in spite of everything! As
I stood gazing around me I remembered it was Midsummer-eve. Far
away yonder her masts pointed aloft, half lost to view in the snowy
haze. They must, indeed, have stout hearts, those fellows on board
that craft. Stout hearts, or else blind faith in a man's word.

"It is all very well that he who has hatched a plan, be it never so
wild, should go with it to carry it out; he naturally does his best
for the child to which his thoughts have given birth. But they--they
had no child to tend, and could, without feeling any yearning balked,
have refrained from taking part in an expedition like this. Why should
any human being renounce life to be wiped out here?

"Sunday, June 24th. The anniversary of our departure from
home. Northerly wind; still drifting south. Observations to-day gave
81 deg. 41' 7'' north latitude, so we are not going at a breakneck speed.

"It has been a long year--a great deal has been gone through in
it--though we are quite as far advanced as I had anticipated. I
am sitting, and look out of the window at the snow whirling
round in eddies as it is swept along by the north wind. A strange
Midsummer-day! One might think we had had enough of snow and ice; I
am not, however, exactly pining after green fields--at all events,
not always. On the contrary, I find myself sitting by the hour
laying plans for other voyages into the ice after our return from
this one.... Yes, I know what I have attained, and, more or less,
what awaits me. It is all very well for me to sketch plans for the
future. But those at home.... No, I am not in a humor for writing
this evening; I will turn in.

"Wednesday, July 11th. Lat. 81 deg. 18' 8''. At last the southerly wind
has returned, so there is an end of drifting south for the present.

"Now I am almost longing for the polar night, for the everlasting
wonderland of the stars with the spectral northern lights, and the
moon sailing through the profound 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, interests me no longer--does not entice
me out of my lair. Life is one incessant hurrying from one task to
another; everything must be done and nothing neglected, day after day,
week after week; and the working-day is long, seldom ending til