The to a baser aim. We have no space to gold ore had been found spread rapidly, dwell upon their fortunes. Nor have and raised an eager expectation,* and it they the special interest of the first, was resolved that a larger expedition, which was conceived and carried out in with a royal ship, should be sent out goldthat true adventurous spirit, which solved hunting the following year. There sailed at last, after the lapse of centuries, the in May, 1577, the Aid, nearly 100 tons, problem which Frobisher was compelled with 100 persons on board, the Gabriel, to abandon in disappointment and dis- with 18, and the Michael, with 16. tress.* With gold-hunting, strife, vio-instructions to the "Generall "† were to lence, angry passions, and mutinous con- search only for the ore, and to referre the duct make their appearance. There are further discovery of the passage to annoble passages in the history; terrible other time." It seems that a considerdangers bravely fronted and skilfully able portion of the expenses of the voyovercome. The cruise of Captain Best ages was contributed by Lok. He comwith "manful and honest John Gray" plains bitterly that he had to make up in a pinnace rudely put together, and in £800 for the first expedition, and £1,400 which the carpenter who did the work for the second. The poor man was utterdeclared "that he would not adventure ly ruined. There is a most dismal letter himself for £500," is one of the most from him dated from "The Fleete Pryson daring exploits even of that daring time. in London," in which he says that he, Frobisher's character stands out through the whole in bright relief. He was a true captain and leader of men. But he had little heart for the gold-hunting; and the expeditions ended in utter disappointment and loss. They grew out of the following circumstances. with his family of fifteen children, are involved in irremediable ruin. He writes fiercely against Frobisher, after the fashion in which men could rave and rail in those days. But his wailings would touch us more deeply if he had not appealed from the judgment of three honest Englishmen to that subtle Italian to find him some trace of gold. The expedition of 1577 accomplished nothing. Frobisher shewed a true captain's interest in his lost men, whom he tried by every means to recover, but without the slightest success. A dim gleam of light is thrown on their fate by the traditions of the Eskimo, which, with some relics of the expedition, Captain Hall, the American explorer, collected in See an interesting extract from a letter by Philip Sidney, in Mr. Bourne's "English Seamen under the Tudors," i. 134. † In those days the officer in chief command of a naval expedition was the general; the admiral was the leading ship. The sailors of course brought home all kinds of curious things, and one brought "a piece of a black stone, much lyke to a seacole in coloure, which by the weight seemed to be some kind of metall or mynerall." One of the adventurer's wives by chance threw a piece into the fire and burned it so long" that at the length being taken forth and quenched in a little vinagre, it glistered with a bright marqueset of gold." There is another story told by Michael Lok. He says that he obtained a piece on board Frobisher's ship. He took it to three gold refiners in succession, who reported that they could find no gold. Being resolved apparently to find it to be gold ore, he took it to an Italian, He wrote a letter and sent it on shore, hoping that one John Baptista Agnello, who being it might reach them. It is the first Arctic letter and more compliant found in it a little powder runs as follows: "In the name of God in whom we all believe, who, I trust, hath preserved your bodyes and of gold, remarking in answer to Lok's ex-soules amongst these infidels, I commend me unto you. pressions of surprise, "Bisogna sapere I will be glad to seeke, by all meanes you can devise, adulare la natura." Lok communicated for your deliverance, eyther with force or with any commodities within my shippes, which I will not spare for this result to the Queen. Mr. Secretary your sakes, or any thing else I can do for you. I have Walsingham - no more keen-sighted man aboord of theyrs a man, a woman, and a childe, which I am contented to deliver for you; but the man I carried in England-looked into the matter, away from hence last yeare is dead in England. More"And did thynk it to be but an alchemist over, you may declare unto them, that if they deliver matter such as dyvers others before had you not, I wyll not leave a man alive in their countrey. And thus unto God, whome I trust you do serve, in been brought to hir Majestie by others haste I leave you, and to him we will dayly pray for you. without trewthe." But the report that Yours to the uttermost of my power, MARTIN FROBISHER." *He appears to have used all his own and his wife's means. She was the widow of a rich merchant. There is a very lamentable letter from Dame Isabel Frobisher to Walsingham, complaining that her husband-"whom God forgive!"