I was to receive from the Governor-General of Siberia. But a
resplendent _aide-de-camp_ called at the hotel and regretfully informed
me that State and social functions would keep his Excellency fully
occupied for several days. It was hopeless, he added, to think of
getting sleighs built while _vodka_ was running like water amongst the
people. So there was nothing for it but to await the end of the festival
with patience, without which commodity no traveller should ever dream of
visiting Asiatic Russia. He is otherwise apt to become a raving lunatic.

Irkutsk has several so-called hotels, the only one in any way habitable
being the "Hotel Metropole," a name which has become suggestive of
gold-laced porters and gilded halls. It was, therefore, rather a shock
to enter a noisome den, suggestive of a Whitechapel slum, although its
prices equalled those of the Carlton in Pall Mall. The house was new but
jerry-built, reeked of drains, and swarmed with vermin. Having kept us
shivering for half an hour in the cold, a sleepy, shock-headed lad with
guttering candle appeared and led the way to a dark and ill-smelling
sleeping-apartment. The latter contained an iron bedstead (an unknown
luxury here a decade ago), but relays of guests had evidently used the
crumpled sheets and grimy pillows. Bathroom and washstand were supplied
by a rusty brass tap, placed, _pro bono publico_, in the corridor. Our
meals in the restaurant were