oo heading southward, I saw, one day, a mother 

 whale lying on the sea suckling her little 

 — -^=s=,- one. They were resting inshore, close beside 

 qg^ our course, and I had an excellent chance 

 to watch them through my glasses ere the 

 mother took alarm and disappeared silently, 

 as a mother moose might have done, leading 

 her ungainly offspring. To my wonder she 

 did not lie sleepily quiet, as other mothers 

 do," — that would have been fatal to the little 

 fellow, — but kept up a rhythmic rolling from 

 side to side ; now dipping the calf deep from 

 sight, now lifting his head above the top of 

 the waves as he clung to her side, so as to 

 give him free chance to breathe as he fed 

 greedily from his mother's great breast. And 

 as we drew nearer there was a faint, low 

 mumbling, — whether the rare voice of the 

 whale, or an audible breathing through the 

 blow-holes, or made in some other way, I 

 could not tell, — full of a deep, uncouth ten- 

 derness as she talked in her own way to 

 her little one, telling the world also that 

 even here, in the cold, ice-choked wastes of 

 desolation, life was good, for love was not 



