_August 5th, noon._—The snow keeps on falling, but the wind is turning to the south-west. It is almost what is required, and hope is quickly reviving. May Fate soon open the route to the north to Andrée, and return me to my country and my anxious family! At seven o’clock in the evening the state of the atmosphere remains unchanged; the snow is whirling about, and the sky is gloomy. _Dansk-Gatt, August 6th._—A small balloon, launched at 6 o’clock, having ascended to the height of 325 yards, took an easterly direction. The gas apparatus is working; the balloon which has been inflated for ten days, is full. It is covered with snow and there is not a single spot on the balloon shed that is not white. The car is, however, protected by an awning, but the whirling snow penetrates everywhere. It is impossible to stop on deck, for the wind is raging, and the day goes by in monotony and gloom. Every one longs for the end of this campaign which seems interminable; so long as tourists and whaling boats were moored near us, and brought with them life and movement to this solitary spot, our stay was very agreeable—it was a lively and cheerful international colony. Now Dansk-Gatt has resumed its mournful and forsaken aspect. “And the snow was still falling,” as Xavier de Montépin would say. Then, confined within the walls of my cabin, my dominion of two square metres, I begin to peruse the few books I have and which, alas! I know already by heart, but still hoping to find therein something very interesting, if not new, at least old. And I was not disappointed, for I read over with great interest _La Mer_, by my playfellow, the excellent poet Jean Richepin, whose verses on snow were very much to the point. It is long, long since, when sitting on the benches in our little school at Belleville, we were looking together over the top of the map of Europe at this small archipelago, named Spitzbergen, which appeared to my childest imagination to be an inaccessible point. X A Long Wait _Smeerenburg, Friday, August 7th._—Noon. The sky is bright and the sun is sending us a few rays which are reviving our hopes a little. The snow is melting; but the wind, though slight, is still blowing from the west. The balloon which holds its gas well is dripping little by little. I made a long excursion on the east side of Dane’s Island. The island of Fogll-Sund is glittering in the midday sun. The birds have awakened. I saw several flocks of eiders. At six o’clock four pilot balloons are launched, three were driven south-west at 547 yards and one towards the sea at 65 yards. _Saturday, 8th, 10 o’clock._—Sky overcast, wind slight and uncertain, with tendency to turn S.E. Thermometer 7° (44·6 Fahr.). Afternoon, S.E. wind at 1,093 yards; on land wind still, or slightly to the north. At nine o’clock in the evening the upper wind is still S. Let us hope that it will descend and that, at last, our plans may be realized.