204 LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. [XI. 



become a part of our daily existence, an element, a thing 

 without which the general aspect of the universe would be 

 irregular and incomplete. It was the first thing we thought 

 of in the morning, the last thing we spoke of at night. It 

 glittered and grinned maliciously at us in the sunshine ; it 

 winked mysteriously through the stifling fog ; it stretched 

 itself like a prostrate giant, with huge, portentous shoulders 

 and shadowy limbs, right across our course; or danced 

 gleefully in broken groups in the little schooner's wake. 

 There was no getting rid of it, or forgetting it ; and if at 

 night we sometimes returned in dreams to the green summer 

 world — to the fervent harvest fields of England, and heard 

 " the murmurs of innumerous bees," or the song of larks on 

 thymy uplands — thump ! bump ! splash ! gra-a-ate ! — : came 

 the sudden reminder of our friend on the starboard bow \ 

 and then sometimes a scurry on deck, and a general "scrim- 

 mage " of the whole society, in endeavours to prevent more 

 serious collisions. Moreover, I could not say, with your 

 old French friend, that " Familiar'ty breeds despise." The 

 more we saw of it, the less we liked it ; its cold presence 

 sent a chilly sense of discouragement to the heart, and I had 

 daily to struggle with an ardent desire to throw a boot at 

 Wilson's head, every time his sepulchral voice announced 

 the " Ice all round!" 



It was not until the 14th of August, five days after quitting 

 Spitzbergen, that we lost sight of it altogether. From that 

 moment the temperature of the sea steadily rose, and we felt 

 that we were sailing back again into the pleasant summer. 



A sad event which occurred soon after, in some measure 

 marred our enjoyment of the change. Ever since she had 

 left Hammerfest, it had become too evident that a sea-going 

 life did not agree with the goat. Even the run on shore at 

 Spitzbergert had not sufficed to repair her shattered constitu- 

 tion, and the bad weather we had had ever since completed 

 its ruin. It was certain that the butcher was the only doctor 

 who could now cure her. In spite, therefore, of the distress 

 it occasioned Maid Marian, I was compelled to issue orders 



