ICE-VOICES. 
337 
In spite of the winds and the snow-drift, I could 
hear the babbling of these waves as they laughed in 
their temporary freedom. 
“ March 22, Saturday. I started again for the ice- 
openings. There had evidently been a good deal of 
commotion in the night ; hut nothing so violent as to 
negative my yesterday’s conclusions. Still there were 
hummocks of young tables, and some ugly twists of 
the beach line ; and matters had not yet settled them- 
selves into rest. As the great floe on which I stood 
traveled, under the influence of the west wind, oblique- 
ly eastward, I heard once more the familiar sounds of 
our nodes Lancastriance. The grating of nutmegs, the 
cork rubbing of old-fashioned tables, the young pup- 
pies, and the bee-hives; all these were hack again; 
hut we missed pleasantly the wailing, the howling, 
the clattering, the exploding din, which used to come 
to us through the darkness. The pulse-like interval 
was there too, like a hreathing-time ; but the day- 
light modified every thing, my feelings most of all. 
They became almost pleasant, as I listened, after a 
lullaby fashion, to the bees and puppies; and some- 
thing very like gratitude came over me, as I thought 
of the uncertain gloom or palpable midnight which 
accompanied a few weeks ago the ‘ voices of the ice.’ 
The thermometer was 21° below zero, and the wind 
blowing: naturally enough, my nose became a tallow 
nose in the midst of my reverie. So I rubbed the 
nose, blew the nose, bufieted my armpits until my 
fingers tingled, and then started off on a tramp. 
“Seal were seen, curious as usual, but indulging 
in the weakness afar off. Presently two poor winter- 
mated little divers met my meat-seeking senses. One 
of these I killed with my rifle, covetously regretting 
Y 
