The Press.
London, England, 1854-04-15 00:00:00

religion, whose head-quarters is 1,,-SQO miles
to the south, at Lassa. The narrative of this
episode of travel, though novel and interest-
ing, is too long for abridgment.
Siberian travel is rough and fatiguing, but,
as far as Yakoutsk, not dangerous. From
thence to the Paeific coast is a journey of 800
miles, through one of the most sterile and
miserable regions of the globe, almost un-
peopled, and swarming with wild animals.
Horses, or rather ponies, are the only means
of conveyance ; the road lies among inter-
minable and perilous morasses ; and a party
immediately preceding Mr. Hill's lost two men
by the attacks of bears. All provisions must
be taken with the traveller; but the Yakoutes
have a resource unavailable to Europeans, in
the bark and. young shoots of the spruce fir,
which they boil down into a kind of soup.
The journey occupied our author only 25 days,
but is seldom performed in less that 40 or 50.
Oehotsk itself appears to combine every dis-,
advantage of situation, soil, and climate
which can man make a human residence in-
tolerable :
The unhealthiness of Ochotsk is More the effect of the
position of the town with respect to the sea and the sur-
rounding country, than of its latitude and longitude.
Placed between the ocean and lands which in summer are
heated by so many hours of sunshine, it is exposed during
the best months of the year to almost perpetual cold and
damp winds from the sea; while in the spring it is sub-
jected to the effects of an impure air, proceeding from
animal matter in a state of decomposition, which covers
the morass along the opposite shores of the river. Here
great quantities of salmon take shelter in the autumn, and
are frozen, and lie embedded during the winter ; and, when
the sun melts the ice in the spring, the swamps are found
covered with the pestiferous animal matter. Thus the
little settlement, as often as the wind is off shore, is er-
posed to all the effects of the malaria, and fevers and
diarrhoea now prevail. The causes, indeed, of the pesti-
lence are not of long continuance ; for as the rivers begin
to swell, by the melting of the snow at their sources, the mo-
rasses which border them are cleared of the intolerable
nuisance. But scarcely, however, does this take place be-
fore the town is subjected to the winds, almost as destruc-
tive to health as the pestilential atmosphere from which it
has been so lately relieved.
It is said by the inhabitants that Ochotak, so unblessed
by nature, wants in effect three out of the four elements
which compose the material world and support life else-
where. Their houses, they say, are built upon loose shin-
gles, amidst which their dead sleep; and thus they must
needs want the proper element that composes the earth.
For their water they say that in summer they have to
send ten or twelve miles up the current of the river,
which flows in a brackish stream by their doors. And
when the state of the ice in spring and autumn prevents
their so doing, and the snow which they melt in winter is
gone, they have to drink of a single impure spring, from
which flows all the water they possess. And their air, the
element denied to no living creatures that walk the earth,
is at one season rendered insufferable by the causes above
mentioned, and at another loaded with drift snow, and at a
third a mere blast from the ocean, almost as inimical to
life as the malaria with which it is loaded in the spring.
Fire, they say, alone of the four elements comforts them.
Mr. Inn reckons that one man out of every
five residing there was disabled by illness.
Government officers are only reconciled to
their quarters by double pay, and certain pro-
motion at the end of five years. One disease
here prevalent is peculiar to Eastern Siberia.
It seems to consist in a temporary mental
derangement, always brought on by any sur
prise or shock. Natives as well as Russians
are liable to it, and both recover when re-
moved to a better climate.

-- -
Of the liamschatkdales we learn little
beyond what other writers had already made
known. They are docile and obedient, easily
kept in order, in which they differ wholly
from the hitherto untamed Tuski, or Tehoutchi,
described by Lieutenant Hooper. This last
tribe vigorously repel all, attempts at aggres-
sion, and destroyed, without sparing one, a
party of 200 Russian soldiers sent to explore
their country.

- -
In conclusion, we recomthend these volumes
to all readers interested in tales of travel.
Mr. Hill's estimate of Russian character will
by most persons be thought too favourable ;
but it is a relief, when overwhelmed by the
torrents of exaggerated abuse ' and vague
declamation poured out against the Czar and
his subjects, to hear—whether we assent to
them or not—the conclusions of an observer
who is certainly independent, and who probably
means to be impartial.

!•••••

TritilPtiE SS.

