But how different is our lot to that of the usual Easter worshipper! The seasons are here reversed. We have not behind us the winter storms and cold discomforts. We have not before us the evident joys of a coming summer; sweet smelling flowers, green fields, pretty girls in new bonnets, and the hundreds of things which go to make up the accustomed pleasures of Easter are all far removed from us. We are on the verge of what promises to be the worst winter on record. The faint delights of summer are behind. The desperation, the despondency, the mystery of the unknown, impenetrable darkness, with its ceaseless frost, is on the horizon. Hellish storms with icy vapours are almost constantly sweeping over us. There is not a rock or anything suggestive of land within many hundreds of miles, and there is not a tree or flowering plant within thousands of miles. Nearly one-third of the circumference of the globe is between us and our loved ones at home. Under such circumstances, far away from the world of life, isolated from accustomed comforts, on a sea of moving ice, in a dead, white world of eternal frigidity, how can we enjoy Easter? We try hard to arouse a buoyant spirit, and each has taken it upon himself to bring out the bright side of the one nearest to him, but our efforts are poorly rewarded. For after superficial laughter we sink into a lethargy which becomes more and more normal to us as the winter and the night advance. Some one has said we want only our home surroundings, some loving women, fresh food, a few flowers, and our lot will be happy. I believe this, but I also believe it is just these which are all that is required to make Hell agreeable to the average man.