though there may be well-grounded fears on this score, yet Franklin's experience will doubtless serve to ward off the evil; and the records of Ross's second expedition show that it is possible to spend successive winters in those icy regions without suffering from this dangerous malady.

The question will naturally be asked, "Where do you suppose Franklin's party to be?" We may say, in part answer to this, that it is likely he has been arrested between Wellington Channel and Behring's Straits, probably near the Siberian shore, or that he has been wrecked on some of the islands north of Wellington Channel, without the means of leaving the scene of his disaster.

Another expedition shoulé de sentout as soon as possible, at the end of winter, to penetrate to the great open sea discovered by Penny, while the ice renders it possible, entering it during the summer. As Mr. Petermann suggests, this expedition should go through the channel between Nova Zembla and Spitzbergen. It is now evident that the route by Baffin's Bay must be given up, the difficulties are so very great. Behring's Straits route still is thought of; but Beechy, in the "Blos

som," we think, proved that the dangers by that passage are equal to those of Baffin's Bay; while there is every reason to think that Mr. Petermann's plan of sending a vessel to the Arctic Ocean, by the opening indicated, would be very successful, and that such an expedition would meet with no very great obstacles from drift-ice.

We do not mean to point out the exact route of the expedition; with the advice of such able and experienced men as Ross and Sabine, the Government can scarcely err. Whatever is to be done, however, let it be done quickly. Time is everything; though it may not be too late now, every day lessens the chances, every hour decreases our hopes.

Both on the grounds of science and humanity, we urge the public to press the subject on the Government-to take the expedition up as a national one; and remembering the life-long labours of the gallant Franklin, his chivalrous daring, his indomitable perseverance, and his Christian fortitude, let us never abandon hope until stern facts compel us, and never rest until, to use the words of a great Arctic voyager lately, we bear him back in safety to his country, or obtain certain traces of his fate." 17.

I WAS in the "beautiful city called Cork," the spreading Lee was around me, and I pictured all the noble country that glorious stream waters. I was surprised at the pleasant appearance of the locality; its wide streets and handsome bridges I was not prepared for, and the imposing views which meet you from the hills above the town, at once satisfy you that the city is not misnamed when called the "beautiful." There are few finer things than the sail to Queen's Town, and round the harbour to its mouth, and the eye is puzzled amid the varied beauty of the scene to realise a resting-place. I had domiciled myself in the " Imperial," but was scarcely made up for its accommodation. I knew there were great numbers of people travelling southward, and was therefore prepared for some roughing; yet I had never been in Connaught, and was not accustomed to sleep with a dozen in the same room. The proprietor of the hotel, to meet the influx of visitors, had turned a fine ballroom into a dormitory, and had contrived to make up some seventy or eighty beds. To be sure there was a sort of partition between the occupiers of each hammock, but you were obliged to dress at a table common to the whole eighty occupants, and to sleep in a room liable to be disturbed by any drunken Sassenagh who might too freely have imbibed" potations pottle deep" of that fine fluid called Cork whiskey. I declined the luxury the following night; and as the hotel still continued full, I got myself transported elsewhere. Belfast cannot, in point of natural beauty or appearance, stand a contrast with Cork, but it has all the overwhelming advantages of energy and perseverance. I never saw so many idle, sturdy women as I saw in one of the off streets in Cork, called, I think, Paradise Street-and, in truth, the lucus a non lucendo, was strikingly verified, for they were about the most unlikely-looking class of persons I would expect to meet in Eden. Here was the loud Billingsgate vocabulary-there was the fierce expression of the female furyhere was the entire absence of every

thing feminine and I wondered what human influence could operate here! I was therefore not surprised when I was told that the danger of the Cork mobs arose from the crowds of women that invariably compose them. I could not ascertain how they occupied themselves-manufactures they have none, at least none to employ females inand they stood by the chapel gates and gossiped by the hour. I was anxious to know how, in domestic life, this disposition acted, whether the " stronger half" asserted his predominance, or whether the "gentler spirit" maintained her public effrontery; but my time and opportunities were too limited to glean anything of the statistics. Going, however, a couple of days afterwards, further west, I witnessed rather an illustration at a small village, the first change for the coaches from Mallow to Killarney. We stopped for some refreshment, the novelty of the scene being increased by the circumstance of a country fair going on at a short distance. Redolent of punch and good fellowship seemed the community, and most of them making homewards, but a rather elderly man would just stop to have one more. He was very drunk, and had the characteristic obstinacy of men in that not very interesting state. A youthful giant laid hold of him, and fairly lifted him into his cart; but scarcely there, ere Dan was up again. Home he would not go-threats were unavailing; the milder expostulations of neighbours entreating him were idle. He was about descending once again, when there rushed from the crowd the "ould woman" herself-none other than Dan's honest wife. She skilfully got into the cart beside him, firmly held him by the throat. Poor Dan ! it was all over. The youthful giant drove off with them, applauding cheers saluted them, and I naturally moralised on her influence, which, even over Dan in the last stage of inebriety, could render him quiet as a sucking dove.