-had spent everything, "and put them to the wide world to shift." The first Arctic watchword is singular. Article 8 of the sailing orders of the third expedition is as follows: "If any man in ye fleete come up in ye night, and hale his fellow, knowing him not, he shall give him this watchword, Before the world was God. The other shall answere him, if he be one of our fleete, After God, came Christ, His Sonne. and splendid armament which has ever threatened the liberties of mankind in these modern days. Frobisher played his part so gallantly, that he was one of the four who were knighted by the Lord High Admiral "when the fight was done." In 1594 he was in charge of a squadron on the French coast, when the Queen addressed to him a characteristic and flattering letter. It was his last service. Brave soldier that he was, he writes to the Lord Admiral a report of his achievements, and then in the last paragraph says quietly, "I was shoott with a bullett in the battrie alongst the huckell-bone. So as I was driven to have an insision made to take out the bullett. So as I am neither able to goa nor ride. And the marriners are verie unwilling to goa Except I goa with them myselfe: yett yf I find it to come to an extremitie we will try what we are able." The letter is dated November 8, 1594. On November 22nd his brave heart had ceased to beat, and his "actions" passed into his country's history. 1861 and 1862. But it is too dim to be | High Admiral, writing to the Queen, says of use. They captured a woman too, and -"Sir F. Drake, Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Frowere much struck with her modest car- bisher, and Mr. T. Fenner, are those riage, which they had the manliness to whom the world doth judge to be men of respect; and, together with a large quan- the greatest experience that this realm tity of the supposed ore, they brought hath." To men trained as they had been, home "a dead fish having a horn two it was but a merry sport, a "morice-dance yards long growing out of its snout, on the waters," as one of them called it, which being, of course, the unicorn,' to scatter and destroy the most mighty they reserved as a jewell for the Queen's wardrobe." The ore was not found to be satisfactory, but there was immense excitement; and an extensive expedition, consisting of fifteen ships was sent out the following year, to bring home a larger quantity of ore, and to effect a settlement on Meta Incognita- for so the new land was named. The most notable event of this voyage was the discovery accidentally of Hudson's Straits, along which Frobisher longed to force his way, but he was prevented by his instructions and the murmurs of his people, who were all mad for the old inlet, which proved in the end to be no strait at all-and for gold. A large quantity of ore was loaded, and after tremendous buffetings and hairbreadth escapes the fleet reached England. The ore was soon found to be not only poor but worthless. Then began bitter recriminations and complaints. Frobisher was assailed with the most vehement abuse, which he seems to have returned with hearty good will. He was a hasty, choleric, passionate man; but just, generous, and humane. He was a consummate sailor and a daring adventurous leader, sure to be in the foremost ranks in all the most important and enterprising movements of his time. The Queen knew his value, and used him on special services. His part thenceforth was to be played on a wider field. A brave and able man, one of the simplest and noblest of the great sailors of that day, Jchn Davis, carried on his work in the northwest. He reached 73° N., and discovered the passage which is known by his name.* Frobisher was in command of the Triumph, one of the largest ships in the navy, at England's Salamis. The Lord The path that he opened has been explored for three centuries by some of the boldest, hardiest, and the most heroic of our race. English, Dutch, Scandinavians, Germans, French, Americans, have carried on the Arctic siege with unflinching resolution; and the question seems now to be, who shall be the first to complete the enterprise and win the crown. It will be strange if the tercentenary of Frobisher's first expedition, which is rapidly approaching, should find the problem solved, and the mystery of the Polar Sea revealed. I occupy in this matter the room of the unlearned; but I may be permitted, in closing this brief narrative, to express my conviction that it will be a stain on that peculiar honour of our country which George Beste held so dear, if, now that volunteers