o the
expedition; we blessed that man).

And along with all this that Ringnes bock-beer which is so famous in
our part of the world. Was this the sort of dinner for men who are
to be hardened against the horrors of the Arctic night?

"Every one had eaten so much that supper had to be skipped
altogether. Later in the evening coffee was served, with pineapple
preserve, gingerbread, vanilla-cakes, cocoanut macaroons, and various
other cakes, all the work of our excellent cook, Juell; and we ended
up with figs, almonds, and raisins.

"Now let us have the breakfast, just to complete the day: coffee,
freshly baked bread, beautiful Danish butter, Christmas cake, Cheddar
cheese, clove-cheese, tongue, corned-beef, and marmalade. And if
any one thinks that this is a specially good breakfast because it is
Christmas-day he is wrong. It is just what we have always, with the
addition of the cake, which is not part of the every-day diet.

"Add now to this good cheer our strongly built, safe house, our
comfortable saloon, lighted up with the large petroleum lamp and
several smaller ones (when we have no electric light), constant gayety,
card-playing, and books in any quantity, with or without illustrations,
good and entertaining reading, and then a good, sound sleep--what
more could one wish?

" ... But, O Arctic night, thou art like a woman, a marvellously lovely
woman. Thine are the noble, pure outlines of antique beauty, with its
marble coldness. On thy high, smooth brow, clear with the clearness of
ether, is no trace of compassion for the little sufferings of despised
humanity; on thy pale, beautiful cheek no blush of feeling. Among thy
raven locks, waving out into space, the hoar-frost has sprinkled its
glittering crystals. The proud lines of thy throat, thy shoulders'
curves, are so noble, but, oh! unbendingly cold; thy bosom's white
chastity is feelingless as the snowy ice. Chaste, beautiful, and
proud, thou floatest through ether over the frozen sea, thy glittering
garment, woven of aurora beams, covering the vault of heaven. But
sometimes I divine a twitch of pain on thy lips, and endless sadness
dreams in thy dark eye.

"Oh, how tired I am of thy cold beauty! I long to return to
life. Let me get home again, as conqueror or as beggar; what does
that matter? But let me get home to begin life anew. The years are
passing here, and what do they bring? Nothing but dust, dry dust,
which the first wind blows away; n