You might, by the way, look out for a place in the country. When I get back to Russia I shall take five years’ rest--that is, stay in one place and twiddle my thumbs. A place in the country will come in very handy. I think the money will be found, for things don’t look bad. If I work off the money I have had in advance (half of it is worked off already) I shall certainly borrow two or three thousand in the spring, to be paid off over a period of five years. That will not be against my conscience, as I have already let the publishing department of the _Novoye Vremya_ make two or three thousand out of my books, and I shall let them make more. I think I shall not begin on any serious work till I am five and thirty.... I want to try personal life, of which I have had some before, but have not noticed it owing to various circumstances. To-day I rubbed my leather coat with grease. It’s a splendid coat. It has saved me from catching cold. My sheepskin is a capital thing, too: it serves me as a coat and a mattress, both. One is as warm in it as on a stove. It’s wretched without pillows. Hay does not take the place of them, and with the continual friction there’s a lot of dust from it which tickles one’s face and prevents one from dozing. I haven’t a single sheet. That’s horrid too. And I ought to have taken some more trousers. The more luggage one has the better--there’s less jolting and more comfort. Good-bye, though. I have got nothing more to write about. My greetings to all. STATION LISTVENITCHNAYA, ON LAKE BAIKAL, June 13. I am having an idiotic time. On the evening of the 11th of June, the day before yesterday, we set off from Irkutsk, in the fond hope of catching the Baikal steamer, which leaves at four o’clock in the morning. From Irkutsk to Baikal there are only three stations. At the first station they informed us that all the horses were exhausted and that it was therefore impossible to go. We had to put up for the night. Yesterday morning we set off from that station, and by midday we reached Baikal. We went to the harbour, and in answer to our inquiries were told that the steamer did not go till Friday the fifteenth. This meant that we should have to sit on the bank and look at the water and wait. As there is nothing that does not end in time, I have no objection to waiting, and always wait patiently; but the point is the steamer leaves Sryetensk on the 20th and sails down the Amur: if we don’t catch it we must wait for the next steamer, which does not go till the 30th. Merciful Heavens, when shall I get to Sahalin!