satisfactory reason that Von Troil did not devote one chapter of his
work on "Iceland" to "snakes," because there were none such there. What
was now to be done? About the geography of my present abode I knew,
perhaps, as much as the public at large know about the Coppermine river
and Behring's straits. The world, it was true, was before me, "where
top choose," admirable things for an epic, but decidedly an unfortunate
circumstance for a very cold gentleman in search of a blanket. Thus
thinking, I opened the door of my chamber, and not in any way resolved
how I should proceed, I stepped forth into the long corridor, which was
dark as midnight itself.

Tracing my path along the wall, I soon reached a door which I in vain
attempted to open; in another moment I found another and another, each of
which were locked. Thus along the entire corridor I felt my way, making
every effort to discover where any of the people of the house might have
concealed themselves, but without success. What was to be done now? It
was of no use to go back to my late abode, and find it comfortless as I
left it; so I resolved to proceed in my search; by this time I had
arrived at the top of a small flight of stairs, which I remembered having
come up, and which led to another long passage similar to the one I had
explored, but running in a transverse direction, down this I now crept,
and reached the landing, along the wall of which I was guided by my hand,
as well for safety as to discover the architrave of some friendly door,
where the inhabitant might be sufficiently Samaritan to lend some portion
of his bed-clothes; door after door followed in succession along this
confounded passage, which I began to think as long as the gallery of the
lower one; at last, however, just as my heart was sinking within me from
disappointment, the handle of a lock turned, and I found myself inside a
chamber. How was I now to proceed? for if this apartment did not contain
any of the people of the hotel, I had but a sorry excuse for disturbing