CHAPTER IV. 
“ Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean hear; 
Full many a flower is horn to hlush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.” 
As the cold of this inhospitable region crept insensibly 
upon us an incident occurred, simple enough in itself 
but suggestive of sentiment. 
Among the involuntary captives brought away 
from Old England by our schooner, were a few flies. 
As for their own special convenience and comfort 
they had selected our cabin for a home while the craft 
was lying in port, neglecting to heed the warning 
when our other visitors left us, they were forced 
to endure the consequences of their heedless devotion 
to pleasure. Now English flies were not born to 
flutter among icebergs, and their delicate frames 
yielded only to the change of climate. We, on first 
leaving home, had no manner of interest in the crea¬ 
tures ; insensibly drawn to the very few survivors 
associated with a summer land, their presence in our 
cabin was more welcome than tolerated, but when the 
