Wherever love goes, there springs the true heart's-ease, rooting itself even in the polar ices.

To the young invalid of the Skipper's story, the dreary waste of what Moore calls, as you remember, 'the dismal shore Of cold and pitiless Labrador,' looked beautiful and inviting; for he saw it softened and irradiated in an atmosphere of love.

Its bare hills, bleak rocks, and misty sky were but the setting and background of the sweetest picture in the gallery of life.

Apart from this, however, in Labrador, as in every conceivable locality, the evils of soil and climate have their compensations and alleviations.

The long nights of winter are brilliant with moonlight, and the changing colors of the northern lights are reflected on the snow.