On several occasions during the month our fog signal was brought into action through the occurrence of heavy snowfalls. A silent, feathery fall on shore no doubt has charms peculiarly its own, but at sea constitutes a very serious danger to the anxious mariner as he steams at reduced speed through the fleecy curtain, shrieking his every two minute warning, his vessel’s head scarcely visible from the bridge. In snowstorms such as we have had of late our lantern soon becomes plastered up with snow on the weather side, necessitating constant removal to prevent it from completely blinding our light in that direction. This is an operation often accomplished with difficulty, especially when carried out in the teeth of a gale--an experience somewhat akin to lying out on a yardarm under similar conditions, only one doesn’t have the lift and ’scend of the vessel to contend with; yet his grip must be equally as sure, or, as the old salts phrase it, “Every finger a fish-hook,” on such occasions. Mounting by an outside ladder to the grated gallery which encircles the base of the lantern, one is exposed to the full force of the blast, and a firm grip must be taken to avoid being blown away. Below, the seas in wild tumult break against the building with a deafening roar, sending a perceptible tremor through the entire structure with each impact. Only by energetically hauling on the hand-rail can the slightest progress be made in the desired direction, the wind’s eye being the objective point, where possibly on arrival one may find himself pinned flat to the lantern, like an entomological specimen, by the force of the wind. The snow removed, the return journey is effected by simply allowing oneself to be blown gradually back.