innumerable institutions and improvements, till it became a theatre of wonders-it is for you to decide, whether this freedom shall yet survive, or be covered with a funeralpáll, and wrapped in eternal gloom. It is not necessary to await your determination. In the solicitude you feel to approve yourselves worthy of such a trúst, every thought of what is afflicting in wàrfare, every apprehension of dánger must vànish, and you are impàtient to mingle in the battle of the civilized world. Gò then, ye defenders of your country, accompanied with every auspicious ómen; advánce with alàcrity into the field, where God himself! musters the host to war. Religion is toò much interested in your súccess! not to lend you her àid; she will shed over this enterprise' her selèctest influence. While you are engaged in the field, mány will repair to the clòset, mányl to the sanctuary; the faithful of every náme will employ that prayer' which has power with Gòd; the feèble hands, which are unequal to any other weapon, will grasp the sword of the Spirit; and from myriads of humble contrite hearts' the voice of intercèssion, supplication, and weeping, will mingle' in its ascent to heaven, with the shouts of battlel and the shock of arms. And it is next to impossible for víctory not to crown your exertions; for the extent of your resources, under God, is equal to the jústice of your cause. But should Providence' determine otherwise — should you fáll in the struggle, should the nation fall-you will have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man!) of having performed your part; your names will be enrolled with the most illustrious dead; while postèrity to the end of tíme, as often as they revòlve the events of this period (and they will incessantly revolve them) will turn to you a reverential eye, while they mourn over the freedom which is entombed in your sèpulchre. I cannot but imagine that the virtuous hèroes, legislators, and pátriots of every age and country, are bending from their elevated seats! to witness this contest, as if they were incapable, till it be brought to a favourable íssue, of enjoying their eternal repòse. Enjoy that repose' illustrious immortals! Your mantle féll' when you ascended; and thousands inflámed with your spirit, and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready to swear by Hím that sitteth upon the throne, and līvēth for ever and ēver, they will protect freedom in her last asylum, and never desert that cause, which you sustained by your lábours, and ceménted with your blood. ROBERT HALL. THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION. [FOR more than three hundred centuries it had been the ambition of brave and skilful navigators to immortalize their names by the discovery of a North-west passage through the Arctic Seas to the golden realms of the East. Previous to 1845, more than one hundred and twenty expeditions had successively sailed to the Northern seas in order to discover that mysterious passage, but had all failed in their object. In the spring of 1845, the Erebus and Terror with a gallant crew under the command of Sir John Franklin sailed to the far north. Sir John Franklin resolved once more to renew his efforts to solve the great problem of a Northwest passage. For three years nothing was heard of this gallant expedition and its leader. The Government sent out expedition after expedition in search of the gallant hero and his crews without any very satisfactory result. Then Lady Franklin, finding the Government unwilling to renew the search, with a devotion that no disappointment could damp, fitted out the Fox and despatched the expedition which, under the command of Captain M'Clintock, proved so successful. Franklin had discovered the North-west passage in 1847, and died on the 11th of June that same year, on board his ship.] By the pale beams of the aurora darting across the dark sky, a little vessel is seen wedged in the ice. Her decks being roofed over and covered with snow, she is scarcely to be recognized in the icy waste around. Arrested by the conglomerated floes, her brave crew have bidden farewell to the sun, but not farewell to hope, and not farewell to the chivalrous enterprise on which they have gone forth. Here they wait till Spring, with smiling face, dancing over the dreary region, shall break up their prison by her magic tread, and bid them go free; then, undeterred by past dangers, from that vantage-ground they will pursue their search. But no! while apparently stationary, every surrounding object retaining its relative position, the whole icy plain is drifting southwards. Old Winter, indignant at their intrusion so near his ancient throne, hurls them back thirteen hundred miles. Then the ice breaking up with a thousand thunders into huge masses, like so many Titanic war-gallies, charges down upon the groaning barque, which, gallantly fronting the onset, cuts her way through the foe. Escape from impending destruction is the signal for encountering fresh perils. Again that little vessel penetrates the empire of ice—and again its stern monarch clasps her in his cold embrace, chains her to his glittering throne, and draws around her the dark curtain which no rising sun for many weeks shall pierce. What is the object of her brave crew? They hope that the blessing of those that are "ready to perish" may fall upon them, and that "the widow's heart may sing for joy." Yet how slight their encouragement! Expedition after expedition has failed to discover any trace of Franklin and his brave companions. Twelve years have elapsed. Still another attempt is made. The little vessel "Fox" is fitted out. M'Clintock, in the true spirit of a British sailor, allured rather than repelled by hardship and danger, at woman's* call in the cause of philanthropy, undertakes the command. Volunteers, in embarrassing numbers, ask to serve in any capacity. They are now (1858) spending their second winter in journeys over the ice, with a temperature seventy degrees below freezing. At length they discover relics of the long-lost voyagers, some of whom may still survive in the huts of the Esquimaux. Alas, they find a record of disaster. Then a bleached skeleton. A native reported that Franklin's party "fell down and died as they walked along." And now they come to a boat. In it are two other skeletons-also precious relics, a watch, a fragment of slipper worked by loving fingers, a Bible with texts interlined. The problem is solved. They are too late to receive the blessing of men ready to perish-too late to make the widow's heart sing for joy. Yet their heroism was not wasted. Nothing kindly, bravely done, ever is. The doer at least is bettered. Valuable discoveries were made, agonizing suspense was * Lady Franklin. ended, fresh testimony was afforded of the value set on human life, additional pledges were given that no Englishman imperilled in the discharge of duty will be abandoned, the moral nature of those heroic seekers was raised, and their work of charity was looked on with approbation from above! NEWMAN HALL. SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. THE Polar clouds uplift―a moment and no more, grave. Through the snow's dazzling blink, into the dark they've gone : No pause the weaker sink, the strong can but strive on, Unharmed the wild deer run, to graze along the strand, The river of their hope at length is drawing nighTheir snow-blind way they grope, and reach its banks to die ! Thank God, brave Franklin's place was empty in that band! He closed his well-run race not on the iron strand. Not under snow-clouds white, by cutting frost-wind driven, His heart ne'er ached to see his much-loved sailors taʼen; PUNCH. 66 YOU WILL REPENT IT.” A YOUNG Officer' had sò far forgotten himself, in a moment of irritation, as to strike a private soldier, full of personal dignity (as sometimes happens in all ranks), and distinguished for his courage. The inexorable laws of military díscipline' forbade to the injured soldier' any pràctical redress. He could look for no retaliation by àcts. Wòrds only! were at his command; and, in a tumult of indignátion, as he turned away, the soldier said to his officer that he would "make him repènt it." This, wearing the shape of a ménace, naturally rekindled the officer's anger, and intercèpted any disposition which might be rising within him towards a sentiment of remorse; and thus the irritation between the two young mén' grew hótter than before. Some weeks after this a partial action took place with the ènemy. Suppose yourself a spectator, and looking down into a válley occupied by two armies. They are facing each other, you see, in martial arrày. But it is no more than a skirmish which is going on; in the course of which, however, an occasion suddenly aríses for a desperate sèrvice. A redoùbt, which has fallen into the enemy's hands, must be recaptured at any price, and under círcumstances of áll but hopeless difficulty. A strong párty has volunteered for the sèrvice; there is a cry for somebody to head them; you see a soldier step out from the ranks to assume this dangerous leàdership; the párty! moves rapidly forward; in a few minutes! it is swallowed up from your eyes in clouds of smòke; for óne half-hour from behind these clouds! you receive hieroglyphic reports of bloody strife-fierce repeating signals, flashes from the gùns, rolling mùsketry, and |