jority of whom were given
to expressing their opinions in no uncertain terms--there were no rigid
conventions in Adelie Land--every book had a value in accordance with a
common standard.

There was not a dissenting voice to the charm of 'Lady Betty across the
Water', and the reason for this was a special one. The sudden breath of
a world of warmth and colour, richness and vivacity and astute, American
freshness amid the somewhat grim attractions of an Antarctic winter was
too much for every one. Lady Betty, in the realm of bright images, had
a host of devoted admirers. Her influence spread beyond the Hut to the
plateau itself. Three men went sledging, and to shelter themselves from
the rude wind fashioned an ice-cavern, which, on account of its magical
hues and rare lustre, could be none other than "Aladdin's Cave." Lady
Betty found her hero in a fairy grotto of the same name.

'Lorna Doone', on the other hand, was liked by many. Still there were
those who thought that John Ridd was a fool, a slow, obtuse rustic, and
so on, while Lorna was too divine and angelic for this life.

'The War of the Carolinas' took the Hut by storm, but it was a
"nine days' wonder" and left no permanent impression on the thinking
community. Mostly, the story was voted delightfully funny, but very
foolish and farcical after all. A few exclusive critics predicted for it
a future.

Then there was 'The Trail of '98'. For power and blunt realism there was
nothing like it, but the character of the hero was torn in the shreds of
debate. There was general agreement on two points: that the portrayal
of the desolate Alaskan wild had a touch of "home," and that the heroine
was a "true sport."

All those who had ever hauled on the main braces, sung the
topsail-halliard chanty, learned the intricate Matty Walker, the
bowline-and-a-bite and a crowd of kindred knots, had a warm spot for any
yarn by Jacobs. Night after night, the storeman held the audience with
the humorous escapades of 'Ginger Dick', 'Sam' and 'Peter Russet'.

And lastly, there was a more serious, if divided interest in 'Virginibus
Puerisque', 'Marcus Aurelius', 'The Unveiling of Lhassa'--but the list
is rather interminable.

The whole world is asleep except the night-watchman, and he, having made
the bread, washed a tubful of clothes, kept the fire going, observed
and made notes on the aurora every fifteen minutes and the weather every
half-hour, and, finally, having had a bath, in