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Dr. Kane's Arctic Explorations.

(Concluded from pace S12 )

Notwithstanding the untoward issue of this pioneer excursion, the intrepid explorer was off with a sledge and seven men on the 26th of April, leaving four able-bodied and six disabled men to keep the brig. His purpose was to proceed to the cache' at the foot of the great glacier, load up there with provisions, and then pass onwards along the face of the glacier until an opportunityoccurred to cross to the American side of the strait, and press on northward along the western coast. At the cache, however, the unwelcome discovery was made that the bears had been beforehand with the expedition, although the stores were covered by blocks of stone which it required the strength of three men to adjust. The iron casks thut had coutained the pemmican were broken literally into chips, and tin cases were penetrated by the brutes' claws as if they had been pasteboard. Near to the margin of the great glacier, the attention of the party was forcibly arrested by a natural plinth and shaft of greenstone, together 760 feet high, standing in the mouth of a magnificent gorge. To this remarkable column, thus reared by the hand of nature within a long day's railway journey of the earth's northern pivot, Dr. Kane at once attached the name of Mr. Tennyson—the grandeur of the wild solitude forcibly suggesting to the thoughts of the discoverer some of the characteristics of the poet's genius. At the rifled cach6 the strength of the leader broke down, and he had to be packed upon the sledge, and dragged by his comrades back to the brig, where he arrived on the 14th of May.

Subsequently to this, two other exploring expeditions were successively dispatched. The! more successful of the two consisted of one of the party named Morton, and the Esquimaux lad Hans. They started with a dog-sledge on the 4th of June, pissed along the ice-belt in front of the great glacier, and finally reached a bold tape, close upon the eighty-first parallel of north latitude, which entirely barred all further progress. Having climbed some 480 feet high upon the rocks, Mr. Morton unfurled there the flag which Commodore Wilkes had planted on the antarctic continent in the extreme south. No land could be seen on the Greenland side beyond the promontory, but the opposite coast of the strait was distinctly visible for about fifty miles further to the north, ending in a bare truncated peak, to which the name of Sir Edward Parry was given. Witli a horizon of about forty miles not a single trace of ice was discoverable; and the ear of the observer, as be stood upon his lofty look-out, was gladdened by the noise of a heavy surf breaking among the rocks at his feet. Melted snow upon the rocks, crowds of marine birds, advanced vegetation, and a high range of the thermometer when immersed in the

water, all indicated a far milder climate for the place than that which is experienced three degrees lower in Smith's Strait. This, then, constituted the grand geographical result of the exploration. Instead of the Bay of Baffin forming j a cul de sac, as the old tradition of the whalers conceived, it leads to a strait—Smith's Strait— which passes on into a channel—Kennedy Channel—that apparently expands into an open polar sea, abounding with life, some 80" miles further to the north than the head of Baffin Bay. The shores of this channel, terminating in the Cape Constitution of Mr. Morton, in latitude 81 degrees 22 minute3 on the eastern side, and in Sir Edward Parry's peak, about latitude 82 degrees 17 minutes on the western side, had now been delineated and mapped through an extent of 960 miles, at a cost of 2000 miles of travel on foot and in sledges. Mr. Morton commenced his return on the 25th of June, and reached the ship on the 10th of July, staggering by the side of the limping dogs, one of which was riding as a passenger upon the sledge.

Dr. Kane next made an unsuccessful attempt to communicate with 'Beechey Island by means of a whale-boat. Soon after his return, it was obvious there would be no possibility of getting the ship liberated from the ice that season. The resolute commander, however, was determined that he would not leave her until he had tried the chances of another year; he consequently gave permission for any of his comrades that wished to make an attempt to escape. Eight of ihe party decided to remain with their commander, but tho rest started southward on the 28th of August, with a liberal share of the general resources. On the 12th of December, the seceders again presented themselves at the brig with fallen crests, having failed to force their way, and having been reduced for two months to subsist entirely on frozen seal and walrus meat, chiefly procured from the Etah Esquimaux.

