Mrs. Hamilton's child having died, Mrs. Scarsdale's little boy had been palmed upon her as her own. When Frank arrives, in the last stage of a decline, he is received most kindly by Mr. Hamilton, who will not allow him to undeceive her who had hitherto looked upon him as a son.

As the end of the third volume approaches, the prospects of the chief characters are evidently looking up. Lesbia is gradually becoming rational, and the appearance of her husband in her presence, after a long separation, completes the cure, and we see before them now nothing but such happiness as may be expected in this world. As for Ella Dobree, it is hinted by her mother that the death of Prince Philip has set her free from what was only in reality a romantic friendship, and that she, after all, has really loved, meanwhile, her cousin Hugh, whom she would not

accept formerly, owing to her absurd fears as to the mercenary nature of his feelings. So that we clearly foresee that the beautiful, proud, independent Ella, will have to submit to the inexorable, if somewhat common-place lot of a heroine-marriage. At the end, we are informed that it is jealousy which is cruel as the grave, though why this should have given the title to the work we are at a loss to conceive.

As will be seen, there is enough incident in the novel, though sometimes it is of an improbable nature.' The action occasionally drags somewhat, and the story would gain in interest if it had been in two, instead of the inevitable three volumes. The style is fluent, and in some parts pleasing and amusing, but the dialogues are frequently too long, and not free from vulgarity.

December 14, 1871.

H. P.

WHEN the hut occupied by the three Poles was completed, their material condition was far from being utterly wretched. Their dwelling consisted of three small sleeping closets, and one large apartment doing duty for dining room and kitchen. Their household was composed of an elderly female, who came daily to cook and arrange domestic matters for them. Piotrowski, besides his monthly wages of ten francs, was in receipt of a similar sum, out of the moneys taken from his person by the authorities when arrested; and provisions being cheap, the party did not fare badly. Tea, wheaten cakes, and scraps of meat for breakfast; soup, vegetables, with meats boiled and roasted for dinner; tea and the remains of the former repast for supper, was no contemptible living for convicts. But morally Piotrowski was not more satisfied than before, and not less determined upon endeavouring to recover his liberty, especially since the promulgation of the new ukase of the Tzar. He succeeded, it is not stated how, in obtaining a map, and after deep consideration, he decided upon selecting the northernmost of the five routes presenting themselves to him, that leading through the steppes of Petchora and the Ural mountains to Archangel. Indefatigably he proceeded to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the language, manners, and customs of the Siberians, and to prepare himself for the long and perilous journey he contemplated. He manufactured a formal passport, such as are given by the Imperial authorities, and a local pass, like those issued to natives for short

journeys. He used, for the purpose, stamped paper found in the office : and a friend of his, a forger, engraved for him an excellent seal with the Russian arms. A Siberian wig and sheepskin cloak were to serve the double purpose of affording him heat and a complete disguise.

Piotrowski did not conceal to himself the grave risks and the serious dangers he was about to encounter, and he was fully resolved to succeed or perish in the attempt; to sacrifice life rather than be captured; to ask assistance from no one, and not to reveal his secret to any human being until he had passed the frontiers of the Empire of the Tzars. In January, 1846, he was ready. The epoch of the fair of Irbit, at the foot of the Ural mountains, was approaching, and he thought that an opportunity not to be lost. Every man is said to have a chance once in his lifetime, and that was Piotrowski's. The game was heavy, the stake was liberty; the forfeit life. On the 8th, day of February, 1846, he started at night on his perilous venture. He wore his own wardrobe on his back, consisting of three shirts, two pair of pantaloons, two waistcoats, a short sheepskin jacket, and a heavy cape of the same material, thoroughly greased with tallow. Strong boots well tarred, a woollen belt, and his Siberian wig peeping forth from beneath a fur cap, trimmed with a band of red velvet, completed his costume. His hands were encased in thick fur gloves; his left carried a bundle containing a pair of boots, some bread, and dried fish. His right held a formidable bludgeon.

To his waistcoat was entrusted his fortune-that is, one hundred and eighty roubles in paper money; whilst his right boot concealed his only weapon, a large dagger.

