own thoughts and feelings. To the Englishmen the
sight of land roused only one great all-engrossing thought--the North
Pole! which, despite the absurdity of the idea, _would_ present itself
in the form of an upright post of terrific magnitude--a worthy
axle-tree, as it were, for the world to revolve upon. To the big Eskimo
land presented itself in the form of a palatial stone edifice measuring
fifteen feet by twelve, with a dear pretty little wife choking herself
in the smoke of a cooking-lamp, and a darling little boy choking himself
with a mass of walrus blubber. Thus the same object, when presented to
different minds, suggested ideas that were:

"Diverse as calm from thunder,
Wide as the poles asunder."

It was midnight when the boats drew near to land. The island in which
stood the giant's humble home seemed to Captain Vane not more than eight
or ten miles in extent, and rose to a moderate height--apparently about
five or six hundred feet. It was picturesque in form and composed of
rugged rocks, the marks on which, and the innumerable boulders
everywhere, showed that at some remote period of the world's history, it
had been subjected to the influence of glacial action. No glacier was
visible now, however--only, on the rocky summit lay a patch or two of
the last winter's snow-drift, which was too deep for the summer sun to
melt away. From this storehouse of water gushed numerous tiny rivulets
which brawled cheerily rather than noisily among the rocks, watering the
rich green mosses and grasses which abounded in patches everywhere, and
giving life to countless wild-flowers and berries which decked and
enriched the land.

Just off the island--which by a strange coincidence the inhabitants had
named Poloe--there were hundreds of other islets of every shape and
size, but nearly all of them low, and many flat and swampy--the
breeding-grounds of myriads of waterfowl. There were lakelets in many
of these isles, in the midst of which were still more diminutive islets,
whose moss-covered rocks and fringing sedges were reflected in the
crystal water. Under a cliff on the main island stood the Eskimo
village, a collection of stone huts, bathed in the slanting light of the
midnight sun.

But no sound issued from these huts or from the neighbouring islands.
It was the period of rest for man and bird. Air, earth, and water were
locked in profound silence and repose.

"We've got to Paradise at last, father," wa