To return, however, to the month of August. When the diminished party were abandoned by their comrades, they set to work in good earnest to make preparations for another long sunless winter. They had only thirty buckets of coal on hand; Dr. Kane therefore endeavored to follow the example set by the natives of the region, and convert the brig into an Esquimaux iijloe. A small apartment was constructed amid ships below, which could only be entered from the hold by a long narrow tunnel, or tossut. The walls and ceiling were thickly padded with frozen moss. In this close apartment the entire party had ultimately to endure all the wretchedness of scurvy, burning the ropes, spars, and finally the outer shell of the brig, for fuel, and yet having to limit themselves to a consumption of eighty pounds per day. On the 14th of January, Dr. Kane congratulated himself that tn Jive more days the mid-day sun would be only "eight de(frees below the horizon." On the 9th of February, be wrote iu his journal, "it is enough to solemnize men of more joyous temperament than ours has been for some months. We are contending at odds with angry forces close around us, without one agent or influence within 1800 miles whose sympathy is on our side." There were no star-observations this winter; the observatory had become the mausoleum of the two of the party who had succumbed after the excursion in the snow-drift. In the beginning of March, every man on board was tainted with scurvy', and often not more than three were able to make exertion in bihalf of the rest. On the 4th of the month, the last remnant of fresh meat was doled out, and the invalids began to sink rapidly. Their lives were only saved by the success of a forlorn-hope excursion of Hans to the remote Esquimaux hunting-station Etah, seventy five miles, away, whither he went in search of walrus. With the return of the sun, the commander began to busy himself, first with attempts to recruit the store of fresh meat,—a task in which ho was maiuly aided by a bunting treaty he had concluded with the Esquimaux,— and then with preparations for abandoning the ship. Two whale-boats where fixed upon sledges, and on the 17th of May the march was commenced, the men dragging each boat alternately, and making a progress of a mile and a half per day. The doctor himself carried forward the necessaries for loading the boats, and brought up the sick men of the party, by the help of a small Esquimaux dog-team which he had managed to preserve, besides keeping up the supplies along the line of march. This team of already wellworn dogs carried the doctor and a heavily laden sledge backwards and forwards 800 miles during the first fortnight after the abandoning of the ship—a mean distance of fifty-seven miles per day.

The retreating-party were greatly cheered and aided in their labors by the countenance of their Esquimaux friends, who now brought them daily supplies of fresh birds, and occasionally took a share in the work. One man alone of the party was lost on the route; he died in consequence of a hurt experienced by accident. The whaleboats were finally launched into the water, and loaded, on the ISth of June, lifter an ice portage of eigbty-one miles, accomplished in thirty-one days. The boat-parties then made their way, in the midst of great difficulties, and often through imminent peril. During thirteen days, they were beset in the dense pack-ice interposed between the north and south waters of Baffin Bay, and moving alternately over ice and through water. Twice they escaped destruction very narrowly, by taking refuge from gales on cliffs that were providentially covered with scurvy-grass, and multitudes of the breeding eider-duck. Upon one of these occasions, the men gathered lliOO

eggs per day. On the 6th of August, the party finally reached the Danish settlement of Upernavik, after a prolonged voyage of fifty-two days. Five weeks sub-equently, they were all safely received on board the United States vessels Release and Arctic, which had bc:en prosecuting a search for the missing party, about the head of Baffin Bay, since the beginning of July.