The Heir of Vallie. By William Mathews.
Three Volumes. London : Smith, Elder,

and Co.
Is many respects this is a remarkable novel.
It has a singularly vigorous plot, in which the
incidents are skilfully concatenated, and, in the
laying out of the 'whole story, much construc-
tive capacity is displayed. Nor are the ingre
dients of the fiction devoid of interest, though
the eventualities partake too closely of the
romance that may be fund in " The Newgate
Calendar." The prolonged consequence of evil
deeds, the writhings of a mind racked by tor-
tured memory, and the agony of anxiety lest a
dark secret should be revealed are the elements
in which this author has worked with consi-
derable power. But when we have acknow-
ledged so much' our praise must end. He nei-
ther touches the reader when he attempts the
pathetic, nor thrills us when he seeks to depict
the terrible. He introduces us to scenes
where genius would be required to give vitality
and colour. With abundance of sense, he has
but little sentiment ; while he analyses his
characters, and shows us their mechanism, his
sympathies seem to be congealed, and, not
feeling for the beings of his own invention, he
proves the truth of the old canon of criticism,
that he cannot make others feel who does not
feel himself. His abilities challenge us to be
critical ; and, with a writer of less mental vi-
gour, we would not record a verdict at such
length. Nor must we omit to remark that his
nomenclature is open to some objection. One
of the leading characters is a " Charley Napier,"
a sort of personage whose proceedings would
not obtain a cry of " Bravo, Charley !" and who
has only a nominal association with the pane-
gyrist of sharp cutlasses. So also, in the
scenes of Parisian life we are introduced to a
Count Mole, who is represented as one of the
actors in the story! The use of such familiar
names in fiction should be avoided by a novel-
ist.
As it is the first time that Mr. William Ma-
thews appears in fiction, we will give our rea-
ders some specimens of his writing. Here is
a scene in a Parisian gaming-house :
The play had gone on. Ashtonby had freely allowed
Neville to keep his score. He now took the paper from
his hand, pored over the amount standing against him ;
then said, with blanched cheek and quivering lip, " A
heavy sum !" and an oath tbllowed—" Twice the amount
I thought I had lost !—The devil is in the cards ! " He
seemed quite stupefied by his misfortune. With all his
errors until now he had shunned wholesale gambling.
The tempter was still by him.
"Try one grand coup, Ashtonby !" whispered Neville—
" Double or quit !—I have known D'Aigrigny so silly as to
consent to such a proposal. On certain nights he fancies
himself invincible ! "
" Yes! yes'—What say you, sir, double or quit the
amount I owe you ? " And Ashburton tossed the score
towards his opponent.' The latter hesitated. "It is a
large amount. Let Neville decide."
Mr. Neville decided. " D'Aigrigny had had great luck !
—such as he had never witnessed. Ile should be satisfied
with the gold, and play Ashtonby one coup upon the score,
though he confessed the chances were against him."
Ashtonby loosened his shirt-collar, and, with brow rigidly
knit, he said, " Now then we cut for deal." These few words
fell in harsh, strange accents. They did so. D'Aigrigny
dealt ; and then Napier crossed the rusbicon and stoodbefore
them, or rather he stood behind D'Aigrigny, facing Ash-
tonby and Neville. lie had drawn his mask from his face,
and was evidently bent on mischief. His gaze was fixed
with a stern meaning on Neville's face. The latter looked
up to attract his confederate's attention when he caught
Napier's eye upon him. lie almost started from his
chair—he was terribly confused. He saw at the moment
how things were. Then all his old pride and hate came.
hate and fear mingled, and a devilish face these passions
made of it. Hate seemed to triumph, for the warm blood
swept as a torrent over the countenance, as he thrust back
his chair and rose upon his logs.
D'Aigrigny's eyes had not been idle ; he turned to see
the cause of Neville's strange conduct, and found a stern,
soul-searching gaze upon him.
" Ah ! my friend! ' —D'Aigrigny got thus far; but it
would not do. Napier's bearing said too plainly—" Villain,
you are known ! " He seized the wine drank deeply, then
tried to carry off the matter with a frowning brow. But
he could not act the part—he looked the skulking thief he
was. There was no light in the eye ;no glow upon the
cheek. lie felt at the mercy of the man whose confidence
lie had vilely abused. Conscious of his rascality, he. at
once concluded, through what means he knew not, that
Napier was in possession of the secret that, if told,
would ruin him in the eyes of society. All was confusion.
He played a card without waiting for Ashtonby to propose,
and forgot to mark the king—which had been a frequent
guest in his hand that night. Napier kept his post. Ne-
ville stood sullenly by. He no doubt felt he dared not lift
an eye ; he dreaded the public exposé which impended
paralysed. them. The machinations of the pair were completely
But Neville, at length, did more ; it seemed

