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explorers pushed directly west, in order to discover whether any other channel existed. They crossed the head of Victoria Strait in two days, and found a low, level coast, scarcely distinguishable from the floe over which they had travelled. A long march westward and northward across these plains brought them to the head of Ommanney Bay; from thence they turned back to Peel Sound, searched the coast up to Cape Walker, and returned round the north coast of North Somerset to Batty Bay. They had found no traces whatsoever of the missing ships, but they had narrowed the field of search, and rendered valuable aid towards the termination of the existing suspense.

Captain Kennedy's narrative is written in a hearty and cheery spirit, which carries the reader pleasantly along. It is full of the usual incidents of arctic travel; and it is marked throughout by a generous appreciation of other efforts in the same cause, and by great modesty in the account of the author's own.

The discoveries made by Captain Penny's expedition, in 1850, have scarcely yet ceased to thrill upon the public ear. The three graves found on Beechy Island of men belonging to the missing ships, who had died in January and April, 1846; the relics of the forges, and huts, and stores, both there and on the coast of North Devon; the traces of an encampment north of Cape Spencer-all told clearly that here Franklin and his brave companions had passed their first winter; and that from hence, therefore, his seekers should begin their researches. Unhappily, no indication could be discovered of the plans with which he broke up his camp. Probably, in the fulness of hope and the confidence of success, such indications were deemed superfluous-possibly they were left, but have escaped discovery. We need not discuss the different judgments which were formed on the spot concerning his actual course. One of the strongest

was that which affirmed there was no outlet to the north-west from Wellington Channel. Not so, however, judged Captain Penny. After various attempts to explore its coasts

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in the advancing autumn, he at last laid up his ships for the winter at the south of Cornwallis Land, having for a companion the veteran Sir John Ross, and for neighbours the vessels of Captain Austin's squadron, which had taken up their quarters on the opposite coast of Griffith Island. The winter passed away, and with the beginning of spring Captain Penny organized his travelling parties, and commenced his examination of Wellington Channel. The result was the discovery of an outlet to the north-west, and of the extensive water to which the name of Queen's Channel has been given. It was the 16th of May, 1851, when Dr. Sutherland gazed from Point Surprise over that expanse of sea, then quite free from ice; and while sighing for a boat to take advantage of the open water, could not refrain from the exclamation-No one will ever reach Sir John Franklin; here we are, and no traces are found.' But, as our readers know, a powerful squadron, under Sir Edward Belcher, is now engaged in following up these important discoveries, and some decisive intelligence may be anticipated before any very long time has elapsed.

Polar adventure is now so familiar to our imagination, that it is not easy to invest it with any fresh interest. But Dr. Sutherland's narrative triumphs over this difficulty in a remarkable degree. To the daring of a seaman, and a naturalist's love of science, he unites a poet's feeling-we might almost say enjoyment, of the sublime dangers of those icy seas. You are beset in the pack,' under a dark and stormy sky, when the ice all around you suddenly takes life and motion, emits deep hollow groans; and if two or three persons are sitting below in the cabin, they hear a grazing sound against the ship's sides, which, Dr. Sutherland says, interrupts your conversation surely as if a thunderbolt had burst right over head. And when it is resumed, some old navigator will tell you how, under such circumstances, he has seen the floes walking over ships, and make you none the more talkative when the ominous sound recurs. As a naturalist the doctor finds abundant occupation;

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selves to all chances. And so we perused Lieutenant Hooper's praises of the Tuski ladies, the buxom Meeco, the budding Mi-yo, the fullblown Yaneenga, the funny Attah, with a scepticism fully justified by his subsequent account of their abominable-what shall we say?—toilet. Surely they are the genuine great unwashed. We may admit their good nature and obliging disposition, but we would be excused from 'rubbing noses' with the handsomest among them. Nor can the eivilized sweet tooth which the Tuski exhibit in the matter of sugar in any wise lure us to share their banquets. Fish au naturel, except that it is the reverse of fresh, the unruminated food of slaughtered reindeer, and other similar delicacies are not compensated to our taste by cocoa-nut-flavoured cubes of whale's skin, or flavourless boiled seal. O dura ilia! we fear the Tuski are sad savages, even while we thank our gallant lieutenant for his pleasant account of them and their ways; their grotesque attempts to rival himself in standing on his head and throwing summersets, their wild rites of Shamanism, and their children's dance of 'ermine catch rabbit by the tail.' When they first came on board, all questions were answered by the word 'tam,' afterwards found to mean 'no;' and our author says the English expression of vexation at the want of understanding often sounded very like the Tuski negative. Leaving our readers to solve this riddle, we need only add that the remainder of Lieutenant Hooper's volume contains the history of a boat expedition along the North American coast and up the Mackenzie river, including some fearful tales of hardship endured by the Hudson's Bay Company's servants; and that it is illustrated by several wood-cuts and coloured plates, one of the former being a fac-simile of the author's portrait as drawn by a Tuski artist.

