The suspense, unrelieved by action or effort, was intolerable; we knew that there was no remedy but to reach the floe, and that everything depended upon our dogs, and our dogs alone. A moment's check would plunge the whole concern into the rapid tide-way: no presence of mind, or resource bodily or mental, could avail us... The seals-for we were now near enough to see their expressive faceswere looking at us with that strange curiosity which seems to be their characteristic expression: we must have passed some fifty of them breast high out of water, mocking us by their self-complacency.

This desperate race against fate could not last: the rolling of the tough salt water ice terrified our dogs; and when within fifty paces of the floe they paused. The lefthand runner went through: our leader "Toodlamick" followed, and in one second the entire left of the sledge was submerged...My first thought was to liberate the dogs. I leaned forward to cut poor Tood's traces, and the next minute was swimming in a little circle of pasty ice and water alongside him... Hans, dear good fellow, drew near to help me, uttering piteous expressions in broken English; but I ordered him to throw himself on his belly, with his hands and legs extended, and so make for the island by cogging himself forward with his jack-knife. In the mean time—a mere instant-I was floundering about with sledge, dogs, and lines, in confused puddle around me.

I succeeded in cutting poor Tood's lines and letting him scramble to the ice, for he was drowning me with his piteous caresses, and made my way for the sledge; but I found that it would not buoy me, and that I had no resource but to try the circumference of the hole... Around this I paddled cautiously, the miserable ice always yielding when my hopes of a lodgment were greatest. During this process I enlarged my circle of operations to a very uncomfortable diameter, and was beginning to feel weaker after every effort... Hans meanwhile had reached the firm ice, and was on his knees, like a good Moravian, praying incoherently in English and Esquimaux; at every fresh crushing-in of the ice he would ejaculate "God!" and when I recommenced my paddling, he recommenced his

prayers...I was nearly gone. My knife had been lost in cutting out the dogs; and a spare one which I carried in my trousers' pocket was so enveloped in the wet skins that I could not reach it. I owed my extrication at last to a recently broken team dog, who was still fast to the sledge, and in struggling carried one of the runners right against the edge of the circle...All my previous attempts to use the sledge as a bridge had failed, for it broke through, to the much greater injury of the ice. I felt that it was a last chance... I threw myself on my back, so as to lessen as much as possible my weight, and placed the nape my neck against the rim or edge of the ice; then with caution slowly bent my leg, and, placing the ball of my moccasined foot against the sledge, I pressed steadily against the runners, listening to the half-yielding crunch of the ice beneath. Presently I felt that my head was pillowed by the ice, and that my wet fur collar was sliding up the surface. Next came my shoulders; they were fairly on. One more decided push, and I was launched up on the ice, and safe.....I reached the ice-floe, and was rubbed by Hans with frightful violence. We saved all the dogs; but the sledge, tent, guns, snow-shoes, and every thing besides, were left behind.

of

Kane's Arctic Travels.

* Covered with a moccassin,—a rude kind of shoe made of deer

skin, the customary shoe worn by the native Indians.

Poetry.

POETRY.

THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.

IN distant countries have I been,
And yet, I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
Weep in the public roads alone,
But such an one, on English ground,
And in the broad highway I met;
Along the broad highway he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet;
Sturdy he seem'd, though he was sad,
And in his arms a lamb he had.

He saw me, and he turn'd aside,
As if he wish'd himself to hide;
Then with his coat he made essay
To drive those briny tears away.

I follow'd him, and said—“My friend,
What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"
"Shame on me sir! this lusty lamb,
He makes my tears to flow:-
To-day, I fetch'd him from the rock-
He is the last of all my flock.

"When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran,
Though little giv'n to care and thought,
Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought;
And other sheep from her I raised,
As healthy sheep as you might see;
And then I married, and was rich
As I could wish to be;

Of sheep I numbered a full score,
And every year increased my store.

"Year after year my stock it grew;
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I rais'd,
As sweet a flock as ever graz'd!
Upon the mountain did they feed;
They throve, and we at home did thrive:
-This lusty lamb, of all my store,
Is all that is alive;

And now I care not if we die,

And perish all of poverty.

"Another still! and still another! A little lamb, and then its mother! It was a vein that never stopp'd

Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp'd.

Till thirty were not left alive,

They dwindled, dwindled, one by one;
And I may say that, many a time,
I wish'd they all were gone-
Reckless of what might come at last,
Were but the bitter struggle past.