IR JOHN FRANKLIN, with Captains Crozier and Fitzjames, in H.M.S. Erebus and Terror, sailed on his third arctic expedition of discovery and survey, from the Thames, May 24, 1845. The last dispatches received from him were dated from the Whalefish Islands, July 12, 1845. Their protracted absence caused intense anxiety throughout Europe, and numerous expeditions were sent from England and elsewhere in search of them. Dr. Rae, in July, 1854, reported to the Admiralty that he had purchased from a party of Esquimaux Sir John's star or order, part of a watch, silver spoons, and forks with crests, etc. He also reported that they April 25, 1848, by Captain Fitzjames, which certified that the ships Erebus and Terror, on September 12, 1846, were beset in lat. 70 deg. 05m. N., long. 98 deg. 23m. w.; that Sir John Franklin died June 11, 1847; and that the ships were deserted April 22, 1848. Captain M'Clintock continued the search, and discovered skeletons and other relics. The recent expedition, under Lieutenant Schwatka, has discovered further interesting particulars. This company of a hundred and forty men, under Sir John Franklin's command, may, in some respects, be regarded as martyrs of science." Discoveries have been made, but they are of no value in comparison with the lives they have cost the country, and the loss that falls so heavily on the hopeless widows and orphans. We now can trace on the map within the Arctic Circle a path which we hope no voyager will again attempt to traverse; we can point to the polar magnetic centre, perhaps, with some scientific pride, but with very little practical result; we can show the latitudes in which the Boothian Esquimaux cease to fight the battle of life, and where vegetable and animal existence altogether fail. The only errand that will justify men in again penetrating these inhospitable regions is that of the Christian missionary. It would indeed be delightful to learn that the Moravian Brethren had been the means of diffusing among the Esquimaux converts such a spirit of missionary zeal as would send some of their numbers forth in search of those outlying members of their tribe which have never heard of the laws of God and the love of Christ. The journals of our explorers give us such an insight into the character of these struggling waifs and strays of humanity, as prove that they are afar off from God, as well as from the great centres of civilisation and Christian privileges. Their mental and moral degradation have served to call forth from a brave commander the wish that means may be employed to improve their miserable condition. If missionaries from civilised regions cannot dwell among them, owing to the severity of the climate, a very slight expenditure suffices to equip suitable Esquimaux converts for a mission of mercy to the highest latitudes in which man is known to live. It would indeed be some return for the waste of life if the discoveries made by arctic explorers were to prompt our missionary zeal to extend our journeyings in search of lost souls to the furthest point trodden by the foot of the Indians or the Esquimaux. The discoveries made to the Church by our scientific explorers cannot be ignored by the Church; and it may be that the Christian enterprise of the native missionary is to give its highest value to the labours of our explorers, and the best compensation for their terrible sufferings and loss. We are not without the most satisfactory evidence that among the leaders of the various expeditions into the frozen regions of the north, and among their devoted followers, there have been many whose hearts have been warmed by Divine love. We can call to mind how some of these good men, on the eve of their departure from England, have been known to spend their time in prayer to God; how they have taught their crews the way of life through a crucified and risen Saviour; how, after the sudden loss of a companion, the men have been exhorted by a pious captain to be themselves also ready for the coming of the Son of Man. It was the constant practice of the late Sir Edward Parry, when at Greenwich Hospital, to collect the men around a table on which was placed the Word of God, and teach them "How to navigate the sea of life, And gain the coast of bliss securely;" and we read of that good man that, on one occasion, while engaged on board his ship in conducting wor ship, it was announced that the vessel was in danger, when, instead of betraying alarm, he closed the service in an orderly manner, and proceeded to the deck, where, with the utmost presence of mind, he issued the directions which were the means of saving the ship and crew from destruction. THE NIGHT IS FAR SPENT. HRISTIANS, wake! no more be sleeping, Lo! the Bridegroom cometh now! Let us at our posts be found! A BAD BARGAIN. "What fruit had ye then in those things whereof ye are now ashamed for the end of those things is death." IN is unprofitable, shameful, and fatal. It is hateful to God and destructive to the sinner. God in His mercy, no less than in His justice, says to us, "O do not this abominable thing which I hate." What fruit or profit have we ever received from sin? It has ruined many a man, even for this world. Can any one say that he is the better for his sins, or has gained any good from them? Sin is shameful too. A man may glory in it at the time, but he is always ashamed of it afterwards. After a night spent in drunkenness and vice how does a man feel next morning? With empty pocket, shaking With empty pocket, shaking hand, aching head, and guilty conscience, can he bear to reflect upon his night's work? Or can he look his friends and neighbours in the face without shame ? And sin is fatal too. "The ungodly man shall not