438 FARTHEST NORTH 



in the sunlight. What an inexhaustible fund of the 

 awakening joys of nature does that word April contain ! 

 But here — here that is not to be found. True, the sun 

 shines long and bright, but its beams fall not on forest 

 or mountain or meadow, but only on the dazzling white- 

 ness of the fresh-fallen snow. Scarcely does it entice one 

 out from one's winter retreat. This is not the time of 

 revolutions here. If they come at all, they will come 

 much later. The days roll on uniformly and monoto- 

 nously; here I sit, and feel no touch of the restless long- 

 ings of the spring, and shut myself up in the snail-shell of 

 my studies. Day after day I dive down into the world 

 of the microscope, forgetful of time and surroundings. 

 Now and then, indeed, I may make a little excursion 

 from darkness to light — the daylight beams around 

 me, and my soul opens a tiny loophole for light and 

 courage to enter in — and then down, down into the 

 darkness, and to work once more. Before turning in 

 for the night I must go on deck. A little while ago 

 the daylight would by this time have vanished, a few 

 solitary stars would have been faintly twinkling, while 

 the pale moon shone over the ice. But now even this 

 has come to an end. The sun no longer sinks beneath 

 the icy horizon ; it is continual day. I gaze into the far 

 distance, far over the barren plain of snow, a boundless, 

 silent, and lifeless mass of ice in imperceptible motion. 

 No sound can be heard save the faint murmur of the air 

 through the rigging, or perhaps far away the low rumble 