SATURDAY,_

he oould not endure Napier's scrutiny—he lounged away
from Ashtonby, observing, " Play your own cards; I'm
tired of it !"—Ashtonby did so, and made two points. Ne-
ville drew near to D'Agrigny's side. Upon which Napier
shifted his ground, and stood by Ashtonby. Ashtonby did
not notice him ; his head was bent low to the table, with
a gaze upon the cards, such as a hungry beggar-boy would
cast on tood beyond his reach. The band passed—Ash-
tonby added a point to his score—mtd then another. The
next his opponent won. Upon which Neville took Ash-
' tonby's cards and shuffled them, thinking perhaps it was
better to appear as little concerned about Napier's pre-
sence as possible.
• • • •
" Had t lost that stake," he said, half hysterically, "
should have blown my brains out ; " and he drank a
copious draught, then sat down, resting his hands upon
his knees ; in pain he seemed, for the nervous system had
been cruelly tortured.
It was a piteous, a degrading spectacle. A man not
five-and-twenty years of age, gifted by nature in no com-
mon degree, by fortune far beyond his wants, sacrificing
peace of mind, and trampling out the life of happiness, to
indulge in an amusement which his own reason had before
taught him was baneful, treacherous, and false. He had
sat—the man of warm affections, high hopes, and generous
impulses—in opposition to the cold and scheming swindler.
In an hour he had so committed himself that but for a mere
chance he would have felt tempted to have sacrificed his
own existence. He had this night entered that den, high
in heart, prosperous beyond the reach of wealth, and blest
in many ways. An hour, and he sat with his face con-
cealed by his hands, upon the palms of which the hot and
throbbing temple was pressed with spasmodic force.
And here, in the third volume, we have a de-
scription well worked up of a deadly personal
encounter:—

Napier seated' himself at his desk to make all necessary
arrangements in case of a fatal result, and had barely com-
pleted his task when he heard a slight sound, as if some
one had tried the lock of his door ; and, glancing at his
watch, he found that time was bordering on midnight.
Placing the letter he had written in his desk, he stepped
lightly to the door, drew back the bolt, and peered stealthily
around. In the distance he traced a glimmering light,
which, as he surmised, proceeded from a small Limp
borne by Jacques Duport on his way to admit his friends.
Some minutes passed, and Napier stood concealed in the
drapery of his bed in breathless anxiety. At lengthhe heard
the door of his dressing-room open. He freed his arms
from all encumbrance, and stood in readiness to spring
upon the intruder, whom he now supposed was approaching
his bed.
Napier had taken the precaution to close the curtains of
his bed, so that it. was impossible to detect him until they
were moved back ; and as he was esconced in the folds
of the drapery on that side at which n
it was most probable
his visitor would appear, his position was well chosen ;
and, in the absence of some untoward event, would give
him a great advantage.
Napier now detected a footfall in his apartment : it drew
on towards his bed ; and then a hand was laid cautiously
on the curtain, which was drawn slightly aside. A step
forward was then inade,when a fierce basilisk glance rested
on the empty couch. There was not time ler it to be with-
drawn before a crushing blow descended, and Napier
sprang with the bound of a tiger on his foe.
The stranger was taken by surprise ; and, though so
suddenly confounded, and partially stunned, the awful na-
ture of his position inspired him with desperate courage
and energy. He rallied all his power; at the instant.
Victory seemed to crown Napier's bold attack, and he threw
himself with wild fury on his resolute antagonist. The
struggle was terrific ; both were powerful men—one ani-
mated by as potent a desire as man ever experienced to
overcome another—the other inspired by the evil passion
of revenge, and likewise well aware that liberty, if not life,
was the point at issue. The stranger had gained a mo-
mentary advantage : his left hand tightened with vicious
intent on Napier's cravat, and with his right be plucked a
pistol from his belt. Napier seized the barrel of the weapon
and strove to wrench it from his opponent. It exploded,
and an individual who had that instant bounded into the
room received the contents in his chest, and fell headlong
on the floor. A voice from the room beyond sounded
shrill, yet terrible in its agony of direful apprehension:—
" The man who fired that shot dies by my hand ! " and,
dashing an individual with whom the speaker of this threat
was contending far from him on the marble flags, he bounded
into Napier's apartment—cut an agonising glance around,
and, observing the character of affairs, he cried in the fervour
of heartfelt gratitude
" Thank God! he is safe," and, fixing his muscular grasp
on the throat of Napier's antagonist, Pearson wrenched
the latter from his hold, and held him with an iron gripe
incapable of moving.
The affray had occupied less time than it has taken to
recount it. Langton and the Count Mole had burst m
upon the party. At a glance they perceived the result of
the struggle ; and then, as Count Mole's eye rested on the
form of the individual who had fallen at the discharge of
the pistol, he bent over him sternly, saying :
"I will ease you of your mask, my friend, that we may
the face of him who seems to have received his death-
warrant in so discreditable a business," and he plucked the
pasteboard blind from the face of the prostrate man. He
hail no sooner done so than he started back as if an adder
had stung him.
" Mother of Heaven ! " he cried, in a voice that arrested
the attention of even those so terribly excited. " Alphonse
D'Aigriguy ! in the name of all the saints, what brought
you hither ? "
" Revenge " muttered the dying man ; and, raising
himself upon his elbow, he drew a pistol from his breast
and was bringing itto a level with I.angton's person, when
the Count Mole, with a stroke of his foot, struck it from