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“ We regret to say, that a strong memo- from destruction. A mission so sacred is rial, recently transmitted from the United worthy of a Government which bas grudged States, praying our Admiralty to send the and spared nothing for its beroic soldiers Resolute out on a final searching expedi- and sailors in other fields of warfare, and tion, has failed to arouse official sympathy will surely be approved by our gracious with a cause now stirring all England. Queen, who overlooks none of her loyal This is the more surprising as the work subjects suffering and dying for their counwhich remains to be done is extremely try's honor.'-—This final and exhausting small, and Arctic experience shows that search is all I seek in behalf of the first the probable risk is slight. The rate of and only martyrs to Arctic discovery in mortality of all the Arctic Expeditions modern times, and it is all I ever intend to since 1818 (exclusive of that of the missing ask.'” Expedition) is less than one and a balf per Who can fail to cry God-speed ! Do you cent. Sir Charles Wood, therefore, as the know, though the ointment might have · oracle of the Admiralty, has no foundation been sold and given to the poor, it was for saying tható he does not feel justified better to waste it upon those precious feet! in exposing to the risks inseparable from such explorations the lives of further offi
MATTHEW ARNOLD, the poet, of wbom cers and men.' Previous searching expe
we have more than once spoken in the ditions, which were necessarily dispatched
Monthly, has been appointed Professor of to unknown regions, have, as we have
Poetry at the University of Oxford. He seen, been singularly fortunate in regard to the slight mortality, and the proposed
is a scholar, a poet, a gentleman, and Expedition, which will have the advantage
worthily sustains the honor of the name
he has inherited from his father, Dr. Arnold of being within easy reach of the large
of Rugby, the historian. It is an appointdépôts of stores and provisions at Beechey
ment in which every lover of literature Island and Port Leopold, will certainly
will heartily sympathize. not be attended with greater risk than those which have preceded it. Great scientific interest attaches, moreover, to Lady In our last number we regaled our readFranklin's final search, as it will be carried ers with a savory ballad of '77, and this on in the neighborhood of the North Mag- month we have another, singularly suitnetic Pole. Let us, then, hope that the able for the season, although a little preappeal of Lady Franklin will meet a ready revolutionary. response. I have cherished the hope, says Lady Franklin, in her letter to Lord
THE REPULSE. Palmerston, 'in common with others, that
A BALLAD. we are not waiting in vain. Should, how
In 1693, ever, that decision unfortunately throw The Charter of our embryo state upon me the responsibility and the cost of Was deemed a broad, protective shield, sending out a vessel myself, I beg to assure
As potent as a bond of fate.
It bore a front, the like of which your lordship that I sball not shrink either No proud crusader's ever knew, from that weighty responsibility or from Where desperate blows from haughty foes
Fell harmless as 'the summer dew. the sacrifice of my entire available fortune for the purpose, supported as I am in my The king, though claiming right divine, convictions by such high authorities as Must yet succumb to public will: those whose opinions are on record in your
He might be strong, but still would find
That chartered rights were stronger still lordship's hands, and by the hearty sym Wherefore, the stern, high-minded men patby of many more.'— Surely, then, I
Who laid fair freedom's corner-stone, may plead that a careful search be made
Were prompt to peril life and limb
Against encroachments from the throne. for any possible survivor ; that the bones of the dead be sought for and gathered So, when the Royal Duke of York together; that their buried records be un
His pompous emissary sent
To take command of all our troops, earthed, or recovered from the hands of And thus the Charter circumvent, the Esquimaux; and above all, that their That parchinent shield was found to wield
A power no duke could set aside, last written words, so precious to their
That never bent to Parliament, bereaved families and friends, be saved And which no king could override.
This fact caused young Connecticut
To battle stoutly for her rights; And, when tall Colonel Fletcher came,
He saw some unexpected sights. Our notions did not square with his,
Which caused an internecine war, That ended only with the flight
Of this ill-starred ambassador.
The heirs of that determined band,
Our Governor's Guards, are living yet; And the same spirit nerves their arms
That nerved the men whom Fletcher met: Bear witness each election day,
When their tight-gaitered legs we see March to the tune their fathers marched,
And yet, pursuant to his wish,
The men were mustered under arms; And stalwart troops they were to see,
With sturdy limbs and horny palms. Their captain, Wadsworth, was a man
Of slender build and modest mien, But who a loftier spirit bore
Than many a belted knight, I ween.