Dr. Kane's volumes are illustrated by more than 300 engravings and wood cuts, made from his own sketches. Some of the engravings express the peculiar characteristics of high arctic latitudes very beautifully. The book itself is above all common praise, on account of the simple, manly, unaffected style in which the narrative of arduous enterprise and firm endurance is told. It is obviously a faithful record of occurrences, made by a man who was quite aware that what he had to tell needed no extraneous embellishment. There is, however, so much of artistic order in the mind of the narrator, that the unvarnished record has naturally shaped itself into a work of distinguished excellence upon literary grounds. The scenes which it describes are so vividly and vigorously brought before the reader, that there are few who sit down to the perusal of the narrative but will fancy, before they vise from the engrossing occupation, their own flesh paralyzed by the cold 100 degrees greater than frost, and their blood seurvy-filled by the four months' sunlessncs-i. It is only just also to remark, that there is unmistakable evidence in the pages of this interesting book that the doctor was no less eminently gifted for the duties of his command than he has been happy in his relation of its history. Every step in his arduous path seems to have been taken only after the exercise of deliberately matured forethought. A few illustrations must bo gleaned from the many that are scattered through the pages of bis journal, to direct attention to this honorable characteristic. When the doctor had formed his own resolution to remain by the brig through the second winter, he made the following entry, under the date of August 22: "I shall call the officers and crew together, and make known to them very fully how things look, and what hazards must attend such an effort as has been proposed among them. They shall have my views unequivocally expressed. I will then give them twenty-four hours to deliberate; and at the end of that time, all who determine to go shall say so in writing, with a full exposition of the circumstances of the case. They shall have the best outfit I can give, an abundant share of our remnant stores, and my good-by blessing." Oil the Gth of April, the Esquimaux auxiliary, Hans, was gone to Etah with a sledge, to seek a supply of walrus meat, when one of the men deserted from the ship, and, the commander suspected, with some sinister design upon Hans and the sledge. He then wrote: "Clearly, duty to this poor boy calls me to seek him, and clearly, duty to these dependent men calls mo to stay. Long and uncomfortably have 1 pondered over these opposing calls, but at last have come to a determination. Hans was faithful to me : the danger to him is imminent, the danger to those left behind only contingent upon my failure to return. With earnest trust in that same Supervising Agency which has so often before, in graver straits, interfered to protect and carry me through, I have resolved to go after Haus." The Esquimaux lad was proof both against the violence and the seduction of the deserter. The commander found him invalided, but safe, at Etah. Hans, however, did not return to Fiskernacs with the expedition. His fate is involved in romance. Venus Victrix has a representative even in frost-land. The reader must go to the pages of Dr. Kane to know what, became of Hans.

When the preparations for the final escape were under consideration, the following record was made in the doctor's journal: " Whatever of executive ability I have picked up during this brain-aud-body wearying cruise, warns me against immature preparation or vacillating pur poses. I must have an exact discipline, a rigid routine, and a perfectly thought-out organization For the past six weeks I have, in the intervals between my duties to the sick and the ship, arranged the schedule of our future course; much of it is already under way. My journal shows what I have done, but what there is to do is appalling." Appalling as it was, the heroic man who had to look the necessity in the face was equal to the position. There can be no doubt that it was "the exact discipline, the rigid routine, and the j>erfectly thought-out organization," which restored the sixteen survivors of the expedition to civilization and their homes.

MUSINGS OF THE INDIAN.

The Indian; where is he? Bay, where does he dwell /
Toe muunds of ihe valley no longer can tell.
The plow and the spade have uprooted the ground,
Depot-iting his ashes beneath the green mound,
l'ale mortal, thy hands have been stained with his
blo0a;

Thy temp]e> are reared where his cabin once stood
The works of hi* hand and the fruits of his toil,
Are claime(; by thy laws as the conquerer's spoil
Thou Woulds1 grasp at creation ; thy missiles of power
Have Spread unrestrained to the forester*s bower.
Thy march is unbounded from mountain to vale,—
The blood of the Indian has darkened thy trail;
The rl0od of ambition, propelled by thy will,
Resistless has swept over valley and hill;
And like a wild torrent no power can command,
Bares onward some wreck of my perishing band;
Though I've stood in the blast, and I've braved the

wild storm, No shield have 1 i.ow for my perishing form. The tempest still howls, and the spirit of life, In weariness tuins from the spirit of strife. Why should I thus linger I—earth has no more claims; 1 fain would depart from her desolate plains;

And in the deep valley of death would I trace
Some trail that still lives of my perishing race.
How often in slumber, the spirit of dreams
Has stole from rny senses eaith's-harrowing scenes,
And bore me unscathed w here the sports of my band
Go up to the sky from the shadowy land.
Why has the Great Spirit thus lengthened my stay?
Humanity's claims have all vanished away.
My sky is o'erclouded, and vapors of wrath
In thrcat'ning shadows hang over my path.
Oh ! yes, let me part—something speaks in my breast;
Something whispers, the worn and the weary shall
rest.

Something tells of a land where the undying flowers
Of friendship still bloom in the midst of her bowers.
Some vision of fancy portrays the green glades,—
My heart filled with rapture would ta-te of its shades;
Would bask in its sunlight, would bathe in its streams
And live in the land of its long cheiished dreams.

Richard Burke.

THE CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET ; OR, POWER AND GENTLENKSS.

BY BERNARD BARTON.

Noble the mountain stream,
Bursting in granduer from its vantage ground:

Glory is in its gleam
Of brightness—thuuaer in its deafening 6oand.

