138 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
panorama we had traversed: sky, mountains, horizon, all 
had disappeared; and as we strained our eyes from the 
edge of the Raima Gja across the monotonous grey level 
at our feet, it was almost difficult to believe that there 
lay the same magical plain, the first sight of which 
had become almost an epoch in our lives. 
I had sent on cook, baggage, and guides, some 
hours before we ourselves started, so that on our arrival 
we found a dry, cozy tent, and a warm dinner awaiting 
us. The rapid transformation of the aspect of the 
country, which I had just witnessed, made me quite 
understand how completely the success of an expedition 
in Iceland must depend on the weather, and fully ac¬ 
counted for the difference I had observed in the amount 
of enjoyment different travellers seemed to have de¬ 
rived from it. It is one thing to ride forty miles 
a-day through the most singular scenery in the world, 
when a radiant sun brings out every feature of the 
country into startling distinctness, transmuting the dull 
tormented earth into towers, domes, and pinnacles of 
gleaming metal,—and weaves for every distant summit 
a robe of variegated light, such as the “ Delectable 
Mountains ” must have worn for the rapt gaze of weary 