The line was formed. And Bayard then,
In voice sonorous, loud, and clear, Began; but, e'er a page was read,
No word could any listener hear. “ Beat drums !'' the irate captain cried,
And drum it was, with right good will, Until one might as well have tried
To hearken in a fulling mill.
“Silence !" the colonel thundered forthAnd straight the drummers ceased their
play; Till Bayard raised his voice again, When Wadsworth shouted – “Drum, I
say!” “Silence, you rebels !" shrieked the chief
The dauntless captain answered “drum !" And drumsticks flew till Fletcher ceased,
And then the music, too, was dumb.
It seems we are all in the wrong about “ Toby." Toby was neither a valet nor a man Friday, but a sailor and adventurer like all others. We have been put right by the following communication from the veritable Toby. It is, indeed, a most perplexing question for ourselves—for how if somebody else should claim to be the original Toby? Nay-how if some other Herman should suddenly claim to be the original Melville! There is no foreseeing the end of such doubts and controversies. To the Editor:
In the April number of Putnam, I saw an article on our authors-among others Herman Melville is spoken of. As I am the veritable “Toby' of which he wrote in “Typee," I would like to correct an error which many have fallen into respecting myself. I am often spoken of as Melville's valet, his “man Friday,” etc., and by some as a myth. Now that I exist is true, and the book " Typee" is true, but I was not Herman Melville's valet, man Friday, or anything of the sort. I stood on the same footing with Melville. We both shipped as foremast hands on board a whale ship, in one of the whaling ports in Massachusetts, and from there made the romantic trip from which he wrote his “Typee." I was his companion from the time of our entering on board the whaler, until our separation on the Marquise islands, as related by him. self in “Typee.” A friendly communication exists between us, and I presume it is amus. ing to him to see “Toby spoken of as his valet.
Amid all the summer reading on green lawns under spreading trees, there will hardly be a more exquisitely melodious and melancholy strain than the love-song of George Darley, which we insert for the benefit of all who are, who will be, or who have been, lovers.
In gallant trim the troops moved on,
With lofty step, to Court-house Square, Where Captain Wadsworth made a speech
That stirred each soldier's heart and hair. Then, with three cheers for chartered rights,
And three for their unsullied flag, They filed away, as fife and drum
Struck up the vigorous “ double drag."
"Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty
slumbers, Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through
her hair! Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy
numbers Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely
air? “Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is
To wind round the willow-banks that lure he ever makes calls, does it because he him from above
likes it. What more vatural than that O, that in tears, from my rocky prison streaming,
Jack Easy, on bis stroll from the Club to I, too, could' glide to the bower of my love! the Park, should drop in of an afternoon “Ah, where the woodbines, with sleepy arms,
on pretty Mrs. Bellairs in May Fair? The have wound her,
chances are ten to one he will find Mrs. Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my Bellairs at home, for he knows her hours,
lay, Listening, like the dove while the fountains
and wants to see her. And he is certain echo round her,
to come in for a bright face, a pretty mornTo her lost mate's call in the forests far ing-dress, an elegant little boudoir, and a away!
lively half-hour's gossip--with, perhaps, a “ Come, then, my bird ! for the peace thou cup of tea, at the end of it--Jack has ever bearest,
treated himself to a pleasure. He called Still heaven's messenger of comfort to meCome, this fond bosom, my faithfulest, my with that object. Mrs. Bellairs will have fairest,
half-a-dozen such calls, this afternoon, Bleeds with its death-wound—but deeper
most of them from her male acquaintance. yet for thee !"
The ladies purse their lips, when Mrs. Bell
airs is mentioned. She is too agreeable. - Punch is the wittiest and freshest She has flung off the ceremonies, and recritic of society in our literature. It fuses to perform the penances of society. is the type of the best of the contem- Her dinners are unpretending and proporporary novels of society. To read it, tioned to her kitchen and her establishment. from week to week, is like turning over She does not swell her household with the portfolio of studies from which the
green-grocers, or have her entrées from the authors are going to paint their great pastry-cook's. When you call, as I have novels. Lately we find something so said, you find her at home. She has arapposite to American “society” as well as ranged her house and ways for enjoyment, to English, that we quote it, for its good
and not as if for the discharge of a painful humor and sharp, just sarcasm, for the be
duty. Hence, perhaps, the undeniable nefit of all sufferers by this dreadful social
fact, that she counts, in her circle, three
fact that institution of " calling :"
bachelors for one wedded-pair. The mar6 MR. PUNCH--What holds society to
ried couples you do meet at her house are gether? Mutual services, acts of kindness
apt to be young ones, and of the unceredone in moments of need or sorrow, self
monious or off-hand kind, who take life as interest, the pleasure of conversation, the if it concerned themselves more than their love of scandal, weariness of ourselves, en neighbors. joyment of the company of others, or mere
“ Women, too, have their non-penal instinctive gregariousness ?
