The Governor General lives in a spacious and elegant house on the bank of the Angara, built by a merchant who amassed an immense fortune in the Chinese trade.  On retiring from business he devoted his time and energies to constructing the finest mansion in Eastern Siberia.  It is a stone building of three stories, and its halls and parlors are of liberal extent.  Furniture was brought from St. Petersburg at enormous cost, and the whole establishment was completed without regard to expense.  At the death of its builder the house was purchased by government, and underwent a few changes to adapt it to its official occupants.  On the opposite bank of the river there is a country seat, the private property of General Korsackoff, and his dwelling place in the hot months.

It was my good fortune that Mr. Maack was obliged by etiquette to visit his friends on returning from his journey.  I arranged to accompany him, and during that day and the next we called upon many persons of official and social position.  These included the Governor and Vice Governor of Irkutsk, the chief of staff and heads of departments, the mayor of the city, and the leading merchants.  Succeeding days were occupied in receiving return visits, and when these were ended I was fairly a member of the society of the Siberian capital.

The evening after my arrival I returned early to my lodgings to indulge in a Russian bath.  Captain Paul was absent, but his servant managed to inform me by words and pantomime that all was ready.  On the captain’s return the man said he had told me in German that the bath was waiting.

“How did you speak German?” asked the captain, aware that his man knew nothing but Russian.

“Oh,” said the servant, “I rubbed my hands over my face and arms and pointed toward the bath-room.”

On the morning after my arrival the proprietor of the house asked for my passport; when it returned it bore the visa of the chief of police.  There is a regulation throughout Russia that every hotel keeper or other householder shall register his patrons with the police.  By this means the authorities can trace the movements of ‘suspects’ and prevent unlicensed travel.  In Siberia the plan is particularly valuable in keeping exiles on the spots assigned them.

At St. Petersburg and Moscow the police keep a directory and hold it open to the public.  When I reached the capital and wished to find some friends who arrived a few days before me, I obtained their address from this directory.  Those who sought my whereabouts found me in the same way.

The weather was steadily cold—­about zero Fahrenheit—­and was called mild for the season by the residents of Irkutsk.  I brought from New York a heavy overcoat that braved the storms of Broadway the winter before my departure.  My Russian friends pronounced it nechevo (nothing,) and advised me to procure a ‘shooba,’ or cloak lined with fur.  The shooba reaches nearly to one’s feet, and is better adapted to riding than walking.  It can be lined according to the means and liberality of the wearer.  Sable is most expensive, and sheepskin the least.  Both accomplish the same end, as they contain about equal quantities of heat.