I'm going to give that brain of yours and you will hold.

H.Podcraft.com.

To Mrs. Saval, England.

You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which

you have regarded with such evil forebodings.

I arrived here yesterday and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.

I am already far north of London and as I walk the streets

of Petersburg I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks which braces my nerves and

fills me with delight.

Do you understand this feeling, this breeze which has travelled from the regions towards which I am advancing

gives me a foretaste of those icy climbs.

Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydream has become more fervent and vivid.

I try, in vain, to be persuaded that the Pole is the seat of frost and desolation.

It ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight.

There, Margaret, the sun is forever visible. It's broad disk just skirting the horizon

and diffusing a perpetual splendour. There, for, with your leave, my sister, I will put some trust in preceding navigators.

There, snow and frost are banished, and sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land

surpassing in wonders and in beauty every region hitherto

discovered on the habitable globe.

Its productions and features may be without example, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those

undiscovered solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light.

That is the opening of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, a tale about a young neurosurgeon who inherits the castle of his grandfather,

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