When the ice-drifts on the Lena have come to an end, the earth quickly thaws, although only to a depth of two feet. But nature makes the most of the three months of warmth. Within a comparatively short time everything develops and unfolds. The great plain of Yakutsk offers a charming spectacle; it is fertile, and here and there cultivation already begins to show. Birchwoods, small lakes, brushwood and verdant fields alternate and make the whole country look like a large park, framed by the silver ribbon of the Lena. The surrounding gloom of the taiga emphasizes the natural beauty of the valley. This smiling plain in the midst of the wide expanse reminds one of an oasis in the desert. The Yakut is by far the most capable of the Siberian tribes; he values the gifts of the life-giving sun and enjoys them to the full. When he escapes from his narrow, stinking winter-yurta he fills his hitherto inhospitable country with life and movement; his energy is doubled, his vitality pulsates with greater strength and intensity. When the 'Ysech', the feast of spring, is over, the animated mood of the population does not abate in the least. The 'strengthening kumis', the ambrosia of the Yakut gods, does not run dry in the wooden vessels, for luxuriant grass covers the ground, and cows and mares give abundant milk. The sight of the lovely plain and the joyful human beings delighting in the summer had revived me also. This was my first summer in Yakutsk, and I responded to it with my whole being. Daily I went for walks to look at the beauty of the surrounding world, daily I took my sun bath. My walks usually led me to one of the Yakut yurtas; they are at long distances from each other, lonely and scattered over the whole country. You find them in whatever direction you may choose. Cold milk and kumis can be had in all these yurtas. It is true both have the nasty smell which the stranger in this part of the world calls 'Yakut odour'; but during the long winter when milk other than from Yakut yurtas was hard to procure, I had got used to this specific smell, so that now it only produced a mild nausea. One of the many yurtas had taken my fancy, for it was charmingly situated close to the woods in a corner of the raised banks of a long stretch of lake. It belonged to an aged Yakut, well deserving of the honourable designation 'ohonior', given to all the Yakut elders. The old man was living there with his equally aged wife and a young fellow, a distant relation of his. Two cows and a calf, a few mares and a foal constituted all their wealth. All the Yakuts are very inquisitive and loquacious. But my friend, the honourable 'ohonior ', possessed these qualities in an unusually high degree, and as he was able to speak broken Russian, I often took occasion to call in for a little talk.