live out half his days." There is nothing shortens a man's life like wickedness. Or if the wicked man reaches old age, yet death comes at last; and when the end of life is reached, what fruit has he of his sin then? "Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die." A mis-spent life ends in a miserable death. And the death of the sinner is only his entrance into that "lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death." THE FARMERS' QUARREL. ARMER ANDREWS and Farmer Brooks were near Eneighbours, but unhappily they were very un At length the cause was tried; neither Mr. Andrews nor Mr. Brooks obtained the victory, while each of them found to his cost that "the beginning of strife is as when one letteth out water." And so it went on, from bad to worse, till one day a letter came to Farmer Brooks from his sister, telling him that she had been left a widow, and asking him to shelter herself and her child till she could settle their future arrangements. In her early married life, Aunt Martha, as she was called, was thoughtless of God's words, and thankless for God's mercies. When, therefore, her first great sorrow came upon her she was overwhelmed with distress and knew not where to look for consolation. At length it pleased God by the power and grace of His Holy Spirit to give her faith in the Lord Jesus, to help her to repent of her past carelessness and unbelief, and then to cast her cares upon Him who cared for her. It was not long before Aunt Martha's joyful, happy spirit made its influence felt on Farmer Brooks and his family. They were contented and much less troublesome than formerly; the farmer's wife spent some time daily in reading God's Holy Word, while the farmer himself grew more kind and considerate to all around him; and instead of having merry parties at his house on the Lord's Day, as he used to do, he went regularly to a place of worship. But now let us pay a visit to Ash Toft Farm. It was a cold winter's evening, and the great wood fire blazed cheerfully on the large hearth of the kitchen. On this particular evening the fire was more cheerful in appearance than were the inmates of that room. As Farmer Andrews sat at the oaken table in front of the fire, turning over the leaves of his account-book a gentle knocking was heard at the hall door; and the servant entered the kitchen to inform her master that friendly ones. Several trifling disputes kept Mr. Brooks wished to speak with him. alive a spirit of bitter enmity. One day, in passing through his grounds, Farmer Andrews was startled at hearing the heavy blows of an axe, and the shouts of men; and hurrying to the spot whence these sounds proceeded, he was amazed to behold an ancient tree ready to bow its head at the woodman's stroke. Already was its stem half cut through; a strong rope was fastened to its upper branches, and held tight by a dozen of his neighbour's men; while two others, having laid aside the axe, were preparing to complete their destruction with a formidable two-handed saw. Close by sat Mr. Brooks on his horse looking on unmoved. Never, surely, was Mr. Andrews so beside himself with rage as at this moment. He shouted with all his might. He asserted that the tree was his; that it grew on his land; that no one but himself could dare, or ought to have dared to touch it, and that he would "take the law of him," he said, "if it cost him all he was worth." On the other hand, Mr. Brooks was quite ready to go to law also. "Tell Mr. Brooks then to give his message to you ; I don't want to see him," said Mr. Andrews, in an angry voice. But Mr. Brooks would not be denied admittance, and before Mrs. Andrews had recovered from her surprise, and her husband from his wrath, their old adversary stood before them. "Neighbour Andrews," he said, "I dare say you did not expect to see me, and I do not wonder at your looking angrily upon me. I know that I have injured you, and I am come to ask your forgiveness." "And so you ought," replied the owner of Ash Toft Farm, "so you ought. Yes, you have injured me more than enough, Mr. Brooks; and I wonder you are not ashamed to show your face in my house." "Don't say so, neighbour; at least, I hope we shall not be enemies any longer. I tell you, I am sorry, very sorry indeed, for our past disagreements, and I feel I have been greatly to blame. But, since we cannot undo what has been done, will you forgive me for my part of the folly?" "Your part! your part!" exclaimed Mr. Andrews, hair" hat firmly upon his head, seized his walkingstick, and, still without speaking a word, walked out glad, apparently, to begin a new quarrel; "why, it "No, I won't!" stoutly and quickly Mr. Andrews replied. "And now, if you have anything more to say, sir,"-and Mr. Andrews looked towards the door. Mr. Brooks could not but take the hint. With a heavy heart he withdrew; and as he heard the stout iron bolt of the hall door thrust violently into its staple, almost as soon as he had crossed the threshold he half regretted the sacrifice of feeling he had made. Do what he would, the owner of Ash Toft Farm could not forget what had passed that evening in his kitchen. He went to bed, but he could not get comfortably to sleep; and he rose in the morning unrefreshed and gloomy. He went out into his yard, and bustled about among his men and boys; but he could not drive away his neighbour Brooks. It was very provoking, too, that the more he thought the more did his own misdoings and provocations come into his mind. He was angry with himself, and angry with everybody about him; but the more angry he became the more was he plagued with disagreeable reflections. At length, when night came, and he was again seated by his cheerful blazing fire, in his comfortable