Our stay at the glacier was brought suddenly to an end by a violent storm of wind and snow, and both ourselves and our Esquimau companions were forced to seek other shelter. The storm came from the northeast, and the first mischief done was to pick Hans's tent up and carry it off down the valley like a balloon, and finally to drop it in the lake. Without waiting long to lament over the unhappy circumstance, the whole Esquimau party set out for Etah. As they passed our tent, Kalutunah stopped a moment at the door, and despite the fierce wind and the snow which covered him all over, he still bore the same imperturbable grin. "You should have seen Hans's tent!" said he; and the old fellow fairly shook with laughter, as he recalled the ridiculous scene of the suddenly unhoused party and their vanishing tent tearing away toward the lake. But his satisfaction reached its climax when he informed us that it was going to blow harder, and that our turn would come directly. Sure enough it was as the savage had predicted; for, soon afterward, we heard a great noise,--the photographic tent had given way, the instruments and plates were scattering over the stones, the glasses were being all crushed up into little bits; and, while we were springing up to go out and save the wreck, our windward guys gave way, and our canvas protection following the example of Hans's seal-skins, left us standing in the very jaws of the storm. As may be supposed, we did not delay long in finding our way back on board. I found the schooner in a somewhat critical situation. The spars had been sent aloft and caught the wind, and the vessel being still firmly locked in the ice, the masts were subjected to a dangerous strain. I thought, at one time, that they would be carried bodily out of the schooner, and had guys fastened to the mast-heads and secured to stakes driven in the ice to windward. The loose ice was all blown out of the bay, the icebergs were driven out of sight, and the open water was not more than a quarter of a mile distant from us. [Sidenote: MID-SUMMER.] The sun reaching its greatest northern declination on the 21st, we were now in the full blaze of summer. Six eventful months had passed over since the Arctic midnight shrouded us in gloom, and now we had reached the Arctic mid-day. And this mid-day was a day of wonderful brightness. The temperature had gone up higher than at any previous time, marking, at meridian, 49°, while in the sun the thermometer showed 57°. The barometer was away up to 30.076, and a more calm and lovely air never softened an Arctic landscape. [Sidenote: LITTLE JULIA'S GLEN AND FALL.]