unusually splendid in the “afterglow” of the setting sun. And so it was.
The western and southern horizon glowed like a ring of the clearest fire round the dark earth, the lower tracts of which now wholly disappeared from the eye; darkness resting upon the face of the deep. But in the north, dark, gigantic forms elevated themselves threateningly, from the home, as it were, of eternal night. These two half circles, these two embraces, of light and darkness, which here inclosed the earth,—the earth with all its desires and all its agonies, this tranquilizing day, this “Ginnunga-gap,” this watchful, mysterious night, which inclosed these all in a ring—it was a sight, the effect of which is indescribable. It seemed to me that a brain not overstrong might become dizzy with this sight forever.
But I recommend all tourists, who love the forcible in color and effect, not to neglect, when on Rhigi, the scene after the sunset. I spent above half an hour totally alone, on the heights, and when I returned to the hotel, people were still sitting at table, eating and drinking and making a great noise, and the Tyrolese were still playing and singing.
After that, people went to bed. My room was a little attic, just large enough for a bed, a chair, and a table. There was also a large window, almost above my bed's head, and when I extinguished my candle, behold, a star beamed above me, so large and so bright, that it shone into my soul and I could not sleep. A starry heaven like that night on Rhigi, I never saw equaled. No wonder that it kept me awake, and
