tion. We shall have nothing to write
about when we get home. I may say the same of my comrades as I have
said for myself; they all look healthy, fat, in good condition; none
of the traditional pale, hollow faces; no low spirits--any one hearing
the laughter that goes on in the saloon, 'the fall of greasy cards,'
etc. (see Juell's poem), would be in no doubt about this. But how,
indeed, should there be any illness? With the best of food of every
kind, as much of it as we want, and constant variety, so that even the
most fastidious cannot tire of it, good shelter, good clothing, good
ventilation, exercise in the open air ad libitum, no over-exertion
in the way of work, instructive and amusing books of every kind,
relaxation in the shape of cards, chess, dominoes, halma, music,
and story-telling--how should any one be ill? Every now and then I
hear remarks expressive of perfect satisfaction with the life. Truly
the whole secret lies in arranging things sensibly, and especially in
being careful about the food. A thing that I believe has a good effect
upon us is this living together in the one saloon, with everything
in common. So far as I know, it is the first time that such a thing
has been tried; but it is quite to be recommended. I have heard some
of the men complain of sleeplessness. This is generally considered
to be one inevitable consequence of the Arctic darkness. As far as I
am personally concerned, I can say that I have felt nothing of it; I
sleep soundly at night. I have no great belief in this sleeplessness;
but then I do not take an after-dinner nap, which most of the others
are addicted to; and if they sleep for several hours during the day
they can hardly expect to sleep all night as well. 'One must be awake
part of one's time,' as Sverdrup said.

"Sunday, December 31st. And now the last day of the year has come;
it has been a long year, and has brought much both of good and bad. It
began with good by bringing little Liv--such a new, strange happiness
that at first I could hardly believe in it. But hard, unspeakably hard,
was the parting that came later; no year has brought worse pain than
that. And the time since has been one great longing.

"'Would'st thou be free from care and pain,
Thou must love nothing here on earth."

"But longing--oh, there are worse things than that! All that is good
and beautiful may flourish in its shelter. Everything would be over
if we cease to long