We will cancel the stamp and move on.
In our next we shall find that our artist has given himself more
latitude, say about eighty degrees North.
WINTER IN SPITSBERGEN.
Behold these regions of eternal ice and snow--miles upon miles of frozen
real estate. There is a great ice monopoly here. All, all is blank;
except the ship over in this corner. She is a prize. This is the place
to buy thermometers; you'll generally find them going very low. The
weather in this region is mostly day and night, but rather irregularly
divided between the two.
You see these people with rough beards and red shirts, looking like New
York firemen? You take one to be MOSE? You are right--they are
Esquimaux. They are a tough, and hardy race. Though not precisely
students, they yet consume the midnight oil--chiefly as a beverage.
This great work is the combined production of thirteen artists; twelve
of them, perishing in the attempt, were handsomely buried at our
expense; and the survivor is now keeping a bar, for his own consumption,
at St. Paul, Minnesota. He was compelled to lay aside the brush, which
accounts for the water in this corner not being frozen, as the contract
stipulated. But this allows the ship to which I referred to float
comfortably.
These small buildings are settlements. They are not so frequent here as
in New York or Chicago, where business men inform me they occur about as
often as--once in two years.
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