We were warmly welcomed on board the “Hope” by Captain Tom Blowhard and his officers and crew, and soon forgot all the toils and dangers we had gone through. Many people might have pitied us having to live on board a whaler frozen up in the ice, but we did not pity ourselves, for, compared to the life we had so long led, we considered that we fared luxuriously. Even, however, when the sun shone brightly and the days grew long we were not free of the ice, and I heard some of the crew remarking that we might possibly remain beset the whole summer through. The captain replied, when he heard of this, that if an inch of water was to be seen within a mile of the ship we would work our way to it. He was as good as his word, and before long the ice-saws were set to work; and, by hard toil, often sawing away for a fortnight, we were once more free of the ice and bounding over the heaving waves on a southerly course. We had still, however, reminders of the northern latitude in which we were sailing, in the shape of icebergs, to avoid which, during the night, we had to keep a very bright look out. One afternoon, dinner just being over when I went on deck, a very fine one, on which the sun shone brightly, appeared right ahead. As I stood watching it, the top appeared to be bending forward; so it was, there it came, the whole mountain mass collapsing in the most extraordinary manner, till a few fragments alone appeared above the waters to show where it had been. It was fortunate that we were not close under it, or we might have been overwhelmed by the ruins. This was the last among the many providential escapes for which I had to be thankful during my trip to the North Pole. Three weeks afterwards, we were gladdening the hearts of our relatives and friends in Hull, and sending some of the more sensitive into hysterics in consequence of our sudden re-appearance after they had so long given us up as lost. Terrible as were our sufferings at times, now that they were over I could look back at my adventures with pleasure, and never grew weary of benefiting my friends with the yarn which I have just spun for your amusement. [Illustration] A RESCUE IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. _By R. M. BALLANTYNE, Author of “The Life-boat;” “A Tale of our Coast Heroes;” “Silver Lake; or, Lost in the Snow,” &c._ Quito was a young brave of the Tsekanie Indians, one of the tribes which dwell among the Rocky Mountains of North America.