_Arrival at Yakoutsk.--Letter from home.--Departure._ Nothing could be more dreary than the aspect of the country, as our travellers approached the town of Yakoutsk. This was situated on a nearly level plain, which was now covered with snow. There were only a few stunted trees to be seen, and not a dwelling for miles around the town. The river, of which a view was afforded, was frozen over, and the scene bespoke a land of sterility and the stern season of winter. Yakoutsk contains about 7000 inhabitants, and is built of wood. The houses are low and mean, and the people, for the most part, live in poverty and wretchedness. The climate is so severe, that, so late as June, the frost is not out of the ground; and in September, the Lena, which is a large river, is frozen over. Of course, the fruits yielded by the soil are exceedingly few, and the people have hard work, during the three brief months of summer, to lay up a sufficient store of food, fuel, and clothing, to save them from perishing during the long and bitter winter of nine months. It was now three months since Alexis had parted from his friends at Tobolsk, and he was separated from them by a space of two thousand miles. He expected to get letters from home, brought by the post, and as soon as he and his party had obtained lodgings, he went to the office, where they were to be left. It was with a beating heart that he entered the place, and inquired for his letters. So long a time had elapsed since his departure, and so vast a distance now lay between him and his friends, that he experienced a sickening sense of anxiety. What might not have happened to his aged father, or his dear sister? These were the thoughts in his mind, as the person at the office handed him a letter, on which he instantly recognised the hand-writing of Kathinka. He thrust it into his bosom, and, with a rapid step, sought his lodgings. Here he broke the seal, and read as follows: