Nature to these Eskimo is especially benign. The junction of the Mackenzie and the Peel is covered with a forest of spruce, and even to the ocean-lip we trace foot-prints of moose and black bear. In the delta are cross, red, and silver foxes, mink and marten, with lynx and rabbits according to the fortunes of war. The Eskimo declare that, east of Cape Parry, bears are so numerous that from ten to twenty are seen at one time from a high hilltop.
The Chauncey Depew of the Kogmollycs, the man with the best stories and the most inimitable way of telling them, is Roxi. It was Roxi who gave us the love story of his cousin the Nuntalmute Lochinvar. This young man wooed a maid. The girl's father had no very good opinion of the lad's hunting ability and was obdurate. The lover determined to take destiny into his own hands. A ravine of ice stretched between his igloo and that of the family to whom he would fain be son, and over the chasm a drift-log formed a temporary bridge. Lothario, one night, crossed the icy gully, entered the igloo of his elect, seized her in her _shin-ig-bee_ or sleeping-bag and lifted the dear burden over his back. In spite of struggles and muffled cries from within, he strode off with her to his side of the stream. The gulch safely crossed, he gaily kicked the log bridge into the gulf and bore his squirming treasure to his own igloo floor. He had left his seal-oil lamp burning and now it was with an anticipative chuckle of joy that he untied the drawstring. We end the story where Roxi did, by telling that the figure which rolled out sputtering from the _shin-ig-bee_ was the would-not-be father-in-law instead of the would-be bride!
"Into this Universe, and _Why_ not knowing Nor _Whence_, like Water willy-nilly flowing, And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not _Whither_, willy-nilly blowing."
The Midnight Sun! The sun does not sink to the horizon, but pauses for a moment and rises again. Dawn and eventide are one. The manifestations of light ever since we left Athabasca Landing have been wonderful, uplifting. The supreme marvel of the Midnight Sun is not what we see but what we feel. Standing at this outpost of Britain's Empire, we give our imagination rein and see waking worlds and cities of sleep. As this red sun rises from its horizon-dip, it is the first of the unnumbered sunrises which, as hour follows hour, will come to the continents. Longfellow says: