“‘Concordia, dear! Concordia, dear! My heart is with thee on the lonely isle; I’m forced to say adieu to thee, I fear, for I am carried off; I slept the while; I did but sleep that I might dream of thee, and, sleeping, off they carried me to sea. Concordia, dear! Concordia, dear! Thou only on this earth my heart hast got. Oh, listen to me while I shed a tear, of which I have shed enough to fill a pot. I’d fill a dozen could I go to thee; then from this lonely isle away we’d flee, o’er the glad waters of the deep blue sea; our thoughts quite boundless, and our hopes quite glad. Those seal-skin breeches! oh, Concordia! they are bewitching, and they make me mad; and then that top-knot on thy head so fair, I’ve yards of ribbon for thy raven hair. My messmates all, hard-hearted fellows they! do call me spooney when my pain they see. Ah! who can tell my sufferings, thou away? I’ll ever be a faithful spoon to thee. My image in thy bosom once install, I’ll take them then, ay, breeches, boots, and all.’ “Which, and much more such stuff outlandish, our hero wrote unto his lady-love; doing it in very bad Greenlandish; he’d billed and cooed with her like turtle-dove; learning thereby a string of _koos_ and _kahs_, and these he emphasized with ohs and ahs. A language which all maidens understand, of each and every nationality; you may write Greek and Choctaw with the hand; a maid will comprehend a sigh, you see; and every lover, be he green as grass, will wisely sigh, if he would catch his lass. “The letter written, then the pilot went, bearing the missive with abundant warning, to take it safe and go where he was sent, and give it to the maiden in the morning. It must have touched her, Heaven only knows! the steamer steamed away; and thus it goes!—The tender-hearted must be torn away—sometimes it is ‘stern parent,’ sometimes steam. In this particular case you’d surely say, ‘The Prince is certain now to kick the beam.’ Oh no, not he! The youth but went below, slept, woke, then cried, ‘Now for another go!’” And another “go” he had, and we all had, sure enough, but of a very different character from the Julianashaab “go.” By keeping well inside the islands, which almost everywhere form a barrier along the Greenland coast, we managed to escape, in a great measure, the ice which had so much annoyed and alarmed us when we first “made” the Land of Desolation. Towards evening, our pilot, who had been on the bridge most of the day, approached the captain, and said: “Captain, you see?” “Yes,” said the captain. “Two icebergs there—go between.” “Yes,” said the captain. “Starboard then”—explaining further the route into the port—“no, hit rock—go for iceberg—port, no deep water—starboard, plenty ice—port, small—starboard, plenty—let go—Kraksimeut—you see?” “Yes, pilot,” said the captain, “certainly, clear as mud;” then, addressing himself to another quarter, he cried out, “For’ad, there!” “Ay, ay, sir.”