are not only ready but eager, England, in a fit of dear economy, should refuse to complete the great discovery, which was a life-long passion with so many of her noblest and most I would that I had space for a brief notice of John Providence, and an argument that the very same Lord LIVING AGE. From Good Words. THE PRESCOTTS OF PAMPHILLON. BY MRS. PARR, AUTHOR OF "DOROTHY FOX." CHAPTER I. A LITTLE CONTRE-TEMPS. AMONG the inhabitants a tradition existed that when the great naval port of Dockmouth was a fishing village, Mallett was a thriving town, and sent two members to Parliament. It needed a considerable amount of faith to credit this assertion, and of imagination to picture the quiet, old-fashioned place as other than it now stood a quaint, ill-built cluster of houses stretching from the water's edge by a steep street to the high road above, and terminating in a straggling colony of pretty cottages, villas, and pleasant detached houses. These last were the residences of military and naval men, with large families and small means, and retired officers, maiden ladies and widows, who formed the principal gentry of Mallett. The noses of the Mallett folk were not at all offended by the odour of fish, seaweed, and old rope, which pervaded every nook and corner of their primitive village. When strangers, pointing to the refuse heaps rotting here and there, declared that even the delicious breezes from the adjacent commons could not counteract such baneful poison as this, the Mallett folk only smiled. They treated as new-fangled notions the talk of the Dockmouth people about the drainage being so bad that visitors could not stand it. And when a suspicion dawned upon their untutored minds that some slur was thus intended to be cast upon their beloved home, they would turn suddenly, as was their wont, quick and fierce, and ask, "Who wanted strangers? Not they. Folks as couldn't abide a good wholesome stink o' fish had best stay away. Who was they, they wondered, for whom Mallett must be altered? 'Twas good enough for the Cap'en and Miss Hero; and if any man or woman at Dockmouth, or at any other port, would say that they could lay finger on their betters, why p'raps they'd stand out and say it." And this challenge being given by men, who, noted as wrestlers, are strong and sturdy of limb, it was rarely taken up, and a surly silence, an unintelligible growl, was accepted by the Mallett champions as an acknowledgment that the Cap'en, the King o' Mallett, as many fondly called him, ranked second to none. The Captain would most assuredly have sided with his friends. It was his boast that no one could tell the time when there hadn't been Carthews in Mallett. From his father he inherited Sharrows, an unpretentious, rambling sort of residence, visible from the high road, while the grounds-if such the tangle of flowers and shrubs could be designated-ran down to the sandy beach below. Captain Carthew had married somewhat late in life, on account so he said- of his having been little on shore, and not having been a good hand at keeping up a running fire in the shape of epistolary wooing. When at length he had made his opportunity, he did not long enjoy domestic felicity. His wife died soon after the birth of their first child, named Hero in honor of the dashing frigate which the Captain then commanded. Since that time, by his ardent admiration of the fair sex, and his devoted attentions, Captain Carthew had raised many a fluttering hope among the spinster portion of Mallett society; but one by one these illusions fell to the ground. It gradually came to be understood that such flattering gallantries were only part of the Captain's chivalrous manners, that they meant nothing in particular to anybody, and that it was more than improbable that the dead mistress of Sharrows would ever have a successor. Twenty years had passed since Mrs. Carthew's death, during which time the Captain had been placed upon the retired list, the navy had gone to the dogs, and his daughter had grown from the "Cap'en's little maid,” who shouted with delight as her rough devotees swung her in their brawny arms, into a bright, fearless girl, whose presence was greeted with delight by every inhabitant of Mallett. It took outsiders some time to comprehend, or in the least degree to understand, the bond of faith and trust which existed between the owners of Sharrows and their humble friends. It was patent to all that a man with nothing beyond his pay and good-service pension could not win popularity by gifts or money. Yet not a joy or sorrow entered one of the village homes without sympathy and help, to the best of their means, coming from Sharrows; and there was not a man or woman in all Mallett but felt securely confident that, no matter what happened, the doors of Sharrows