"Overcome with the gravity of my situation, I find myself unable to make you a speech befitting the solemnity and importance of the occasion. It is proper, however, that I should state, in behalf of myself and my Bohemian brother, that, in observance of a time-honored custom, we will keep our opinions for ourselves and our arguments for the public. The inhabitants of Port Foulke desire the speedy return of the Sun. We will advocate and urge it. They wish for Light. We will address ourselves to the Celestial Orbs, and point out the opportunities for reciprocity. They are in search of happiness. We will, in pursuance of that same time-honored custom, (which I may say has made the press a power, sir, in this great and glorious nineteenth century)—we will, I say, at all times freely counsel them to the observance of both public and private virtue.
"Fellow-citizens:—This is a memorable epoch in the history of Port Foulke. We are informed that its aboriginal name is Annyeiqueipablaitah, which means, after it is pronounced, 'The Place of the Howling Winds.' On this public occasion it is proper that we should direct our thoughts to the future, especially to our sublime 'mission.' This 'Place of the Howling Winds,' you will observe, fellow-citizens, is on the remotest confines of our wide-spread country,—a country, fellow-citizens, whose vast sides are bathed by the illimitable ocean, and which stretches from the rising of the sun to the setting thereof, and from the Aurora Borealis to the Southern Cross. But why do I say the Aurora Borealis, fellow-citizens? Have we not left that vague border of the national domain far behind us? Yes, fellow-citizens! and it now devolves upon us to bring the vexed question of national boundaries, which has been opened by our enterprise, to a point—to a point, sir! We must carry it to the very Pole itself!—and there, sir, we will nail the Stars and Stripes, and our flag-staff will become the spindle of the world, and the Universal Yankee Nation will go whirling round it like a top.
"Fellow-citizens and friends:—In conclusion allow me to propose a sentiment befitting the occasion,—A Free Press and the Universal Yankee Nation: May the former continue in times to come, as in times gone by, the handmaiden of Liberty and the emblem of Progress; and may the latter absorb all Creation and become the grand Celestial Whirligig."
The youthful orator sat down amidst what the press would very properly designate as "tumultuous applause." He had evidently made a favorable impression as well in behalf of himself as of his paper, and we were all the more eager than ever for the reading. After the rattling of the tin cups had subsided, the reading began, and it was not interrupted except by those marks of approbation in which men are always apt to indulge when possessed of a satisfactory dinner, and are listening afterward to good stories. The only regret expressed was that it should come so quickly to an end. The expressions of approval were universal, a vote of thanks was bestowed upon the editors, the orator was toasted, and the occasion wound up in a very lively manner. Having but one copy of the paper, this was handed over to the sailors as soon as Knorr had finished reading it in the cabin, and the marks of approbation were equally reassuring from that quarter. It contains sixteen pages of closely written matter, a somewhat ambitious picture of our winter harbor, a portrait of Sir John Franklin, and a spirited likeness of the General, with his wounded paw in a sling. There is a fair sprinkling of "enigmas," "original jokes," "items of domestic and foreign intelligence," "personals," "advertisements," &c., &c., among a larger allowance of more pretentious effusions. Among these latter there is an illustrated prospectus by the senior editor, a poem by the steward, and a song which is addressed to the General. This last the men are now singing, and they seem to take special delight in the chorus, which runs thus:—
"Hang up the harness and the whip,
Put up the sledge on the ship;
There's no more work for poor Gen-e-ral,
For he's going for his wind for to slip."
I am sorry to say that the prophecy therein contained is likely to prove true, for the General is very sick. Poor fellow! he hears every word of this unpitying merriment over his misfortunes, and, could he speak, I have no doubt that he would sigh with Gray's cat,—
"Alas!—