On the twenty-seventh of July the "Advance" drew near to Melville Bay. The reader who has accompanied the earlier arctic explorers into this region will remember their terrific experience in this bay. Every arctic enemy of the navigator lurks there. Their attacks are made singly and in solid combinations. At one time they steal upon their victim like a Bengal tiger; at other times they rush upon him with a shout and yell, like a band of our own savages. Giant icebergs; fierce storms; cruel nips; silent, unseen, irresistible currents; with ever-changing, treacherous "packs" and "floes," and the all-pervading, relentless cold, are some of these enemies. A favorite movement of these forces is to so adjust themselves as to promise the advancing explorer or whaler a speedy and complete success; then, suddenly changing front, to crush and sink him at once, or to bind him in icy fetters, a helpless, writhing victim, for days, weeks, or months, and finally, perhaps, to bury both ship and men in the dark, deep waters of the bay. The "Advance" was at this time treated by these guardians of the approach to the North Pole with exceptional courtesy. We suspect that they secretly purposed to follow them into more northern regions, and there to attack them at even greater advantage. This they certainly did. But just to show them what it could and was minded to do, the evil spirit of the bay invited them at one time to escape impending danger by fastening to a huge berg. This they did, after eight hours of warping, heaving, and planting ice-anchors, a labor of prostrating exhaustion. Hardly had they begun to enjoy the invited hospitality of the berg, when it began to shower upon them, like big drops from a summer cloud, pieces of ice the size of a walnut, accompanied by a crackling, threatening noise from above. A gale from out of its hiding-place on shore came sweeping upon them at the same time, driving before it its icy supporter. Mischief was evidently intended. The "Advance" retreated from the berg with all possible haste, and had barely gone beyond its reach when it launched after it its whole broadside, which came crashing into the water with a roar like a whole park of artillery. Could any thing be rougher? But then it was true to its icebergy character. The "Advance" was not injured, but the ice held as a trophy more than two thousand feet of good whale line, which had to be cut in the retreat.