Mark how its foaming spray,
Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes,

Mimics the bow of day
Arching in majesty the vaulted skies ; —

Thence, in a summer shower,
Steeping the rocks around : — 0, tell me where

Could majesty and pow er
Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair?

Yet lovelier, in my view,
The streamlet, flowing silently serene,

Traced by the brighter hue
And livelier growth it gives, itself unseen I

It flows through flowery meads,
Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse?

Its quiet beauty feeds
The alders that o'ershade it with their boughs.

Gently it murmurs by
The village churchyard, in low, plaintive tone,

A dirge-like melody
For worth and beauty modest as its own.

More gayly now it sweeps
By the small school-house in the sunshine bright.

And o'er the pebbles leaps,
Like happy hearts by holiday made light.

May not its course express,
In characters which they who run may read,

The charms of gentleness,
Were but its still small voice allowed to plead?

What are the trophies gained
By power alone, with all its noise and strife,

To that meek wreath, unstained,
Won by the charities that gladden life?

Niagara's streams might fail,
And human happiness be undisturbed;

But Egypt would tuin pale
Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curbed.

SAdACITY OF DOdS.

Among the many curious, yet well authenticated anecdotes, illustrating the wonderful sagacity or reasoning powers of the canine race, the following deserves a place. A large New Foundland dog belonged to the captain of a ship engaged in the trade between Nova Scotia and Greenock. On one occasion, the captain brought from Halifax a beautiful cat, which formed a particular acquaintance with Rover: and these two animals, of such different natures, were almost inseparable during the passage.—On arriving at Greenock, the cat was presented by the captain to a lady of his acquaintance, who resided nearly half a mile from the quay, in whose family she remained lor several weeks, and was occasionally visited by her friend and fellow-passenger, Hover, who seemed not a little displeased at the separation which had taken place between them. On the day, however, when the ship was to leave the port for another voyage,, the usual bustle on board gave Hover a hint oi what was going on, and he decided on his course of conduct without delay. He jumped on shore, made his last visit to puss, seized her in his teeth, much to her astonishment, and carried her thro' the streets to the quay, just as the ship was about hauling off. He made a spring, cleared the gunwale, and fairly shipped his feline friend in good order and well-conditioned, in and upon the good ship Nancy, of Greenock; and then ran to his master, wagging his tail, as if entreating that she might remain on board.

TIIE GRAVES OF THOSE WE LOVE.

The grave is the ordeal of true affection. It is there the divine passion of the soul manifests its superiority to the instinctive impulse of mere animal attachment. The latter must be continually refreshed and kept alive by the presence of its object, but the love that is seated in the soul can live in long remembrance. The mere inclination of sense, languishing and declining with the charms which create them, turns with shuddering and disgust froin the dismal precincts of the tomb; but it is thence that truly spiritual affection rises purified from every sensual desire, and returns, like a holy flame, to illumine and sanctify the heart of the survivor.

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal—every other affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open—this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the child that would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the mother who would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember would be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, when hefeels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portals, would accept of consolation that must be bought by forgetfulness?

No, the love which survives the tomb is one

of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection—when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we mo.-t loved, is softened away, into pensive meditations on all that it wasin the days of its loveliness—who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry ''. No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn, even from the charms of the living. Oh the grave! the grave! It buries every error—covers every defect—extinguishes every resentment .1 From its peaceful bosom springs now but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he had ever warred with the handful of earth that lies mouldering before him. But the grave of those we loved—what a place of meditations I There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy— there jit is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene— the bed of death—with all its stifled griefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful, assiduities. The last testimonies of expiring love ! the feeble, fluttering, thrilling—oh ! how thrilling— the pressure of the hand ! the last fond look of the glazing eye turning upon us even from the threshold of existence! the faint, faltering accents, struggling in death, to give one more assurance of affection. Ay, go to the grave of buried love and meditate! there settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefitunrequited, every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being who can never—never—return to be soothed by thy contrition.

If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent—if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth —if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged in thought, or word or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee—if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolEfully at thy soul—then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear—more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. Then weave the chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about tbe grave; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender yet futile tributes of regret, but take warning by the bitterness of this, thy contrite affliction over the doad, and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the dischargo of thy duties to the living W. L

SPARE THE BIRDS.