would never be closed against them; that if the Cap'en had but one loaf of bread he would share it with them, and that if he had a fortune left him they would be all gainers. This trust formed the basis of their | lantern jaws, might fill for many a long loyalty, and was a good reason why the year. That sooner or later Mr. Stephen inhabitants, while they freely tendered Prescott would succeed, no one doubted. their respects to the rector, the doctor, Sir Bernard, it was felt, would never and the whole of the Mallett gentry (with marry, on account of the only woman he most of whom either they or their children had ever been seen to look at, or speak to had served or were serving the Queen), willingly, having preferred his brother. Captain Carthew was "the Cap'en," their People who, if they did not know the councillor in difficulties, and their sheet- rights of it, nobody could tell them, had anchor in trouble or sorrow. When com- said that it was on account of Mrs. plimented on his popularity, the Captain Stephen Prescott that Mr. Bernard kept would shake his head, saying, "But you away- living nobody knew how or where, know it ought not to be so; the master and was a greater stranger to his family of Combe should be port-admiral at Mal- than they liked their neighbours to know lett. Why, do you think I'm blind, be- of. Certain it was, that from the time of cause I won't see the things which people, his brother's marriage until some twelve who turn up their noses at us, are point- months after his father's death (when he ing out? But there's no getting Sir had become master of Pamphillon) he had Stephen down here, and until he knows never set foot in his native place; and us, he'll never care about us. Ah! it's a then he only returned because the brother, thousand pities to see the old place going who had been his rival in all he set store to rack and ruin." by, lay in the family vault, with a newlycut inscription on the church wall, telling how he had met his death by an untimely fall from his horse, leaving a widow and only son to deplore their loss. The place referred to was Combe-Mallettan estate which would have found little favour in the eyes of most landowners. The house was moderately large, and old-fashioned enough to look picturesque; but the land attached to it had, from neglect, become all but useless; the park, by which it was surrounded, looked a wilderness of unconvertible timber, stunted trees and brushwood, forming excellent cover for the game, which, on account of Sir Stephen's desire to let Combe, as it was usually called, Mr. Truscott, the agent, kept strictly preserved. Sir Stephen inherited Combe through his grandmother having brought it as her wedding portion to his grandfather, Sir John Prescott. Sir John had left two sons. In the elder (who succeeded him) he had little pride, simply because he was his heir, and a peculiarly eccentric young man, who preferred his hobbies, and the two or three friends who could share in them, to the county society or his own family. Such things were, of course, looked on by them as unworthy of a man born to be master of the Pamphillon estates, and as such, a leader among Grasshire magnates. The tongues of rich and poor, for miles round, echoed the feelings which rankled in old Sir John's breast; loudly declaring it too bad, that while a churlish bookworm had honours thrust upon him, which he neither valued nor graced, the only prospect for Stephen (the second son), who was jovial and free-handed enough to be a duke, was to wait to step into the shoes which his elder brother, in spite of his When Mrs. Prescott spoke of retiring with her boy to Combe, which had been left to her husband by Sir John, Sir Bernard begged her to remain near him, as he should need her assistance and help, if he lived at Pamphillon among his tenants, as she said it was his duty to do. At first the widow hesitated-recollections made her irresolute, and she would only consent to defer her decision for a time; but she quickly found she had no hidden motive to dread in accepting Sir Bernard's invitation. The offers he had made at their first meeting, to be a father to her child and a brother to herself, he fulfilled to the letter, but nothing more. Never did he allude to any warmer feeling ever having existed between them. Mrs. Prescott smiled a little sarcastically when she thought how much unnecessary pity she had wasted upon a man who could so readily forget a disappointment, which he had told her he should carry to his grave. Yet she felt it was far better as it was. No brother could be more thoughtful, nor father more indulgent. He took as much pride in little Stephen as if he had been his own son. All reserve on her part was at last thrown aside, and she, as well as every one who knew them, uncontradictedly