ridges,
and hid themselves for several hours. Meanwhile we went down into the
cozy cabin, decorated with flags for the occasion in a right festive
manner, where we partook of a splendid dinner, preluded by a lovely
waltz. The menu was as follows: Minced fish with curried lobster,
melted butter, and potatoes; music; pork cutlets, with green pease,
potatoes, mango chutney, and Worcester sauce; music; apricots and
custard, with cream; much music. After this a siesta; then coffee,
currants, figs, cakes; and the photographer stood cigars. Great
enthusiasm, then more siesta. After supper the violinist, Mogstad,
gave a recital, when refreshments were served in the shape of figs,
sweetmeats, apricots, and gingerbread (honey cakes). On the whole, a
charming and very successful Seventeenth of May, especially considering
that we had passed the 81st degree of latitude.

"Monday, May 28th. Ugh! I am tired of these endless, white
plains--cannot even be bothered snow-shoeing over them, not to mention
that the lanes stop one on every hand. Day and night I pace up and
down the deck, along the ice by the ship's sides, revolving the most
elaborate scientific problems. For the past few days it is especially
the shifting of the Pole that has fascinated me. I am beset by the
idea that the tidal wave, along with the unequal distribution of
land and sea, must have a disturbing effect on the situation of the
earth's axis. When such an idea gets into one's head, it is no easy
matter to get it out again. After pondering over it for several days,
I have finally discovered that the influence of the moon on the sea
must be sufficient to cause a shifting of the Pole to the extent of one
minute in 800,000 years. In order to account for the European Glacial
Age, which was my main object, I must shift the Pole at least ten or
twenty degrees. This leaves an uncomfortably wide interval of time
since that period, and shows that the human race must have attained
a respectable age. Of course, it is all nonsense. But while I am
indefatigably tramping the deck in a brown study, imagining myself
no end of a great thinker, I suddenly discover that my thoughts
are at home, where all is summer and loveliness, and those I have
left are busy building castles in the air for the day when I shall
return. Yes, yes. I spend rather too much time on this sort of thing;
but the drift goes as slowly as ever, and the wind, the all-powerful
wind, is still the same. The first