calm water, and occasionally a slight splash breaks the silence, as a piece of snow separates from the field and joins its companion pieces that are floating quietly past our stern to the north—a mysterious, silent procession of soft, white spirits, each perfectly reflected in the lavender sea.
"Nature sleeps—breathlessly—silent; perhaps she dreams of the spirit world, that seems to draw so close to her on such a night.
"By midnight the tired crew were all below and sound asleep in their stuffy bunks. But the doctor and I found it impossible to leave the quiet decks and the mysterious daylight, so we prowled about and brewed coffee in the deserted galley. There we watched the sun pass behind the grey bergs in the south for a few seconds, and appear again, refreshed, with a cool silvery light. A few flakes of snow floated in the clear, cold air, and two snowy petrels, white as the snow itself, floated along the ice-edge.
"A cold, dreamy, white Christmas morning—beautiful beyond expression."
These lines recall to me that wonderful scene, more charming and restful than many another Arctic and Antarctic scene I have seen since. The dignity, the solemn grandeur, the colour, and the marvellous silence all helped to leave a lasting impression upon me, and, in spite of many discomforts, difficulties, and
