The villages were numerous and had an air of prosperity.  Here and there new houses were going up, and made quite a contrast to the old and decaying habitations near them.  My attention was drawn to the well-sweeps exactly resembling those in the rural districts of New England.  From the size of the sweeps, I concluded the wells were deep.  The soil in the fields had a loose, friable appearance that reminded me of the farming lands around Cleveland, Ohio.

One of the villages where we changed horses is called Kabansk from the Russian word ‘Kaban’ (wild boar).  This animal abounds in the vicinity and is occasionally hunted for sport.  The chase of the wild boar is said to be nearly as dangerous as that of the bear, the brute frequently turning upon his pursuer and making a determined fight.  We passed the Monastery of Troitska founded in 1681 for the conversion of the Bouriats.  It is an imposing edifice built like a Russian church in the middle of a large area surrounded by a high wall.  Though it must have impressed the natives by its architectural effects it was powerless to change their faith.

[Illustration:  WILD BOAR HUNT.]

As it approaches Lake Baikal the Selenga divides into several branches, and encloses a large and very fertile delta.  The afternoon following our departure from Verkne Udinsk, we came in sight of the lake, and looked over the blue surface of the largest body of fresh water in Northern Asia.  The mountains on the western shore appeared about eight or ten miles away, though they were really more than thirty.  We skirted the shore of the lake, turning our horses’ heads to the southward.  The clear water reminded me of Lake Michigan as one sees it on approaching Chicago by railway from the East.  Its waves broke gently on a pebbly beach, where the cold of commencing winter had changed much of the spray to ice.

There was no steamer waiting at Posolsky, but we were told that one was hourly expected.  Maack was radiant at finding a letter from his wife awaiting him at the station.  I enquired for letters but did not obtain any.  Unlike my companion.  I had no wife at Irkutsk.

[Illustration:  A WIFE AT IRKUTSK.]

[Illustration:  NO WIFE AT IRKUTSK.]

The steamboat landing is nine versts below the town, and as the post route ended at Posolsky, we were obliged to engage horses at a high rate, to take us to the port.  The alternate freezing and thawing of the road—­its last act was to freeze—­had rendered it something like the rough way in a Son-of-Malta Lodge.  The agent assured us the steamer would arrive during the night.  Was there ever a steamboat agent who did not promise more than his employers performed?

According to the tourist’s phrase the port of Posolsky can be ‘done’ in about five minutes.  The entire settlement comprised two buildings, one a hotel, and the other a storehouse and stable.  A large quantity of merchandise was piled in the open air, and awaited removal.