The air was piercingly cold, and the winter was unusually bitter, even for Siberia, as Piotrowski trod heavily on the hard, slippery path leading to the river Irtisch. He crossed his Rubicon, and started at a brisk walk towards Tara, when he was caught up by a peasant driving his sledge, in which the Pole obtained a seat for a trifling consideration. The road was like a sheet of glass, and the seven or eight miles, ending at Tara, were got over in half-an-hour. Another sledge and horses were called for as he stopped at the post-house; a bargain was struck with the postmaster. Piotrowski had suddenly become a clerk to a merchant at the fair of Irbit, and he was hastening to rejoin his master, so he started at full speed. Unfortunately a heavy snowfall came down, and the driver lost his way. After many fruitless attempts to find it, it became necessary to halt, from sheer impossibility of proceeding any further.

The night was spent under a snow storm in the open air, exposed to a temperature of forty to fifty degrees below freezing, whilst the fugitive was exposed every moment to be captured by the numerous kibitkas which sooner or later were sure to be despatched in pursuit. At last even this fearful night came to an end. At daybreak Piotrowski ordered the peasant to return to Tara, threatening to hand him over to the police, to punish him for his stupidity. The Russian moujiks are the meekest of men; and as this particular moujik was obeying his instructions, the right road was happily hit upon. The horses' heads were again turned westward, and the rapid journey onward was resumed, amidst sundry misgivings on the part of Piotrowski, who momentarily expected betrayal or discovery. His fears proved un

founded, none interfered with him. Horses were changed whilst he was partaking of some tea, and he proceeded forward until the following night.

In a small station, whilst resting in a wretched inn, crowded with half-drunken moujiks, he met with a grievous accident. In pulling out his purse to change a note, he felt himself jostled, and a dexterous hand possessed itself of some of his papers. Forty roubles disappeared, and what was worse, a detailed description he had compiled of all the towns and villages along the route went with them, and, worst of all, the Imperial passport he had been at such pains to fabricate vanished. Redress was hopeless, and the loss was irretrievable. A less-determined man might have sunk into despair, but Piotrowski, knowing that his fate would be the same whether caught there or at Archangel, determined to advance at all risks. Following the same swift mode of travelling, notwithstanding the night lost in the forest of Tara, he found himself, on the third day of his flight, at the gates of Irbit, six hundred miles distant from Ekaterinski Zavod.

The

"Your passport!" shouted the sentinel. "Give me twenty copecks and pass on," whispered immediately afterwards the honest soldier. Rejoicing in being able to satisfy the exigencies of the law for so modest an amount, Piotrowski directed himself to an hostelry which, like all others at that period, was crammed full with visitors to the fair. circumstance was favourable for the fugitive, for in the crowd he escaped notice. He pretended to visit the police office to exhibit his papers; he talked loudly of his imaginary master and his business; and like the numerous yamstchicks present, after a repast of turnip soup, dried fish, oil gruel, and stewed cabbage, he lay down in a corner of the izba, the general sitting-room. On the morrow, after an agitated night, rendered

sleepless by mingled fears and hopes, he visited the city, which seemed pleasant, though entirely built of wood. The spacious streets were filled with thousands of sledges, many of which were loaded with merchandise. Piotrowski, unwilling to incur unnecessary risks, did not prolong his stay. His finances--much reduced by his posting thither, and by the robbery he had sustainedwere too slender to permit him to continue that rapid, if not luxurious mode of travelling. He possessed only 75 paper roubles-about 80 francs-wherewith to reach Paris. So he bravely trudged onward under a heavy fall of snow, and with a degree of cold so severe, that the like of which was not remembered by even the oldest inhabitant of Siberia. His feet sank at every step in the snow, rendering progress slow and painful. Villages and human habitations he eschewed; when hungry, he endeavoured to satisfy the cravings of nature with frozen bread and salt; when exhausted with exertion, and unable: stand any longer, he threw himself under a snow-drift; when he lost his direction, he applied for information to travellers in sledges, to solitary huts, or, when indispensable, to the last cabin in a hamlet, so as to avoid inopportune questionings. The first nights he spent in a hole dug in the snow, Ostiack fashion. He was comfortable enough at first, but having inadvertently put on his sheepskin with the fur inward, his bed became too warm, and the snow partially melting, he awoke in the morning with aching head and numbed limbs. A quick walk somewhat restored the circulation to his almost frost-bitten feet, but a keen, piercing, icy blast arose, and all traces of road or path was lost in whirling clouds of snow. At every step he sank deeper into the soft drift, until it reached up to his shoulders.

