Excerpt from Down to the Sea: Yarns From the Labrador
There is no country in the world where the glories of the aurora borealis can so frequently be enjoyed. The weird northern lights, called by the Eskimo the spirits of the dead at play, are seen dancing in the sky on almost every clear night. The glorious red morning light, stealing over these rugged peaks, and steeping, in blood, as it were, the pinnacles of the loftiest icebergs in the world, forms a contrast with the deep blue of the ocean and the glistening white in a way that will hold the dullest spellbound. The endless stream of fantastic icebergs at all times enlivens the monotony of a boundless ocean.
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