Her attempted escape from Kirensk, recapture, and sentence to the Irkutsk prison in the winter of 1913 are known to all the world. Her letters to American friends from her Siberian exile revealed the heroic soul. Her physical sufferings were only incidentally alluded to, as in one letter where, in the quaint English acquired in America and by study during her last imprisonment, she said: “My gait is not yet sure enough, and it will take some time before my forces and my celerity rejoin me to the point as to let me exercise my feet without the aid of anyone.” Nevertheless, she continues quite undaunted, “I hope to restore my health and to live till the day I see you again.” [Illustration: “BABUSCHKA, LITTLE GRANDMOTHER”] The sufferings and deprivations of the young political exiles caused her the greatest sorrow. It was, indeed, the only suffering she acknowledged, although she deplored that reasonable conversation was impossible, with the spies always within sight and hearing, and expressed her “disgust” that they accompanied her whenever she went out. In Kirensk there are over a thousand exiles forced to live on their earnings and the small stipend received from the government. There is little work to be had, and that little is rendered more uncertain by the fact that the police shift the exiles about, seldom allowing them to remain in one place for more than six months. Most of them are thus kept in a state of semi-starvation. The magazines, books, and picture post cards which Madame Breshkovsky received were used by her to extraordinary advantage. Of some periodicals that I had caused to be sent her she wrote: “They make a great parade in Siberia, going as far as Irkutsk and Yakutsk, and some of them find resting-place in the libraries and museums.” She taught English to the young “politicals” and reading and writing to the illiterate native Siberians. “You understand my situation,” she wrote: “an old mother who would serve every one of them. I aid, I grumble, I sustain, I hear confessions like a priest, I give counsel and admonition, but this is a drop in the ocean of misery.” And of herself again: “How happy I am; persecuted, banished, and yet beloved.” From the letters that have come to America and are shared by the circle of her friends here I select one, written in answer to a request that she send a message of her philosophy to the students of a women’s college who had asked me to tell the story of the Russian revolution as personified in her: “October 20, 1913, Kirensk. “Very dear and well-beloved Lillian:—