their bell upon the plea that it has been sufficiently punished by three centuries of exile for its political untrustworthiness in 1593, and that it ought now to be allowed to return to its home. The mayor of Tobólsk, however, argues that the bell was exiled for life, and that, consequently, its term of banishment has not yet expired. He contends, furthermore, that even admitting the original title of the Uglích people three centuries of adverse possession by the city of Tobólsk have divested the claimants of all their rights, and that the bell should be allowed to remain where it is. The question, it is said, will be carried into the Russian courts.
Late in the afternoon I walked over to the little plateau east of the city where stands the monument erected in honor of Yermák, the conqueror of Siberia, and then, returning to the hotel, paid our bill, ordered post-horses, and proceeded to Tiumén, reaching the latter place on the following day.
A week's rest at Tiumén, with plenty of sleep and good food, and the inspiriting companionship of English-speaking people, so restored Mr. Frost's strength that we were able to start for St. Petersburg by rail Tuesday, March 9th. How delightful it was to move swiftly out of Tiumén in a luxurious railroad car only those can conceive who have traveled eight thousand miles in springless vehicles over Siberian roads.
We reached the Russian capital on the 19th of March, and as soon as I had left Mr. Frost at a hotel with our baggage, I called a dróshky, drove to the house of the friend to whom I had sent my precious box of note-books and papers, and, with a fast-beating heart, rang the bell and gave the servant my card. Before my friend made his appearance I was in a perfect fever of excitement and anxiety. Suppose the box had been opened by the post-office or police officials, and its contents seized. What should I have to show for almost a year of work and suffering?
