nothing but gilded drift clouds. Yet it is grand to have daylight rushing at one.
Wednesday, August 23.—We toasted the sun in champagne last night, coupling Victor Campbell's name as his birthday coincides. The return of the sun could not be appreciated as we have not had a glimpse of it, and the taste of the champagne went wholly unappreciated; it was a very mild revel. Meanwhile the gale continues. Its full force broke last night with an average of nearly 70 m.p.h. for some hours: the temperature has been up to +10° and the snowfall heavy. At seven this morning the air was thicker with whirling drift than it has ever been.
It seems as though the violence of the storms which succeed our rare spells of fine weather is in proportion to the duration of the spells.
Thursday, August 24.—Another night and day of furious wind and drift, and still no sign of the end. The temperature has been as high as +16°. Now and again the snow ceases and then the drift rapidly diminishes, but such an interval is soon followed by fresh clouds of snow. It is quite warm outside, one can go about with head uncovered—which leads me to suppose that one does get hardened to cold to some extent—for I suppose one would not wish to remain uncovered in a storm in England if the temperature showed 16 degrees of frost. This is the third day of confinement to the hut: it grows tedious, but there is no help, as it is too thick to see more than a few yards out of doors.
Friday, August 25.—The gale continued all night and