calls. When two young ladies for ex“None of these, so far as I can gather ample-dear friends-meet to exchange from my experiences as a married man,
patterns or experiences—to talk over the and a London householder. Society here
triumpbs and trials of last night's ballseems to me to be built up of pasteboard
to compare notes as to husbands, and a veritable house of cards.
house-keeping--to bewail the backslidings “Nine-tenths of the social intercourse of butlers, the contrariness of cooks, or of this metropolis appears to be carried on the high-flyings of housernaids, I do not either as a solemn and costly ceremonial, doubt that they really enjoy themselves. or as a dreary penance.
I can readily imagine two vicious old "Dinners, routs, balls, breakfasts--wed- maids, keenly relishing a good ·go in' at ding and others--belong to the first, or cere the reputation or cricumstances of their monial order of social rites.
friends. I can conceive their bitter pleas“Calling is the principal form of social ure in tearing to pieces some fair young penance. It is against this penance I wish 'fame-or in routing out some grim skeleto pour out my feelings.
ton from its closet in the house of a com" It is only married men who know at mon acquaintance ; or in letting loose what cost of time, 'money, and temper from its bag some cat, likely to run about this penance is performed. A bachelor's freely, and to bite and scratch a great calls are seldom penal. Your bachelor, if many people in the neighborhood.
"There is enjoyment in a call on an himself in Gothic characters as difficult to artist in his studio, provided you know decipher as the directions to strangers in bim well enough to rummage his port the New Houses of Parliament. folios, or turn his canvases from the wall “But what is the meauing of this pack while he continues at work. Unless you of pasteboard from the Juggernauts ? are on these terms with him, you have no Why has Mr. Juggernaut left two cards, business to interrupt an artist, except on and Mrs. Juggernaut two cards, and Miss invitation, and on ceremonial or penal Juggernaut two cards, and Mr. Frederick occasions ; as, for instance, when Podgers, Juggernaut two cards ? And why are A. R. A., has expressed in writing the they all turned up at one corner? The pleasure it will give him to see you for in- Juggernauts are the most determined doers spection of his pictures intended for the of social penance I know. This shower of Academy on the 3rd, 4th, or 5th of April. cards is meant to represent a visit from
That is one of the penal performances. If every individual member of their family you go, you must make one of a shoal of to every individual member of mine. Well, people, who flock into the place on each if it have saved us from an affliction of other's heels the whole day through, most the Juggernauts in person, let us be thankof them knowing nothing of art. The ful. These pasteboard proxies are blessed few who do, are de barred by politeness inventions, after all. There could be only from speaking their mind on the works one thing better : to get rid of the printed before them, where they cannot honestly pasteboard-even as we have got rid of approve; but they are all pouring out the the human buckram it represents. Why same commonplaces of compliment to call upon each other--O my brethren and Podgers's face, and venturing on shys' of sisters—you who bore me-you whom I criticism whenever the poor man's back is bore--even in pasteboard! Why not drop turned, wbile poor Podgers is beaming it altogether--and live apart ? People about, full of himself, feeding on honey who care for each other will find time and and butter, and believing all the com- opportunity to meet, I will answer for it. pliments sincere in spite of his better Why should those who do not pine in judgment--80 sweet is praise-till the a self-inflicted and superfluous suffering? Times comes out, the day after the Private Think what you are exposing yourselves View, and omits all mention of Podgers, and me to. I or my wife might be at or damns bim with faint praise, or cuts home when you call. We might all have him up, perhaps, root and branch.
