in an instant a crack opened in the ice between us. It came so suddenly and widened so rapidly that he could not spring over it to where I stood, and he sailed away upon the dark waters of a troubled sea. I last saw him standing firmly upon the crystal raft, his erect form cutting sharply against a streak of light which lay upon the distant horizon.
ROUTINE OF DUTIES. Our life moves on with unobstructed monotony. There are but few incidents to mark the progress of these tedious hours of darkness. If I have now some fears for Sonntag, yet I envy him, and cannot wonder at his eagerness to go, independent of his important object. A dash among the Esquimau villages, and a few days of combat with the storms would lift one out of the prolonged dullness of this waiting for the day. Any thing in the world is better than inaction and perpetual sameness. Rest and endless routine are our portion. The ship's duties and our social duties are performed from week to week with the same painfully precise regularity. We live by "bells," and this may be true in a double sense. "Bells" make the day, and mark the progress of time. But for these "bells," these endless "bells," I believe we should all lie down and sleep on through the eternal night, and wake not until the day dawned upon us in the long hereafter. "Bells" tell us the hours and the half hours, and change the "watch," and govern the divisons of time, as at sea. "One bell" calls us to breakfast, two to lunch, and "four bells" is the dinner summons. "Six bells" is the signal for putting out the lights, and at "seven bells" we open our eyes again to the same continuous pale glimmer of the kerosene lamp, and we awake again to the same endless routine of occupations, idleness, and ennui.
