The discovery of a passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean has been the darling project of numberless Englishmen of science as well as navigators, from the time of Henry the Eighth down to the present day. A short account of the various expeditions, and of the adventures of the gallant men who have made the attempt, would alone fill a volume. By these expeditions, unsuccessful though they mostly were in accomplishing their object, the names of many of the bravest and best of England's naval commanders have become immortalised. Well indeed may Englishmen be proud of men such as Ross, Parry, Clavering, Lyon, Beechey, and Franklin, and of others who have in still later days exhibited their dauntless courage and perseverance in the same cause--Collinson, McClure, McClintock, Sherard Osborn, Forsyth, and many more. Nowhere can all the noble qualities which adorn the British seaman be more fully called forth than during a voyage in the Arctic seas, and the detention to which he is subject for years together on its ice-bound shores. From the first entering these regions, dangers beset him. Suddenly he finds his vessel among immense fields of floating ice, through which he can with difficulty force a passage or escape shipwreck. Then, in the darkness of night, icebergs of vast height are seen close aboard, towering above the mast-heads, the sea dashing with fury round their bases, from which, should he not scrape clear, his destruction is certain. Sometimes, to prevent his vessel being drifted on icebergs, or the rocky shore, or fields of ice, to leeward, he secures her on the lee side of some large berg. The base of the mass beneath the water is continually melting; and, while he fancies himself secure, it decreases so much as to lose its balance, and its lofty summit bending down, it may overwhelm him in its ruins. Then, again, large masses become detached from its base, and, rising up violently from far down in the sea, strike the bottom of the vessel with terrific force, capable of driving in her planks and breaking her stout timbers. Often, also, he has to saw his way through sheets of ice, cutting out canals with untiring perseverance to gain a piece of clear water beyond. Sometimes his vessel is so tightly frozen within a field of ice that he has no power to extricate her; then the field, urged by the tides or wind, moves on at a rapid rate for hundreds of miles, till it encounters some other field or a projecting shore. Now commences a scene of horror which may well make the stoutest heart tremble. The field breaks into thousands of fragments; huge masses of many hundred tons weight, and larger than his ship, are thrown up, one on the other, rising almost as if they had life, till they tower far above the sides of his vessel, and appear ready every instant to crush her, as she lies helplessly among this icy mass of a seeming ruined world. Sometimes a huge lump, bigger