How full of meaning to me is this flag! How full of souvenirs and consolation! And how well one can understand, when far away from his native country, all the silent eloquence of this impersonal being, this glorious symbol! Amidst all these people, speaking languages which I do not understand, amidst all this group of men isolated at the world’s end, and I myself feeling lost in the midst of them, so to speak, owing to the difficulty of making myself understood by them, it contains a living embodiment of my native land, the very representative of the soil of France—her flag hoisted on a foreign vessel in token of the esteem in which the children of this noble country are held. And this flag seems to say to me: “You are not alone; I am here too! You are no longer isolated; we are _some one_; we are taken into account here!” We go on board, and soon the peaceful reports of champagne corks—another reminder of French soil—accentuate the numerous toasts which follow each other in the large saloon. Then our spirits becoming more and more elated, there are songs, cheers, the loud hum of animated conversation, wishes of good luck, plans for future meetings, and we leave the hospitable vessel in order to return to the _Virgo_ at a very advanced hour. What a day! And how hearts are drawn to each other under circumstances like these, when at rare intervals, few and far between, the oppressive and monotonous loneliness of arduous travels in these frigid solitudes is suddenly broken by boisterous meetings of persons, hitherto strangers, who are so speedily transformed into old friends! _August 1st, 9 a.m._—Under a misty sky, heavy with snow, the _Erline Jarl_ hoists her anchor, sweeps round majestically, sends us her last farewells and good wishes, and then slowly glides away over the waters, leaving behind her a foamy wake. The throbs of her engine become more and more regular; soon we no longer hear them; and it is with a choking sensation in our bosom, which will readily be understood, that we see this fine vessel outlined and gradually disappearing on the horizon, which, for a short moment, had come to bring life and joy into our midst. Yet a long time after, leaning with my arms on the handrail of the gangway, I followed with my eyes the black cloud of smoke which the _Erline Jarl_ trails over the waves; I still hear a last salute from the siren, and return in deep thought to my cabin, in a sadder frame of mind than I should care to admit. Grumberg, the naturalist, is working unceasingly to enrich his collection; he dredges, fishes, hunts, and sets snares for foxes. He has succeeded in capturing two very young animals, which he has installed on the island, in a nice improvised cage, to which some anonymous wag has attached a card bearing one of the petitions of the Lord’s Prayer in Swedish: “Give us this day our daily bread.” [Illustration: STRINDBERG.]