telegraph alphabet, if
he have sense enough. Any creature, which can hear, smell, taste, feel,
or see, may take note of its signals, if he can understand them. A tired
listener at church, by properly varying his long yawns and his short
ones, may express his opinion of the sermon to the opposite gallery
before the sermon is done. A dumb tobacconist may trade with his
customers in an alphabet of short-sixes and long-nines. A beleaguered
Sebastopol may explain its wants to the relieving army beyond the line
of the Chernaya, by the lispings of its short Paixhans and its long
twenty-fours.

THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE RESOLUTE.

[I had some opportunities, which no other writer for the press had, I
believe, of examining the Resolute on her return from that weird voyage
which is the most remarkable in the history of the navies of the world.
And, as I know of no other printed record of the whole of that voyage
than this, which was published in the Boston Daily Advertiser of June
11, 1856, I reprint it here. Readers should remember that the English
government abandoned all claim on the vessel; that the American
government then bought her of the salvors, refitted her completely, and
sent her to England as a present to the Queen. The Queen visited the
ship, and accepted the present in person. The Resolute has never since
been to sea. I do not load the page with authorities; but I studied the
original reports of the Arctic expeditions carefully in preparing the
paper, and I believe it to be accurate throughout.

The voyage from New London to England, when she was thus returned, is
strictly her last voyage. But when this article was printed its name was
correct.]

* * * * *

It was in early spring in 1852, early on the morning of the 21st of
April, that the stout English discovery ship Resolute, manned by a large
crew, commanded by a most manly man, Henry Kellett, left her moorings
in the great river Thames, a little below the old town of London, was
taken in tow by a fussy steam-tug, and proudly started as one of a fine
English squadron in the great search of the nations for the lost Sir
John Franklin. It was late in the year 1855, on the 24th of December,
that the same ship, weather-worn, scantily rigged, without her lighter
masts, all in the trim of a vessel which has had a hard fight with wind,
water, ice, and time, made the light-house of _New_ London,--waited for
day and came round to