to endure balf-an-hour of each other-- But the real penance of penances is constrained, unhappy half-hour, of baffled that social performance called leaving attempts at keeping our mask from slipping cards. Every day, when I come home on one side, and showing the yawns, and from my office, I find my hall-table littered flat melancholy behind them. with these pieces of pasteboard. There is " Then this penance is not merely paina physiognomy about them. Take the ful in itself. It costs time and money. newly-married card, for instance, on which “One morning in every three weeks or Mr. and Mrs. Coobiddy always figure in so, I find my wife at her writing-table, couples, a sort of connubial four-poster struggling with the Red-Book and the Map among the pack; or Captain Blunderbore's of London. She is making out her lists of card--the most tiny and lady-like square calls, she tells me. These lists are in of glazed pasteboard, with letters so small, duplicate. One is for her own guidance, they almost require the help of a magnify. , the other for the driver of the Brougham, ing glass to make them out; or Lady which is hired for the day's penance. Mangelwurzel's solid and substantial ticket, There is a sovereign for that, including heavy as her ladysbip's jointure, the letters the tip to the driver. Of course, she square as her bank account, and as firmly can't be expected to make her calls in a impressed on the paper as her ladyship's cab. dignity and importance on her mind. Here “I once, out of curiosity, accompanied is the pasteboard representative of lively my unbappy wife on one of these penal Mrs. Marabout-limp, light, spider-charac- rounds of hers. I never saw more suffertered, engraved in Paris; and here ing, of various kinds, condensed into six mediævally-minded Mr. Pyxon has stamped hours. First, there is the consideration of
the route-by what line the greatest number of calls could be got through in the least time, with the greatest economy of ground. This settled with the driver, begins the painful process itself, in Tyburnia
let us say-or Belgravia, or the regions around Bedford Square-if one dare own to acquaintances in that quarter,
“! Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.'
u “You reach No. 1 on your list: a pull at the check-string : ten to one the driver has overshot the door: he turns round: descends : knocks: the door is opened: • Mrs. Harris not at home'--of course : your cards are dropped : drive on to No. 2: driver has a dificulty about the street: this you discuss and finally settle with him through the front window: drive a hundred yards : check-string again : knock: door opened: not at home : card dropped as before : then on to No. 3: and so the weary routine goes on from one o'clock till six. Of course, there are episodes of peculiar dreariness. Sometimes Mrs. Harris is at home, and being at home, has neglected to say that she is not. If you have rasbly asked the formal question, you must go in, and the pasteboard performance is turned into the real penance of a bona fide call. Or your coachman is stupid, and keeps turning up wrong streets: or cannot read, and invariably stops at the wrong numbers : or is obstinate, and has a theory of his own as to the order in which the houses on your list are to be taken, and so forth.
“ The worst of all, as I have already said, is when the people called upon bappen to be at home. This chance has to be faced at every house, and adds seriously to the day's unhappiness. I shall not soon forget my wife's face of consternation when, on dropping her cards at the address of our dreary old friend, Mrs. Boreham, who is at once deaf, curious, and ill-nåtured-the servant who took the cards, instead of shutting the door as usual, advanced to the carriage--Good Gracious!' exclaimed my wife, in a voice of dismay, She's at home!
66 Mrs. Boreham at home? she inquired the next moment, with the blandest smile.
"No, ma'am,' was the answer ; 'but she told me to say, if you called, she was going to Brighton for a month.'
"God bless her !' rapped out my wife. The footman thought the ejaculation one of pious affection. Under this impression he might well look astonished. Had he understood the words in their true sense as an utterance of thankfulness that his mistress was out of the way-he would, probably, have said 'Amen,' for Mrs. B.'s hand is heavy on her household. I have never joined my wife in a day of visitingpenance since that morning. But I am always paying bills for lots of cards, and the Brougham forms a serious item in our quarterly accounts.
“But after all it is not so much the waste of money and time that irritates one as the hollowness of the business. If these lying pasteboards must be deposited, why not dispatch them by post, like tradesmen's circulars? I hear that some fine ladies do send round their maids on this penance. I applaud them for it. I have serious thoughts of insisting on my wife's employing the crossing-sweeper--who does our confidential errands extraordinary--to deliver her cards. He is a most trustworthy man, and would be thankful for the day's work, for which he might be fitted out respectably in one of my old suits.
“ This groan, I feel, ought, by rights, to have come not from me, but from my wife. It is the poor women, especially, who have to do this penance. But we men suffer from it in twenty ways, besides the direct ones of money out of pocket, and a wife's time abstracted from home and home duties. The huge lie it embodies works all through society. This pasteboard acquaintance invites and is invited. To it I owe the splendid dullness of many dinners every season-the heat and weariness of many crushes under the name of drums, routs, concerts, and so forth--the necessity of bowing and smiling to, and prosessing a sort of interest in the concerns of hundreds of people I don't care a rap for. Tnanks to it, in short, I perform an uncounted number of journeys in that prison-van I have already alluded to, in whose stilling cells we most of us pass so much of our unhappy lives, on our way, self-condemned that we are, to hard labor on the Social Tread-mill.
"When shall we have the courage to put down this instrument of torture, as we have