round in the clear space thus
formed, as if delighted at its sudden release, hurried onwards. In
another place, where it was not so closely packed, a huge lump suddenly
grounded on a shallow; and in a moment the rolling masses, which were
hurrying towards the sea with the velocity of a cataract, were
precipitated against it with a noise like thunder, and the tremendous
pressure from above forcing block upon block with a loud hissing noise,
raised, as if by magic, an icy castle in the air, which, ere its
pinnacles had pointed for a second to the sky, fell with stunning
violence into the boiling flood from whence it rose. In a short time
afterwards the mouth of the river became so full of ice that it stuck
there, and in less than an hour the water rose ten or fifteen feet,
nearly to a level with the top of the bank. In this state it continued
for a week; and then, about the end of May, the whole floated quietly
out to sea, and the cheerful river gurgled along its bed with many a
curling eddy and watery dimple rippling its placid face, as if it smiled
to think of having overcome its powerful enemy, and at length burst its
prison walls.

Although the river was free, many a sign of winter yet remained around
our forest home. The islands in the middle of the stream were covered
with masses of ice, many of which were piled up to a height of twenty or
thirty feet. All along the banks, too, it was strewn thickly; while in
the woods snow still lay in many places several feet deep. In time,
however, these last evidences of the mighty power of winter gave way
before the warm embraces of spring. Bushes and trees began to bud,
gushing rills to flow, frogs to whistle in the swamp, and ducks to sport
upon the river, while the hoarse cry of the wild-goose, the whistling
wings of teal, and all the other sounds and cries of the long-absent
inhabitants of the marshes, gave life and animation to the scene.

Often has nature been described as falling asleep in the arms of winter,
and awaking at the touch of spring; but nowhere is this simile so
strikingly illustrated as in these hyperborean climes, where, for eight
long, silent months, nature falls into a slumber so deep and unbroken
that death seems a fitter simile than sleep, and then bursts into a life
so bright, so joyous, so teeming with animal and vegetable vitality,
and, especially when contrasted with her previous torpidity, so noisy,
that awakening from sleep gives no adequ