and pines for a more extended view. The
Kirensk mountains are here crossed, a range which, although of no great
altitude, is precipitous and thickly wooded, so much so that in places
the sleighs could scarcely pass between the trees. The climb was severe,
but a lovely view over hundreds of miles of country amply rewarded our
exertions. The glorious panorama of mountain, stream, and woodland
stretching away on all sides to the horizon, intersected by the silvery
Lena, was after the flat and dismal river scenery like a draught of
clear spring water to one parched with thirst. Overhead a network of
rime-coated branches sparkled against the blue with a bright and almost
unnatural effect that reminded one of a Christmas card. A steep and
difficult descent brought us to the plains again, and after a pleasant
drive through forests of pine and cedar interspersed with mountain ash
and a pretty red-berried shrub of which I ignore the name, we arrived,
almost sorry that the short land trip was over, at Kirensk.

Although not the largest, this is the prettiest and cleanest-looking
town on the Lena. Perhaps our favourable impressions of the place were
partly due to the dazzling sunshine and still, delicious air. Dull skies
and a fog would, perhaps, have made a world of difference; but as, under
existing conditions, Kirensk afforded us the only interval of real rest
and enjoyment on the Lena, we were proportionately grateful. And it was
almost a pleasure to walk through the neat streets, with their
gaily-painted houses and two or three really fine stores, where any
article from a ship's anchor to a gramophone seemed to be on sale. A few
mercantile houses and a busy little dockyard, with a couple of
river-steamers in course of construction, explained the prosperous
appearance of this attractive little town, which contrasted cheerfully
with all others which we saw in Siberia. The inn was quite in keeping
with its surroundings, and perhaps a longer time than was absolutely
necessary was passed there, for _dejeuner_ was served, not in the usual
dark fusty room reeking with foul odours, but in a bright, cheerful
little apartment with comfortable furniture and a table set with a white
cloth and spotless china by a window overlooking the river. There was a
mechanical organ, too, which enlivened us with "La Marseillaise" and
"Loin du Pays" as a pretty waiting-maid in Russian costume served us
with some excellent cutlets and an omelette, which