incomprehensible melancholy of the people of the North

On entering these whitened deserts, a poetic terror takes possession of the soul ; you pause, affrighted, on the threshold of the palace of winter. As you advance in these abodes of cold illusions, of visions, brilliant, though with a silvered rather than a golden light, an indefinable kind of sadness takes possession of the heart ; the failing imagination ceases to create, or its feeble conceptions resemble only the undefined forms of the wanly glittering clouds that meet the eye.

When the mind reverts from the scenery to itself, it is to partake of the hitherto incomprehensible melancholy of the people of the North ; and to feel, as they feel, the fascination of their monotonous poetry. This initiation into the pleasures of sadness is pain- ful, while it is pleasing ; you follow with slow steps the chariot of death, chaunting hymns of lamentation, yet of hope ; your sorrowing soul lends itself to the illusions around, and sympathises with the objects that meet the sight ; the air, the mist, the water, all produce a novel impression. There is, whether the impression be made through the organ of smell or of touch, something strange and unusual in the sensa- tion ; it announces to you that you are approaching the confines of the habitable world ; the icy zone is before you, and the polar air pierces even to the heart. This is not agreeable, but it is novel and very strange.

Marquis de Custine's "Empire of the Czar". Curiosities of modern travel; a year-book of adventure. 1844