502 FARTHEST NORTH 



southerly wind has returned, so there is an end of drifting 

 south for the present. 



" Now I am ahiiost longing for the polar night, for 

 the everlasting wonderland of the stars with the spectral 

 northern lights, and the moon sailing through the pro- 

 found silence. It is like a dream, like a glimpse into 

 the realms of fantasy. There are no forms, no cumbrous 

 reality — only a vision woven of silver and violet ether, 

 rising up from earth and floating out into infinity. . . . 

 But this eternal day, with its oppressive actuality, in- 

 terests me no longer — does not entice me out of my lair. 

 Life is one incessant hurrying from one task to anoth- 

 er; everything must be done and nothing neglected, day 

 after day, week after week ; and the working-day is long, 

 seldom ending till far over midnight. But through it all 

 runs the same sensation of longing and emptiness, which 

 must not be noted. Ah, but at times there is no hold- 

 ins it aloof, and the hands sink down without will or 

 strength — so weary, so unutterably weary. 



" Ah ! life's peace is said to be found by holy men in 

 the desert. Here, indeed, there is desert enough; but 

 peace — of that I know nothing. I suppose it is the holi- 

 ness that is lacking. 



"Wednesday, July icSth. Went on excursion with 

 Blessing in the forenoon to collect specimens of the 

 brown snow and ice, and gather seaweed and diatoms 

 in the water. The upper surface of the floes is nearly 

 everywhere of a dirty brown color, or, at least, this 



