Excerpt: ""Is it a man, or is it a young Polar bear standing on end?" Had any one seen that strange figure, shuffling slowly to and fro on the snow-clad Polar ice on this bitterly cold morning late in winter, he might have been excused for asking himself that question. All around was a scene of desolation such as can only be witnessed in Arctic seas at this season of the year. Desolation? Yes; but beautiful desolation-a desolation that held one spellbound in silent, solemn admiration. It had been a long, long night of just three months or nearly, and yesterday the sun-glad herald of the opening season-had glinted over the southern{12} horizon for one brief spell, then sunk again in golden glory."

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