At one time an alarm was brought to Dr. Kane that a wolf was prowling among the meat barrels on the floe. Believing that a wolf would be more profitably added to their store of meat than to have him take any thing from it, he seized a rifle and ran out. Yes, there he is, a wolf from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail! Bang goes the rifle, whiz goes the ball, making the hair fly from the back of--one of the sledge-dogs! He was not hurt much, but he came near paying with his life for the crime of running away from Morton's sledge. The fox-traps made occasion for many long walks, great expectations of game, and grievous disappointment. Dr. Kane and Hans were at one time examining them about two miles from the brig. They were, unfortunately, unarmed. The doctor thought he heard the bellow of a walrus. They listened. No, not a walrus, but a bear! Hark, hear him roar! They sprung to the ice-foot, about ten feet above the floe. Another roar, round and full! He is drawing nearer! He has a fine voice, and, no doubt, is large, and fat, and savory! But then a bear must be killed before he is eaten, and that is just where the difficulty lies. It don't do for two men to run, for that is an invited pursuit, and bears are good runners. "Hans!" exclaimed Dr. Kane, "run for the brig, and I will play decoy!" Hans is a good runner, and this time he did "his level best." Dr. Kane remains on the ice-foot alone. It is too dark to see many yards off, and the silence is oppressive, for the bear says nothing, and so Kane makes no reply. He queries whether, after all, there is any bear. How easy it is for the imagination to be excited amid these shadowy hummocks, and this dreary waste through which the wind roars so dismally! He gets down from his comparatively safe elevation upon the floe, puts his hand over his eyes, and peers into the darkness. No bear after all! But what's that rounded, shadowy thing? Stained ice? Yes, stained ice! But the stained ice speaks with a voice which wakes the Arctic echoes, and charges on our explorer. It is a hungry bear! Dr. Kane's legs are scurvy-smitten affairs, but this time they credit the fleetness of those of the deer. He drops a mitten, and his pursuer stops to smell of it, to examine it carefully, and to show his disgust at such game, by tearing it to pieces. These bears are famous for losing the bird by stopping to pick up his feathers. The man stops not, but drops another mitten as he flies. Before these articles are duly examined he has reached the brig. Dr. Kane has escaped, and the bear has lost his supper. It is now bruin's turn to run, for fresh hunters and loaded rifles are after him. He does run, and escapes!