Scotia, Hindostan, etc., and all such forms have larger bodies of land to their north. Now, if we apply this rule, by turning the north pole of a globe toward us, we readily see at a glance that Greenland, which is known to us, may bear to an unknown Arctic Continent the same relation that South America does to North America, or Africa to Europe. Hence it is perfectly logical to infer, by the great analogy of nature, that an Arctic Continent exists beneath the north pole, extending three and a half to four degrees south from the northern axis of the world. As previous Arctic expeditions have advanced to 83° 26' north latitude—or within 394 miles of the pole—the distance thence to such a continent would not exceed 150 to 180 miles. This intervening space, however, is quite difficult to traverse, as it is represented to present a very rough surface. If the sea, during the height of a gale, when waves run mountains-high, were instantly frozen, it would present much the appearance here encountered. Now, for ethnologists, the question is, Can an Arctic Continent be inhabited, should one exist? This may be met by the already expressed surmise that the latitude of 78° is about the point of lowest mean temperature. The earth is about thirty seven miles more in diameter at the equator than from pole to pole, having enlarged at one point and flattened at another, because of its revolving motion. Now, it is well known that lower temperatures are encountered as we ascend great altitudes, and the depression at the poles may, by lessening the distance of the surface from the earth's center, afford a warmer temperature, which will enable the hardy Esquimaux, Ainos, or some hyperborean race, to exist upon an Arctic Continent. Should such prove to be the case, and our good friends discover any races there to us unknown, we shall look to them to resurrect us a specimen skull of some departed inhabitant."
THE PRINCE IMPERIAL.
Much regret is expressed at the sad end of the late descendant of the Napoleons and heir-apparent to the throne of France; and much sympathy has also been awakened for the exiled and widowed mother now made childless. The bereaved woman is entitled to the same sympathetic consideration as any other poor widow who has lost an only child; for, though in her case there may be a peculiar bitterness in the crushing of ambitious hopes, she has yet the mitigations of royal condolence, and the assurance that her griefs are shared by sympathetic multitudes. As for the dead Prince, we might say that his premature cutting off is just as deplorable as the killing of other young soldiers in the common fortunes of war.
But is this quite true? At any rate, if it is a blessed thing to lay down one's life for one's country, is not the amiable young Prince to be deemed fortunate, for certainly his death is the greatest boon that it would be possible for the French nation now to receive? Again, according to the code of military honor, he is to be congratulated in having lost his life in war, whether his country benefited or lost by it; and especially so as the other Napoleons have died peacefully and ingloriously in their beds, while it has been reserved for the last of the line to perish, if not on the field of battle, at least by violence and in war. Belonging to a race of adventurers, he fitly died as an adventurer; and, although the manner of his going was not very dignified, history will still be able to say that one Bonaparte was sacrificed to the vocation to which they were all devoted.
There is, however, one aspect of this transaction that may be referred to as an illustration of the selfish brutality of the common ethics of war. When the military system is arraigned as the great anomaly of civilization, and war as the most stupendous curse of humanity, we are told that nations