spoke to Sir Bernard of his nephew as his heir. The boy was scarcely ten when he and his mother were recalled to Sir Bernard's bedside from a visit they were making in Wales. They hurried back with all speed, successor What was to be done? How was he to be received? When would he come? These, and a dozen other questions were speculated upon, without any conclusion being arrived at, except that something must be done; but it was agreed that what this something ought to be need not be decided upon until Sir Stephen wrote again, which most assuredly he would do before he came. to find him already dead, and Stephen his | from Sir Stephen himself, saying that she but successor to what? To was to get a couple of rooms in order, as, a name, and nothing more. The estate in the course of a week or so he would was mortgaged, tied up, ruined, by the be at no great distance, and would probaspeculations of a man, who had been one bly run down to Mallett for a few days. of the most splendid tools a set of sharpers ever lighted upon. It seemed as if people would never tire of asking each other what possible motive could have induced the man (whom all his neighbours had regarded as a bookworm and a miser) to enter into speculations and schemes which would have staggered the most desperate gambler. No one being able to solve the enigma, they settled the matter by concurring that he was mad, that he always had been mad, and ought never to have been allowed the handling of a fine property, which had been in the family for generations. Poor Mrs. Prescott, bent on living on bread and water to try and keep it for her son, lived in terror that she would not be able to hold out till Sir Stephen was of age, but would have to take the lawyer's advice and sell it. But, impossible as it had seemed, hold out she did; and at twenty-one Sir Stephen Prescott found himself called upon to manage a large estate, which was hampered by liabilities of every description, and which kept him in a continual strait by forcing him to contract new loans to pay off old scores. Thus it was, that while the simple Mallett folk regarded him as a Croesus, who lived a life of thoughtless pleasure, and could turn their poor village into an earthly paradise, without being obliged to deny himself a single luxury; he refrained from asking his agent one word about them, dreading to hear of distresses which he could not remedy, or suggested improvements which he had not the money to carry out. The agent, Mr. Truscott, lived at Dockmouth, and for the last five or six years, on account of Sir Stephen having been abroad, had reigned supreme over Mallett, ruling with so strict a hand that people rather let things go on, however bad they might be, "than knuckle down to that Truscott, who had swept out Glynn's offices, for all he rode on horseback, switching his whip as flourishin' as if he was his master." During the past year, however, hope had greatly revived. Sir Stephen had not only returned to England, but had announced that he should most probably pay Mallett a visitan announcement which, a few weeks before, had been confirmed by Mrs. Tucker, the housekeeper at Combe, receiving a letter "One thing I am glad of," said Hero Carthew, who was seeing her father as far as Ferry Bridge, on his road to Dockmouth; "I am glad Sir Stephen has chosen this season to pay his visit to. Combe. It never looks so lovely as in the spring." "I wonder when the fellow means to make his appearance?" said the Captain. "These youngsters want such a sight of backing and filling. Why, in my day 66 Now, you dear old thing, it's your day now," interrupted Hero; "and Sir Stephen never positively said how soon he intended coming." "Oh! of course, you'll take his part," replied the Captain. "You women are all alike, ready to wager any mortal thing against the likelihood of a full-blown baronet doing wrong." Hero laughed. "I hope he will turn out to be as nice as we want him to be," she said. "It would be a little trial to give up going in and out of Combe, as I suppose we should have to do, if Sir Stephen came to live there. Find out if you can, papa, whether Mr. Truscott knows when he is coming, and how long he intends to stay." "And what do you mean to do with yourself while I am gone?" asked her father. "I! Oh, I shall go to the Joslyns, and see Alice. You are certain not to be back until five or six o'clock. Be sure and bring me the parcel from Home's, and the wool from Miss Gregory's, and don't forget my brooch and Betsey's orders, whatever you do." "All right," said the old gentleman, bidding his daughter good-bye. "Take care of yourself, and don't get into mischief," she called after him; and then, with sundry nods, lookings-back, and shouted messages, the two parted, Captain Carthew to take his place in Ned |