A TRAGEDY. 
327 
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 some¬ 
times a scurry on deck, and a general “ scrimmage” 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 sepul¬ 
chral voice announced the “ Ice all round l ” 
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 evi¬ 
dent that a sea-going life did not agree with the goat. 
