Catherine Breshkovskaya is a legendary woman even for Russia. She is now seventy-three years old; about half of her life has been spent in prison and exile; in 1910 she was once more arrested on the ground of her revolutionary activity, but thanks to the intercession of prominent European and American liberals, the verdict was mild:--Siberia, but without hard labor. Last year the ever-young Babooshka ("little grandmother," her pet name among the revolutionists) attempted to escape, failed, and was subsequently transferred to the terrible Yakutsk region, where she is now slowly dwindling away. The _Russkoye Bogatstwo_ prints two letters--two human documents--miraculously smuggled through the rigid net of the Siberian police system. One is a letter written by Breshkovskaya to a friend; it reveals a great woman--great even in little things. She speaks at length on the miserable life of the exiles; on her plans to mitigate their sufferings by planting vegetables to be used for food and also to be sold on the market; and on other apparently little matters--little when we consider the grandiose activity of the gray revolutionist in the recent past. Her letter is full of love and anxiety for her comrades, but she refers very little to herself. The only plaintive note is heard in these lines: My wanderings around the little island have come to a stop. I seldom see mountains, water, and woods, and on the streets there is either dust or mud--which I have no desire to look upon. Soon the steamers will discontinue their course. The mail comes only once a week. This is all she says about her own existence in the dead land, but we hear more about it from the second letter, written by a young exile: ... Her flight was discovered, she was recaptured, and she is imprisoned now in Irkutsk. She holds herself bravely, but I know this bravery. I fear that this flight will kill the Baboosya; she has been ill so often and has had to suffer for herself and for others.... Yakutsk will completely ruin her health. Most of the exiles feel bereaved. Despite the sharply-defined individuality of each of them, the Babooshka appeared as a spiritual mother to them all, able to encourage, to lift up, to console. The weak asked her for strength; the strong--for counsel. How much endurance and patience she must have had to assist each and every one, to appeal for money, for clothes, etc. Her heart went out to the hapless exiles, oppressed, moneyless, bootless, under the grim Siberian conditions. And how great was her joy at the receipt of a package from some good friends! She spread out the things, looked at them, and sang "Oy, how full, how full is the coffer" (a popular folk-song), with tears of joy in her eyes. Then she proceeded to distribute the bounty: to one a warm shirt, to the other woolen stockings, or a fur-hat. To the children she sent milk.... What a simple tale, friends.