The editor of the following narrative commences by stating that a log, squared and much water-soaked, was found floating in Hudson’s Bay in the year 1866 by an American sailor. On examination, a small piece of wood was discovered to be morticed in its side, and this being picked out, a manuscript, written on skin sewn together with sinews, was found enclosed in a seal-skin cover. The story inscribed on it was in substance as follows. The writer begins by stating that he has discovered a new continent at the Pole. Being desirous of leaving England, he had shipped before the mast on the _Erebus_, under the command of Sir John Franklin. He had done so under an assumed name, his true name being William North. Describing briefly the events preceding Franklin’s death, he goes on to say that they abandoned the ships in April, 1848, Captain Crozier hoping to reach Hudson’s Bay (Territory is meant, presumably), their provisions being exhausted. All but himself perished, and he lay on the snow insensible till rescued by some Esquimaux, with whom he lived for several years. From observations he became convinced there was a habitable land further north. The birds and animals often came in large numbers from that direction, and then suddenly returned. The Indians all had a superstitious fear of going far north, and none who did so were ever seen again. It was supposed that they perished of cold and starvation; but more than one old Esquimaux told him that they were killed by the inhabitants beyond the mountains. [Illustration: CAPE DESOLATION.] “As I could never get back to England,” says he, “even if I had desired, I concluded to push to the north, and reach the North Pole or perish in the attempt.” No one would go with him, so he went alone, taking two dogs and a boat which he had rigged on runners. The Indians said that he would never return. [Illustration: MAP OF THE NORTH POLAR REGIONS.] “This was on the Greenland shore, as far north as the ice mountains, known to navigators as the glaciers. [‘Ice rivers’ would be the more appropriate term; but the story is evidently written by a half-educated man.] It was the early spring of 1860, according to my reckoning; the season was the most favourable I had ever seen, and in two months I must have travelled fully six hundred miles, myself and the dogs living on game and seals killed by the way.