After unwearied exertions for some hours, Piotrowski succeeded in re

A light

turning to the right track. shone from a small hut, and, worn and exhausted as he was, he approached it and begged for shelter, which was at once accorded by a young peasant woman, its mistress. He described himself as a workman proceeding in search of employment to the mines of the Ural mountains, and after having partaken of his frugal fare, he placed his linen and clothes to dry; he recited privately his Catholic prayers, and loudly his Russian poklony, accompanied by the customary orthodox vows to the native images, and he lay down to obtain some rest, which he sorely needed. His senses were fast leaving him, when he overheard some whispering, and immediately three moujiks entered, inquiring, "Where is he?" The wealth of shirts exhibited by Piotrowski, being unusual in a peasant, had surprised the woman, and she had hastily summoned some neighbours to her assistance. He remained quiet until he was violently shaken and peremptorily asked for his passport. Rubbing his eyes, with much affected indignation, with many queries as to the right of questioning him, he repeated circumstantially the mystical version of his journey he had prepared, and he ended by showing his pass. This document would not have imposed upon the humblest government official, but happily the peasants could not read. They saw the impress of a great seal, and they concluded all was correct. So they returned him the worthless piece of paper, and with profuse apologies they entered into a friendly conversation wtth him.

Piotrowski, on the morrow, when he started on his desolate way, being fully convinced of the danger he had narrowly escaped, resolved that thenceforward the Ostiack couch would be his sole resting-place. And such truly became the case, for between the middle of February until his arrival at Veliki Ostiog, in the

beginning of April, he enjoyed only Ostiack shelter, excepting on three or four occasions, when extenuated by fifteen or twenty days of continuous travel, he staggered almost unconsciously towards some isolated cabin to seek rest and food. All his other nights were spent under the snow. He soon acquired great dexterity in burrowing his sleeping chamber, and in selecting the most eligible sites for it. He discovered that around large trees the snow left a hollow; therein he often took refuge, building over it a vaulted roof. Sometimes, however, all his efforts failed. The roof fell over his head, or the snow was too hard for him to dig, or some other untoward circumstance occurred. Then he leant against the trunk of a tree, keeping his eyes unclosed, for to sleep in the open air would have been to sleep for ever. When his limbs began to freeze, he resorted to rapid exercise, to restore the heat he had lost. He gradually became accustomed to this existence, and he nightly entered into the thickest of the forest, as a traveller enters a familiar hotel. Yet death, by starvation or cold, stared him continually in the face. He had only frozen bread and salt where with to support life, and not always that. He felt greatly the want of hot food; and often he was sorely tempted to beg in some small village for a dish of turnip soup. But he restrained his very humble desires, and he bore all his dire privations with unflinching fortitude. Another great struggle was to keep awake when overcome by fatigue and the soporific action of intense cold. He then walked, or, rather, staggered on; he pinched his limbs; he made desperate efforts not to fall into the sleep of death.

At Verkhoutorié, a small town on the eastern slope of the Ural Mountains, he met a band of half-a-dozen young men proceeding the other way. Entering with them into conversation, he learned that they came

from the extremity of the government of Archangel, near the Frozen Sea, and they were emigrating to Siberia, to seek thither a livelihood their own barren country refused them. There is scarcely a human condition which cannot look down on another still more wretched, and Piotrowski absolutely found indivividuals to whom Siberia was a land of milk and honey, a very El-Dorado. The sight of people who had come from regions so far off, reanimated our fugitive, who, moreover, obtained much valuable information from them.

Onward still, like the Wandering Jew, ever trudging on interminable plains covered with snow, or climbing over steep mountain-paths, Piotrowski pursued without halting, his weary journey. Days, weeks, passed, he knew not how many, for he lost all reckoning. At Paouda, in the Ural Mountains, for the second time since he quitted Irbit, he spent a night in a human habitation. As he was tramping late one evening through that village, he was challenged by a voice from inside a hut, and, on learning he was a traveller, he was hospitably invited to enter.

He accepted gratefully, and the aged couple who entertained him offered him a meagre Siberian repast, which to him proved a banquet worthy of Lucullus. He satisfied his hosts with his usual story, and amused them with many anecdotes and narratives of Siberian life. the morrow they insisted on his partaking of breakfast, and they absolutely refused to receive any remuneration. Indeed, Piotrowski found throughout, the Russian lower classes to be most kind and generous, possessing, often, the virtues of patriarchial times. Before starting, on inquiring his road, he was told beyond the village, he would pass by a guard-house, where he would have to produce his papers, and where he would obtain full in