Having now to quit the New World, and proceed to the utmost limits of the Old, we may take the

A Ride through the Nubian Desert. and Co.

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overland route, and for a while travel in company with Captain Peel on his way to the Nubian Desert.* But this pretty little volume is one of those which derive their chief value from the author's name, and perhaps do positive harm, by occupying the market, to the exclusion of other works, more desirable, though less patrician. An attached friend seems to us scarcely a rarity requiring a solemn description; we do not much care to learn that our author is of a choleric temperament, hardly profitable, we should think, on the quarter-deck; we are little moved by his proficiency in Arabian slang. But he shall speak for himself. The Kadi of Assouan, on the Nile, attempts to defraud him of his stipulated boat's crew:

At this I burst into a rage, and with no want of words to express it, for on these occasions I speak Arabic with great fluency and precision. Oh! you oppressor of the people,' I cried,' you corruption, you swine, there's no grace of God in your face.' He stood fire very well till I said this, and then stamped and raved, and it was doubtful who would win, so I appealed to the bystanders, and said, 'Look at him, there's no grace of God in his face.' It was too much for him, so he bolted and ran down to the beach, and cried, ' Get the men, get the boat ready; this fellow is worse than the devil.'

The self-consciousness which is visible in this extract more or less pervades the whole book, and together with a certain intolerance, also too apparent, seems likely to militate against the pious purpose of Captain Peel's journey-the conversion and emancipation of the negroes of Dafour. We regret that his benevolent intention should have been defeated by an illness which compelled his precipitate retreat from Labeyed, when he was almost within sight of the scene of his projected labours.

Of very different tone and quality is Mr. Adams' Spring at the Canterbury Settlement. Here, condensed into about the same space, we have much valuable information respecting the state and prospects of

By Captain W. Peel, R.N. Longman

a colony which has lately been the object of much interest. Mr. Adams having been recommended to try the effect of a long sea voyage in restoring his health, chose Canterbury for his destination, and sailed from London by the ship of the same name, in company with a large party of emigrants, in June, 1851. And here we may remark that this narrative, as well as several others we have already noticed, impresses us very strongly with the profound dulness of a long voyage. Mr.

Adams, indeed, describes life on board ship as a 'lounging, dreamy, lotus-eating sort of existence;' but in spite of the beauty of tropical sunsets and all other novelties, he fails to persuade us that the life thus portrayed is not really one of prodigious dulness. The very games invented to while away the slow hours strengthen this impression, for we can hardly conceive two individuals engaging in Sesostris,' as here described, unless they were reduced to the very last stage of ennui.

After rounding the Cape it was found that the fresh provisions would prove insufficient, and the necessary infliction of short commons' increased the desire for the end of the voyage. The sailors attributed the delay to the presence of a monkey which the captain had purchased from a passing ship, and there was much talk of consigning master Jacko to the deep. At length, however, he got to the rum cask, and died by his own draught. The wind then became suddenly fair, and the ship made a rapid run to Port Lyttelton. A panic seized the passengers on their arrival. The Midlothian, which had sailed the same day with the Canterbury, had got in a fortnight before her, and the passengers were so dismayed with the prospect before them that they had determined on proceeding to some more hopeful locality. The most dismal tales were rife in the cabin; wind and hail whistled through the rigging; the hills round the harbour were white with snow; and the arrival of some gentlemen from the port covered to the knees with thick yellow mud, capped the apprehensions of the new colonists. The sight of Lyttelton, however, dispelled much of this consternation.

Wide streets, neat houses, shops, stores, hotels, and a general air of activity, raised the spirits of the emigrants. But Mr. Adams and his companions were immediately made aware of the failure of the settlement in one particular, for they had not been twenty-four hours in the colony before they were solicited for subscriptions towards the erection of a church independently of the Association, the Dissenters having already provided for their own accommodation.

