After the vexations rehearsed in the preceding chapter, the light for some time was under my eyes, a glare and strange dazzle disturbed the forms and the colours of every object, and I had a sense of bewilderment which caused me to suffer both from fear and distrust. I was as a man who hath a malady upon him, and cannot tell in what way he is affected.

I rose with the dawn of day and walked abroad alone, though the winter was drawing her chains closer, and driving home her bars. I thought of what my wife had said about changing our residence, and sometimes I was inclined to yield to that suggestion, and then speculated as to where we should go. In the evening twilight I also rambled by myself, and often did not return until the moon was up, and the leading star of the night was muffling its lustre in the western mists and amidst the top boughs of the forest.

I was almost dejected, and my mind was saddened with dismay; I could give no sound reason, as things go with mortal man, for this alienation from all the interests in which I took so lively a part. I had but one truly consoling reflection—I was not obliged to abide at Judiville longer than suited my own purposes.

One afternoon I went forth by myself in the mood I have described, the complexion of my thoughts as pale as sickliness, and the condition of my spirits nervous and shaken. I turned my step towards the Falls, to which a tolerable path through the forest was by this time trodden out; and as I walked along, and heard the faroff roar of the cataract swelling through the stillness of the evening air, it seemed to me as if there was a solemn composure in Nature which I had never observed before; the calm and clear iciness of the air, had, as it were, a crystalline crispness in it; a something of winter felt but unseen.