The persistent manner in which the bad weather clung to us was quite marvellous. Hardly a fine day had been enjoyed since we emerged from the ice. The words of Falconer would have been applicable to us, and might have been repeated with truth every morning: "A lowering squall obscures the southern sky, Before whose sweeping breath the waters fly. * * * * * It comes resistless! and with foaming sweep, Upturns the whitening surface of the deep." At length, after being buffeted about for many days, the high land of Disco was sighted on the 25th of September; and on the same day we came to an anchor in the little harbour of Godhavn, and congratulated ourselves once more upon our return to civilization. The day, as if to make up for our previous bad weather, was a bright sunny one, and perfectly still and calm. This was all the more appreciated after the turbulent seas which had lately almost driven us distracted. The scenery coming in was very beautiful. On one side were the high cliffs of Disco, intersected here and there with deep fiords and bays, whilst on the other lay the perfectly quiescent sea, studded with icebergs of all shapes and sizes. Occasionally the surface of the water would be ruffled and disturbed by the appearance of a seal's head, as the inquisitive little animal would pop it up to gaze curiously at us as we steamed slowly by; or else a whale, as he swam lazily along, would give a flick with his huge tail, or spout a jet of water in the air, which might be taken either as a welcome back to more genial climes, or an angry remonstrance that a monster larger than himself should dare to live in his own particular domain. Birds flew around and alighted near us. One, a ger-falcon, was so bold as to venture to perch upon our fore-royal truck; but, I am ashamed to relate, was fired at for its misplaced confidence. It escaped, however, unhurt. Everything was bright and joyous, and all were happy and elated. Our joy was slightly marred on arrival to find that our mails had really been taken on and left at Littleton Island; but a mail, with letters of a later date than those brought out by the "Pandora," which had been got together and made up for us at Copenhagen by my cousin, had just arrived in the Danish brig "Tjalfe." Of course it could not be expected that, during the period of our absence from England, no sad changes should have taken place, and the sorrowful faces of more than one among us testified to the fact that some dear and loved ones would be seen no more in this world.