BEAUTY OF THE ARCTIC SUMMER. 45 can only be fully realized by those who have experienced its cheering effects. Commander Inglefield, in his "Summer Search for Sir John Franklin" in 1852, thus describes an Arctic sunrise: "I kept the morning watch, and was well repaid by the sight of as glorious a sunrise as ever gladdened the face of nature: the yellow tints of the golden orb shedding their refulgence on the rude and grotesque masses of ice scattered here and there; and the land, just tipped on its snow-capped heights by his beams, seemed to hail the warmth which would soon send the melting torrents down its steep glaciers, or hurl its frozen masses on the deep, there to be slowly carried to the wild Atlantic. To no one whose mind is not wholly engrossed by the world and its busy matters, can a sunrise fail to lead his thoughts heavenward." By degrees, as the sun reappears above the horizon, the further progress of the frost is stayed. In May, as the luminary acquires elevation, the melting process begins, and vast fragments of ice, detached from the cliffs, fall on the shore with a crash like thunder. The ocean is unbound, and before the end of June the shoals of ice are commonly scattered and dispersed, and a dense mist or fog covers the surface of the sea. In the course of July the superficial water is brought to an equilibrium of temperature with the air, and the sun now shines forth with a bright and dazzling radiance. For a short time before the close of summer, such excessive heat prevails in the bays and sheltered spots, that pitch and tar are sometimes melted, and run down the ships' side. The air on land often becomes oppressively sultry. The excessive heat, being conjoined with moisture, engenders clouds of mosquitoes, often obliging the natives to take refuge in their huts, where they smoke them out. The extreme dryness of the air in winter, contrariwise, is remarkable, communicating an electric effect on the skin. One cold night Sir John Richardson, the Arctic voyager, rose from his bed, and having lighted a lantern, was going out to observe the thermometer with no other clothing than his flannel night-dress, when, on approaching his hand to the iron latch of the door, an electric spark was elicited. 46 PREPARATIONS FOR SEAL-HUNTING. At the approach of the Arctic summer, all is bustle and activity among the natives. The materials for the summer huts are got ready, and the whole household, consisting of five or six families, move downwards to the fishing-place, which is generally an island with a low beach, in a southern aspect, for the convenience of launching their boats or drawing the seals which have been taken ashore. They are not confined to any particular spot in the summer, unless abundance of seals are seen; but they generally shift to some other station, which, in the course of former seasons, they may have observed as more suitable. The Esquimaux have their regular divisions of work. The men are the carpenters; the women are the tailors, shoemakers, and cooks, helping their husbands or fathers occasionally in their fishing. It is heavy work for these poor females, but Providence has endowed them with a strength of constitution and powers of endurance far greater than women in more genial climates possess. They have to haul the seals that have been taken by the men, ashore, and convey them to the huts. They also flay and cut up the spoil. Seals' flesh forms their chief food, and they employ various methods for preserving it for future use. The most common plan is to cut it into thin strips, and dry them over a line in the interior of the huts. The seal-skins, which the Esquimaux have a mode of rendering waterproof, form the chief articles of dress; when tanned, they make excellent shoes. I may mention here that the Romans believed a seal's skin was a preservative against lightning, and they made tents of it to shelter themselves during thunder-storms. The Emperor Augustus is said by Suetonius never to have travelled without one of these skins, having a great dread of lightning. The blubber of the seal is most carefully preserved by the Esquimaux, being useful in many ways to their domestic comfort, and more precious to them by far than wine is to others. The oil is the luxury of their meals, and is of a superior quality to that of the common whale; their bread is nothing more than the dried muscular parts of seals or birds. Whatever we may think of the Esquimaux' partiality for seal-flesh, it is well to remember that our |