The Latest Arctic Expedition—Scene at Portsmouth—Departure of the _Alert_ and _Discovery_—Few Expeditions really ever pointed to the Pole—What we know of the Regions—Admitted and unadmitted Records—Dutch Yarns—A Claimant at the Pole—Life with the Esquimaux—A Solitary Journey—Northmen Colony—The Adventurer kindly treated—Their King—Sun-worshippers—Believers in an Arctic Hell—The Mastodon not extinct—Domesticated Walruses—The whole story a nonsensical _Canard_. On the afternoon of May 29th, 1875, the old town of Portsmouth presented in an unusual degree that gala aspect which it can so readily assume at short notice. It is true that it was the official anniversary of Her Majesty’s birthday, and a military review had been announced; but granting full credit to the loyalty of Hants, there was still something to be explained, for visitors had crowded into the town by tens and tens of thousands, and the jetties, piers, and shores presented the aspect of a popular holiday, so lined were they with well-dressed and evidently expectant masses of people. The shipping in the harbour and out to Spithead displayed the flags of the whole signalling code, while from the flag-posts of every public, and hundreds of private, buildings, the coastguard stations, forts, and piers, depended a perfect wealth of bunting. What was the cause of this enthusiasm? In the dockyard a quieter scene explained the reason. Two vessels, of no great size, and which at any other time would not have attracted special attention, were lying, with full steam up and bows pointed to the stream, ready for immediate departure. They bore the names of the _Alert_ and _Discovery_, and were about to start on a prolonged Arctic voyage. On the jetty the relatives and friends of some 120 officers and blue-jackets were assembled to bid the last farewell, the last God-speed to men about to encounter many known and unknown dangers in a field of action where peril is the daily concomitant of existence. We can well believe that the fate of Franklin and his gallant band—in numbers almost literally identical with the two ships’ companies about to depart—_would_ recur to the minds of some, and that many a mother prayed that night, and later— “O Heaven, my child in mercy spare! O God, where’er he be; O God, my God, in pity spare My boy to-night at sea!” We shall not attempt to depict a scene familiar to all who have voyaged or who know much of seaport life, although this was a special case. [Illustration: CAPTAIN NARES CONDUCTING H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES OVER THE _ALERT_ AT PORTSMOUTH.] “A sailor’s life must be Spent away on the far, far sea, And little of him his wife may see,”