Boys, let the birds alone! Watch them, study them, love them, and protect them, but do not seek amusement in slaughtering these beautiful tenants of the groves. Do you ask why? Because—

1. They have a right to live. He who created these joyous birds, and without whose notice a sparrow falls not to the ground, doubtless made them to live and to enjoy life—not to be ruthlessly torn to pieces by powder and shot, for the amusement of idle boys.

2. Alive, they contribute largely to the general stock of happiness; but dead, they are of no use to anybody. By their gay plumage, their elegant forms, their graceful flights, their sociable chirpings, and their sweet songs, they fill the woods and fields with gladness, and make the solitary places rejoice. What would summer be, were there no birds?

3. They are entitled to protection, on the score of their usefulness. The occasional depredations they make upon the farmer's fields and trees, are the merest peccadillos, compared with the untiring service they render, in the destruction of noxious insects. It is estimated that one swallow will destroy nine hundred insects in one day. The alarming increase of the insect plagues, of late years, calls loudly for the protection of the birds.

4. The shooting of harmless little birds is a cruel, hardening and despicable amusement. It is dcubly mean when followed, early in the summer, before, oi during the breeding season.

5. It is a dangerous amusement. It has been said, by one who has paid much attention to the subject, that "more persons fall, by their own hand, and by the hands of their sporting companions, while engaged in this wicked and cruel sport, than are executed for murder, or than fell beneath the bolts of the lightning of the thunder."

6. It is unlawful to shoot birds at this season of the year. The following statute is now in force in Massachusetts:

"If any person shall, between the first day of March and the first day of September, take, kill, or destroy, any of the birds called partridges, or quails; or shall, between the first day of March and the fourth day of July, take, kill or destroy any of the birds called woodcocks; or shall, at any season of the year, take, kill or destroy, any

of the birds called robins, thrushes, linnets, sparrows, blue-birds, bobolinks, yellow-birds, woodpeckers, or warblers; or shall, within the respective times, aforesaid, sell, buy, or have in his possession, any of the said birds, taken or killed, whether in this Commonwelth, or elsewhere, he shall forfeit for every such partridge, quail, or wood-cock, the sum of five dollars; and for every such robin, thrush, linnet, sparrow, blue-bird, bobolink, yellow-bird, wood-pecker, or warbler, the sum of two dollars, to be recovered by a complaint before any Justice of the Peace.—N. E. Farmer.

THE NILE.

For many an hour have I stood upon the city, i crowning citadel of Cairo, and gazed unweariedly I on the scene of matchless beauty and wonder that ! lay stretched beneath my view—cities and ruins of cities, palm-forests and green savannas, gar! dens, and palaces, and groves of olive. On one i side, the boundless desert, with its pyramids; on J the other, the land of Goshen, with its luxuriant ! plains, stretching far away to the horizon. Yet this is an exotic land! That river, winding like a serpent through its paradise, has brought it from far regions, unknown to man. That strange and richly-varied panorama has had a long voyage of it I Those quiet plains have tumbled down the cataracts; those demure gardens have flirted with the Isle of Flowers, five hundred miles away; and those very pyramids have floated down the waves of the Nile. In short, to speak chemically, I that river is a solution of Ethiopia's richest regions, and that vast country is merely a precipitate.

The sources of the Nile are as much involved in mystery as every thing else connected with this strange country. The statue, under which it was represented, was carved out of black marble, to denote its Ethiopian origin, but crowned with thorns, to symbolize the difficulty of approaching its fountain-head. It reposed appropriately on a sphinx, the type of enigmas; and dolphins and crocodiles disported at its feet. The pursuit has baffled tbe scrutiny and self-devotion of modern enterprise as effectually is it did the inquisitiveness of ancient despots, and the theories of ancient philosophers. I have conversed with slavedealers who were familar with Abyssinia, as far as the Galla country, and still their information was bounded by the vague word south—still from the south gushed the great river.

From the junction of the Tascaze or Astaboras the Nile runs a course of upwards of twelve hundred miles, to the sea, without one tributary stream. During this career, it is exposed to the evaporation of a burning sun, drawn off into a thousand canals, absorbed by porous and thirsty banks, drunk by every living thing, from the crocodile to the pasha, from the papyrus to the palm-tree; and yet, strange to say, it seems to

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