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We are now floating on a lake whose banks are clad with verdure. I behold with some amount of pleasure the objects surrounding me.

What a contrast! On the right a group of well-built, brick pilots’ houses, on the mountain slope, facing the sea. Heavy cumuli cover the summits of the rocks; above, the sky is of a pure blue, and the bright sun pours floods of golden light over the landscape.

On the left there is a church standing all alone, the rendezvous of the fishermen who inhabit the coast in summer.

The sailors are getting ready the boat which is to set us ashore, as there is no quay at Tromsö, and the Virgo will remain at anchor in the roads.

The bay is getting narrower and villages succeed each other, with telegraph lines on both banks. Numerous Norwegian fishing boats are ploughing the sea. The air is pure and dry.

The Virgo glides majestically over the waves like a large bird. The landscape becomes animated and really fairy-like.

At eleven o’clock we sight Tromsö with its steeple, its wooden houses and villas rising in tiers one above the other on the slope of a very fertile mountain. The pilot is still steering the Virgo. Objects appear larger and more distinct; there is the harbour, with its vessels at anchor.