it rushes back, and violently beats upon the shore. The mountain
rises from its bath, sways to and fro, while water pours along its
mighty sides; now it is tolerably quiet, letting crackers off as air
escapes out of its cavities. That is an iceberg, and in that way
are all icebergs formed. Mountains of ice formed by rain and snow--
grand Arctic glaciers, undermined by the sea or by accumulation
over-balanced--topple down upon the slightest provocation (moved by
a shout, perhaps), and where they float, as this black-looking
fellow does, they need deep water. This berg in height is about
ninety feet, and a due balance requires that a mass nine times as
large as the part visible should be submerged. Icebergs are seen
about us now which rise two hundred feet above the water's level.

There are above head plenty of aquatic birds; ashore, or on the ice,
are bears, foxes, reindeer; and in the sea there are innumerable
animals. We shall not see so much life near the North Pole, that is
certain. It would be worth while to go ashore upon an islet there,
near Vogel Sang, to pay a visit to the eider-ducks. Their nests are
so abundant that one cannot avoid treading on them. When the duck
is driven by a hungry fox to leave her eggs, she covers them with
down, in order that they may not cool during her absence, and,
moreover, glues the down into a case with a secretion supplied to
her by Nature for that purpose. The deserted eggs are safe, for
that secretion has an odour very disagreeable to the intruder's
nose.

We still sail northward, among sheets of ice, whose boundaries are
not beyond our vision from the masthead--these are "floes;" between
them we find easy way, it is fair "sailing ice." In the clear sky
to the north a streak of lucid white light is the reflection from an