It was young ice, and he did not have much fear of it. He kept on paddling, but finally found himself entirely surrounded, and manage as he would, he could not free his canoe. A breeze came up from the north, which pushed him along with the ice out toward sea, for he was near the mouth of the bay. There was nothing to do but wait. For an hour he waited. It was well on towards midnight, and he could see no escape. The missionary, in relating the incident to us, did not dwell upon this part of his story, but he said he had given himself up for lost, and only prayed and waited. By and by the breeze died away, the ice quietly parted, and drifted away from him, and he paddled safely ashore. Tuesday, October thirty: A brand new experience today--that of watching the natives and others fish through the ice. Little holes are made in the ice, which is now quite strong in the north end of the bay near the cliff, and the Eskimos sit there patiently for hours, fishing for tom-cod. These are small fish, but quite tasty, one of the principal means of subsistence for the natives, and are also much used by others. No pole is needed on the line except a short one of three or four feet, and when a bite is felt by the fisherman, the line is quickly drawn out, given a sudden twitch, which frees the tom-cod, and he is summarily dispatched with a few raps from the fishing stick kept at hand for the purpose. Several river boats, including small steamers, are laid up under the cliff for the winter, dismantled of loose gear and light machinery, and I did get a few views which should prove of some value. The weather was good all day, the sun setting at three in the afternoon, and it being nearly dark an hour later. Mr. H. dressed himself from top to toe in furs, hitched three dogs to a sled, took a lunch for himself, a few supplies of eatables for the Home camp to which he was going, and started out, on a longer, but we trusted a less venturesome and dangerous route than by Peterborough canoe. Our evening was pleasantly, and at the same time more or less profitably spent by our party in the sitting-room, Alma sewing on Miss J.'s new dress, Ricka and I knitting, and the others either mending or busying themselves at something. This something frequently covers a good deal of ground, for with one or two of the boys it means pranks or roguishness of some sort, which really enlivens the whole household and keeps our risibles from growing rusty by disuse.