TWO DIANAS IN ALASKA 77 



" My world is here," said she, and her eyes smiled 

 at her man. 



" My world is here." That was her reason for 

 remaining on that hideously bare island, whatever 

 her partner's might be. Though possessing a gift of 

 song unparalleled this Northern nightingale loved her 

 grim cage too well to fly away from it, to flash, meteor- 

 like, into a firmament of stars, outclassing all. 



She is quite unforgetable, this dainty songstress, 

 for her presence on the earth is so hard to ex- 

 plain. Nature has made types, but she was not a 

 type. Darwin says that all types have their excep- 

 tions, but Tennyson has it that Nature is most careful 

 of the type. 



We anchored for a whole twenty-four hours at Sand 

 Point, a bay inset on Popof Island, driven thither by 

 the wrath of the elements. The Lily had groaned 

 and creaked in the battering onslaughts of the sea. A 

 large length of the gunwale resigned office suddenly, 

 and we had to run for shelter without delay. 



The storm was heralded by an ominously fine 

 mirage, an enchanting illusion of unsurpassed clear- 

 ness. Every shore, and point, and peak, and island 

 were piled one above the other, fancifully painted in 

 shadowy tones, as if reflected in a mirror suspended 

 over the ship. 



We had sailed by Aniakchak Bay, Afognak, and 

 other bear-hunting grounds, wanting to get ashore, 

 yet refraining, and bottling up our ardour for the 

 chase. We knew that the farther afield we got, the 

 more out of the beaten track, the better our chances 