The direct road to Killarney is from Mallow, a distance of forty miles, and coaches do this in five hours. On the 1st May 1853, the Killarney Junction

Railway will be completed, and then the tourist may rail right through from Dublin; at present, however, tourists take the Mallow route. Some prefer the Macroom; and in general, with a party, the latter is the more desirable course, as by it you come first on Inchigeela, on the source of the Lee and Glengariffe. I, however, was alone; and as there are no public conveyance from Macroom and Glengariffe, I feared the chance of encountering any one who would join me in posting, so I determined on going by Mallow, and returning by Macroom. It was dark when we reached the town of Killarney, and of course here the annoyance began. I was recommended to the Lake Hotel, and observing a car with the Lake Hotel inscribed on it, I inquired from the driver if there was room at the house, it being a mile and a quarter from the town. "Lots of room," was the reply; and so three other gentlemen and myself got our luggage on the jarvey, and set out for the Lake. The clustering foliage of the trees darkened our path, and nought could be seen till we reached the gate of the avenue leading to the hotel. The gate was opened by a small boy, and forthwith a stream of execrations flowed from our Jehu, because the boy had no light to guide him to the avenue. Threats of complaint were held out to the landlord, but the little fellow said nothing till the driver had exhausted himself, and then he inquired, "How can I show you light if I have got no candle?" Arrived at the hotel, we were agreeably informed there was not even stretching room on the floor; and an English gentleman, one of our party, who had previously written for accommodation, was sadly disappointed. He and myself agreed with the landlord (who directed us, if all else failed, to a lodging for the night in the town) to return to him the following day; and accordingly the four of us again took car to try the Muckross Arms, or the Fox Hotel, each at the pleasant distance, at the hour of eleven o'clock, of about a couple of miles. Both houses were crammed, and so nothing remained but to return to the town, where ultimately we obtained accommodation, the car-driver modestly demanding from each person one shilling and sixpence. Now, the pro

prietors of the hotels should not have cars waiting the arrival of the coaches if there be not accommodation in their houses, nor should they have boys about them whose sole object seemed to be to lie in the most approved fashion. I cannot readily forget the impression of the first glance at the Lakes of Killarney. The islands studding the waters, the wood-crowned hills, the towering mountains, all vividly realise the dream of poet or painter; and the exceeding loveliness of the scene, massed as it was in groups of varied beauty, amply justifies whatever eulogy or description may have been written of it. I am not about to be your guide, for unluckily for comfort there are too many of that idle class of persons at Killarney, and my simple advice to you is—avoid them all. The boatmen we found extremely obliging and courteous, and they will serve all the purposes of a guide, and you thus escape the endless history of the O'Donoghue and his interesting appendices. In fact, a guide to the Gap of Dunloe is a positive imposition; the road is as open as a mail-coach one, and the points of access are so easy, that a child may attain them. We were disappointed with the Gap. It is wanting in the grandeur we anticipated; and with the exception of the view just as the Black Mountain opens on you, it is not comparable in wildness with other places which are suggested-Llanberris or Glencroe. A characteristic incident meets the traveller as he enters the Gap. Out of a wretched cave issues an old woman of destitute and miserable appearance; a story is then told you how her children went to America, leaving her grandchildren with her, and how she supports them by the casual contributions of strangers. But why remain in that lair? you ask. Will the landlord do nothing? Quite the reverse; he pays her so much a week-she refuses to leave the miserable covert-she will not go into the workhouse-because the children and she would be separated; and, of course, the regular levy is inflicted, for her appearance induces sympathy, and the children thus grow up in habits of idleness and beggary. Where is the Rev. Father here? A word from him would settle all this sort of thing; but that is precisely what he will not utter. Again,