hich three distinguished British Generals were portrayed upon
their knees imploring mercy of Mr. Kruger, and sent it to England, but
it never reached its destination. This work of art had been "made in
Germany."

[Footnote 7: I was surprised by the interest displayed by the Russian
settlers of this district anent the Boer War. In every village we were
eagerly questioned as to how affairs in the Transvaal were progressing.]

In every guest-room, however squalid, four objects were never missing:
the sacred Ikon, portraits of the Tsar and Tsarina, and a printed copy
of the posting rules. On the wall was generally also a bill of fare, in
faded ink, which showed how many generations of travellers must have
been duped by its tempting list of savoury dishes. I never could
ascertain whether these had ever really existed in the far distant past,
or whether the notice was a poor joke on the part of the proprietor. In
any case, the _menu_ we found was always the same: hot water, sour
black bread, and (very rarely) eggs of venerable exterior, for although
the inmates of these stations presumably indulge occasionally in meat,
no amount of bribery would induce them to produce it for our benefit.
Vermin was everywhere; night and day it crawled gaily over the walls and
ceiling, about our bodies, and into our very food, and, although the
subject did not interest us, a naturalist would have delighted in the
ever-changing varieties of insect life. Of the latter, cockroaches were,
I think, the most objectionable, for they can inflict a nasty poisonous
bite. Oddly enough, throughout Siberia I never saw a rat, although mice
seem to swarm in every building, old or new, which we entered. The Lena
post-house has a characteristic odour of unwashed humanity, old
sheep-skins and stale tobacco. Occasionally, this subtle blend includes
a whiff of the cow-shed, which generally means that one or more of its
youthful occupants have been carried indoors out of the cold. In winter
there is no ventilation whatsoever, save when the heavy felt-lined door
is opened and an icy blast rushes in to be instantly converted by the
stifling heat into a dense mass of steam. Indoors it was seldom under 80
deg. Fahrenheit, and although divested of heavy furs we would invariably
awaken from a sleep of, perhaps, a couple of hours, drenched with
perspiration, in which state we would once more face the pitiless cold.
In England such extremes of temperature, experienced day