Beatrice Batty, Forty-two years amongst the Indians and Eskimo
“ On May 6 the bishop wrote:—‘Day succeeds day, and there is the same cold biting air, the same dark leaden sky and heavy snowflakes, which have lately again and again thrown us back into apparent midwinter. I should be glad to write more cheerfully, but I must write what I see and know, and not give a picture from the imagination; what I write must be truth, and not romance. You can’t conceive how anxiously we are longing for spring; to see our noble river rushing by, carrying on its bosom the laden boat, the beautiful canoe, the majestic vessel. ”
