Today I searched out some ski and ski sticks and went for a short run over the floe. The surface is good and means we can make sledge journeys on ski when needed.
We are living extraordinarily well. At dinner last night we had some excellent thick seal soup, very much like thick hare soup; this was followed by an equally tasty steak and kidney pie and a fruit jelly. The smell of frying greeted us on awaking this morning, and at breakfast each of us had two of our nutty little Notothenia fish after our bowl of porridge. These little fish have an extraordinarily sweet taste--bread nad butter and marmalade finished the meal. At the midday meal we had bread and butter, cheese, and cake, and tonight I smell mutton being prepared. Under the circumstances it would be difficult to conceive more appetizing repasts or a regime which is less likely to produce scorbutic symptoms. I cannot think we shall get scurvy.
Nelson lectured us ably on the objects of the biologist, and much discussion was had afterwards on the evolution and adaptation of species.
Have been pondering worthy themes of interest. For instance: the way our polar forebears described the mountains as "horrid" or "frightful" when today we consider them loft, grand, and beautiful.
The poetic conception of this natural phenomenon has followed not so much an inherent change of sentiment as the intimacy of wider knowledge and the death of superstitious influence. One is much struck by the importance of realizing limits.
I must remember this.
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