arm-chair, he sat himself fairly to call to mind all the awkward and unfriendly affairs that had ever happened between himself and Farmer Brooks; and again a solemn silence, only broken by the crackling of burning wood, reigned over the kitchen of Ash Toft Farm. Once, twice, did Farmer Andrews rise from his chair, and as often did he sit down again; but after more than an hour's deep cogitation he started up for the last time, and, without speaking a word, slipped on his rough greatcoat, fixed his waterproof "dog's "Where can your father be going this time of night?" said the astonished farmer's wife to her children. Greatly more astonished, and much alarmed too, would she have been, had she known that, while she was speaking, her husband was striding over the fields towards Beech Hollow Farm. Astonished, but not alarmed, was Mr. Brooks, shortly afterwards, on being told that Mr. Andrews was at his door, and asking to have a word or two with his neighbour. "Mr. Brooks," said Andrews, as soon as the outer door was closed, "you offered me your hand last night, and I would not take it here is mine now,"-and there was light enough to show that the strong bony hand thus held out trembled like a leaf. Mr. Brooks took the offered hand, and shook it heartily. heartily. "Then you will forgive me?" he said. 66 Forgive you!" exclaimed his neighbour, and his voice trembled as well as his hand. "It is I who ought to ask your forgiveness; and I am come to do it. Only to think of the spite I have had against you, and the ill-natured things I have said and done. I tell you, neighbour, if you knew all, I don't believe you could forgive me-there!" It was a pleasant sight to see the two farmers, who had been so long divided by enmity, sitting in friendly chat by the same fireside. It was pleasant, too, to hear Mr. Brooks telling his reconciled neighbour how he had been brought to such an altered state of feeling, and of the words of the Scriptures which, armed with Divine energy, had sunk into his soul. And it was pleasant to observe how eagerly the farmer of Ash Toft listened, as to some new and strange thing. TRIED AND PROVED. N aged widow was meditating upon the faithfulness and love of God, with her Bible open before her. It was an old Bible-a very old one-which bore the marks of constant handling; but it was a very precious one to its owner, not only because it had been her mother's Bible, but because in it she had for many years been accustomed to seek for a knowledge of that will which becomes the law of life to all who trust and love the Saviour, and to go to it for the comfort which she could find nowhere else. Throughout her Bible there were many words and marks, which she had written with her pencil, the most numerous of which were "T. and P." Whilst the widow was thus occupied, her meditation was interrupted by the presence of a visitor, who, seeing the open Bible before her, made some observations respecting the preciousness of its contents; and on turning over some of its leaves in order to find a passage which had been referred to, saw "T. and P." written in several places upon the margin, and therefore took the liberty of asking what it meant. The widow's reply was simple and beautiful. She said, "That means Tried and Proved. For many years past I have come to this Bible for instruction and comfort, and have always found what I sought. It has never failed me. It was in its blessed pages, that, through the Holy Spirit's help, I discovered myself to be a lost and ruined creature; a sinner by nature and practice; exposed to the displeasure of the Best of Beings without being able to save myself; and here also I learned that Jesus was mighty to save. I sought for mercy with earnest prayer. I cast my helpless soul upon Him, and found salvation, became renewed in heart and life, found the rest He had promised, and proved His faithfulness; and against that invitation and promise I inscribed my first T. and P." PUT THE DRAG ON. LESS you, sir, you needn't be afraid; I've driven this road long enough to know it, and my horses know it as well as I do. Never fear; we don't want no drag." The driver spoke as if he thought my interferencc needless, if not impertinent. Yet I ventured to say, "I do not at all doubt your skill, nor your good knowledge of the road; but with so many loose stones about, and a rather heavy load, I certainly think it would be safer to lock one of your wheels down this very steep pitch." "Nervous, sir?" he asked, with a sort of sarcastic tone. "But there, we're all but down now. C'up!" he said to the horses, giving them touch of the whip. a They started at the touch; one of them trod on a stone; the weight of the vehicle, with its load of passengers, was more than they could bear; a sudden plunge forward, a frantic attempt to recover their feet, and in a moment more, passengers, coach, and horses were rolling in the dust. Providentially, beyond torn coats, crushed hats, and bruises more or less severe, there was no serious damage done; and we were soon on our legs, helping to release the poor horses, whose harness prevented their rising, and who lay snorting and plunging on the road. The coachman, to do him justice, was most active in endeavouring to set right the mischief which his neglect had caused; but he carefully avoided saying anything. With a shamefaced look, and occasional expressions of impatience, he moved about among us, humbled and mortified. In time we got matters as comfortable as circumstances would admit. The horses and passengers marched on, as best they could, to the next village inn, about half a mile distant; while the guard was left in charge of the luggage and the disabled coach till help could arrive from thence. |