This, however, is practically of trifling importance compared with the want of roads. The way from Lyttelton to Christchurch is by a bridle road over a lofty hill, the ascent and descent being each a mile in length, and so steep that the pack-horses can only carry small burdens. From the summit the eye looks far and wide over the celebrated plains,' supposed to contain a mine of agricultural wealth, but when Mr. Adams visited them

swampy and desolate. At some miles' distance rises the little town of Christchurch, by no means, says Mr. Adams, so pretty a place as Lyttelton, but well situated in point of utility, and displeasing only to those who, in the words of a leading colonist, consider the act of emigrating merely as a protracted picnic, relieved with a little ornamental church architecture.'

He

The neighbourhood of Lyttelton had to Mr. Adams all the interest of a semi-explored district. and a friend lose their way in the bush, give themselves a good fright by firing the grass, make an enforced bivouac, breakfast on a pigeon of their own shooting, using a ramrod for a spit, and only after the fall of their second night make their way to a settler's warri,' or hut, half dead with their long struggle against the bush-lawyer,' a tough and tangled bramble. Sheep-farming, he thinks, will for some time be the most profitable employment, but the farmer must be prepared to undergo not a little hardship; and Mr. Adams smiles at the expectations of some of his fellow passengers-one gentleman taking out a couple of carriages, and a lady being provided with a full stock of kid gloves and evening dresses.

1853.]

About twenty miles from Christchurch there is a native village, with a population of about eight hundred Maories. Here, as elsewhere, they are an affectionate and faithful race. The daughter of an old Christchurch settler had won greatly on their regard by repeated little kindnesses, and was called by them 'the White Rose.' One severe winter she fell very ill. The Maories heard that she had wished for some fish. The season was long over, and fishing was a matter of great danger. But a boat was immediately sent out, and with much difficulty procured a small supply. In attempting to return it encountered an adverse gale, and was kept at sea for three days. On at last reaching the shore, the fish, from which the famished boatmen had religiously abstained-it was for the White Rose--was found to be tainted. Again the Maories put to sea, and this time succeeded in bringing home their affectionate offering. They are also deeply devoted to Bishop Selwyn, who seems in truth to command the love and reverence of all with whom he is brought in contact. We shall presently meet the bishop again.

From New Zealand we may naturally accompany Captain Erskine* in his cruise from Auckland among the islands of the Western Pacific, grouped together by the French under the name of Melanesia. The captain's first visit is to the Samoan islands, the head quarters of the missionaries in those seas, where they educate native preachers, print the Scriptures in the Samoan language, and publish a newspaper-the Samoan Reporter. A courtly and formal people are the Samoans. Their ceremonies in drinking ava, a liquor produced by chewing the root of a kind of pepper, and in taste resembling rhubarb and magnesia, may remind us of le roi boit. Among them we find a peace society in full vigour. A Samoan Cobden declares that his tribe not only would refuse to join their neighbours in their wars, but should they be attacked themselves they would bow to the

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stroke.' But even then civil war prevailed in the islands, and one of the warrior chiefs had assumed the not very peaceable name of Raging Bull.'

Leaving these polite and stately people, we proceed to their less formal neighbours the Tongan, or Friendly Islanders, so minutely described by Mariner. Industry and gentleness distinguish the Tongans. Their country looks like a garden, and from every village comes the sound, not altogether unmusical, of the mallet used in beating the mulberry bark into cloth-the unceasing employment of the women. Pieces of this cloth are made forty yards long by four yards wide. Captain Erskine gives a dinner on board his ship to King George and his son, receiving them with a salute of thirteen guns, a compliment by which his Tongan majesty is said to set great store. The king was much pleased by experiments with a diving dress, readily apprehending its principle, and remarking to his courtiers, How useless is strength unaccompanied by wisdom! The Tongans, it seems, have quite a Cambrian love of pedigree, and are very fond of being questioned concerning their connexions and dignities. And so obliging in this respect was Captain Erskine that an old chief, named Vaca-teu-ola, which being interpreted means, the canoe that is lucky in catching the sharks,' declared they had never been treated so like chiefs before.

Very different from these gentle and inoffensive folk are the inhabitants of the Feejee Islands, among whom cannibalism prevailed extensively till quite recently, and is still far from unknown. Lying off the shore at night, you will hear a drum beating tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap, tap-atap-it is the death drum of a cannibal feast. Not only do the Feejeeans eat their prisoners taken in war, but the same horrible doom awaits the wretched victims of shipwreck. Vainly may the stranded mariner present himself as a casual traveller requiring hospitality; the hungry villagers detect what they