question, "Who killed the hare?"

Neither point was settled when they reached the _Dolphin_, and, we may
add, for the sake of the curious reader, neither point is settled yet.

CHAPTER XXII.

_The "Arctic Sun"--Rats! rats! rats!--A hunting-party--Out on the
floes--Hardships._

Among the many schemes that were planned and carried out for lightening
the long hours of confinement to their wooden home in the Arctic
Regions, was the newspaper started by Fred Ellice, and named, as we have
already mentioned, the _Arctic Sun_.

It was so named because, as Fred stated in his first leading article, it
was intended to throw light on many things at a time when there was no
other sun to cheer them. We cannot help regretting that it is not in our
power to present a copy of this well-thumbed periodical to our readers;
but being of opinion that _something_ is better than _nothing_, we
transcribe the following extract as a specimen of the contributions from
the forecastle. It was entitled--

JOHN BUZZBY'S OPPINYUNS O' THINGS IN GIN'RAL.

Mr. Editer,--As you was so good as to ax from me a contribootion to your
waluable peeryoddical, I beg heer to stait that this heer article is
intended as a gin'ral summery o' the noos wots agoin'. Your reeders
will be glad to no that of late the wether's bin gittin' colder, but
they'll be better pleased to no that before the middle o' nixt sumer
it's likely to git a, long chawk warmer. There's a gin'ral complaint
heer that Mivins has bin eatin' the shuger in the pantry, an' that's
wots makin' it needfull to put us on short allowance. Davie Summers sais
he seed him at it, an' it's a dooty the guvermint owes to the publik to
have the matter investigated. It's gin'rally expected, howsever, that
the guvermint won't trubble its hed with the matter. There's bin an
onusual swarmin' o' rats in the ship of late, an' Davie Summers has had
a riglar hunt after them. The lad has becum more than ornar expert with
his bow an' arrow, for he niver misses now--exceptin', always, when he
dusn't hit--an' for the most part takes them on the pint on the snowt
with his blunt-heded arow, which he drives in--the snowt, not the arow.
There's a gin'ral wish among the crew to no whether the north pole _is_
a pole or a dot. Mizzle sais it's a dot, and O'Riley swears (no, he
don't do that, for we've gin up swearin' in the fog-sail), but he sais
that it's a real post, 'bout as thick again as the main-mast, an' nine
or