time through the prison. The first thing that he saw in one corner of the corridor was an overflowing parásha,[1] and through the ceiling was dripping filth from a similar parásha in the story above. In that corner of the corridor he found six men lying on the floor asleep. He was simply astounded. "How can people sleep," he exclaimed, "on this wet, foul floor and under such insupportable conditions?" He shouted indignantly at the warden and the other prison authorities, but he could change nothing.
It has been argued by some of my critics that I exaggerate the bad condition of Siberian prisons and étapes; but I think I have said nothing worse than the words that I have above quoted from a book written by an officer in the service of the Russian Government and published at Moscow in 1883 under all the limitations and restrictions of the censorship.[2]
Through this prison of Vérkhni Údinsk pass every year educated and refined men and women sent to the Trans-Baikál for political offenses, and through it Madame Breshkófskaya passed four times on her way to and from the mines of Kará. I am glad, however, to be able to say that the old ostróg at Vérkhni Údinsk will soon become, if it has not already become, a thing of the past. A large new forwarding prison had just been finished at the time of our arrival, and it was to be opened, the isprávnik said, as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made for the larger guard that it would require.
As soon as we had finished our inspection of the old ostróg, we went with the isprávnik to see the new prison that was intended to take its place. It was a large four-story structure of brick, stuccoed and painted white, with two spacious wings, a large courtyard, and a separate building for the accommodation of political prisoners and the prison guard. The kámeras were all large, well lighted, and well ventilated, and every one of them above the base-
