e heads of my hearers like a shower of snow."
"But," I ventured to remark, "our souls are controlled to such a degree
by the condition of our bodies, that I should doubt whether any true
devotional spirit could exist at such a time. Might not even religion
itself be frozen?" "Yes," he answered, "there is no doubt that all the
better feelings either disappear, or become very faint, when the mercury
begins to freeze." The pastor himself was at that time suffering the
penalty of indulging a spirit of reverence which for a long time led him
to officiate with uncovered head.

The sky increased in brightness as we watched. The orange flushed into
rose, and the pale white hills looked even more ghastly against the bar
of glowing carmine which fringed the horizon. A few long purple streaks
of cloud hung over the sun's place, and higher up in the vault floated
some loose masses, tinged with fiery crimson on their lower edges.
About half-past eleven, a pencil of bright red light shot up--a signal
which the sun uplifted to herald his coming. As it slowly moved westward
along the hills, increasing in height and brilliancy until it became a
long tongue of flame, playing against the streaks of cloud we were
apprehensive that the near disc would rise to view. When the Lansman's
clock pointed to twelve, its base had become so bright as to shine
almost like the sun itself; but after a few breathless moments the
unwelcome glow began to fade. We took its bearing with a compass, and
after making allowance for the variation (which is here very slight)
were convinced that it was really past meridian, and the radiance, which
was that of morning a few minutes before, belonged to the splendours of
evening now. The colours of the firmament began to change in reverse
order, and the dawn, which had almost ripened to sunrise, now withered
away to night without a sunset. We had at last seen a day without a sun.

The snowy hills to the north, it is true, were tinged with a flood of
rosy flame, and the very next day would probably bring down the
tide-mark of sunshine to the tops of the houses. One day, however, was
enough to satisfy me. You, my heroic friend,[A] may paint with true
pencil, and still truer pen, the dreary solemnity of the long Arctic
night: but, greatly as I enjoy your incomparable pictures, much as I
honour your courage and your endurance, you shall never tempt me to
share in the experience. The South is a cup which one may drink to