thing better than standing still.'

'Ay, ay, Sir.'

'Now we are ready. Let go! Away we dash; 'on for the Falls!' Gently, my
good horse, gently round this corner; now 'go ahead!' How do you like my
steed, Madam?'

'A rein-deer could not transact this little business better.'

'Is not this a glorious morning?'

'Vivifying to the utmost! How far we fail of becoming acquainted with the
face of nature, when we only come to look upon it in summer! It is as if
one should only look upon the human face in the hues of youth, and never
upon the gray head; on the brow where high thoughts have left their
impress; on the face which deeper and sterner knowledge, research,
patience, have made eloquent, while stealing away the rose. As for me,
though I am but a girl, I like to see sometimes an old man; one who in the
trial-hour of life has kept his integrity; and when the snows of age fall
on him, he gently bends beneath their weight, like those old cedars yonder
by the way-side, beneath their weight of snow. Wherever the eye can pierce
their white vesture, all is still deep spring-green beneath; unchanged at
heart--strong and true. So I like to look on you, Sere Leaf.'

'Thank you! You have a gift at compliments.'

'Summer reminds one of feeling and Lalla Rookh; Winter; of intellect and
Paradise Lost.'

'How your voice rings in this clear air! Do you know what Dean Swift says
a sleigh-ride is like? 'Sitting in the draft of a door with your feet in a
pail of cold water!''

'Abominable! libellous! Exhilaration and comfort are so blended in me
that---- But is not that the house?'

'Ay; here we are! Smoke from the chimney; some one is there to welcome us,
no doubt. Gently, my Bucephalus, through this gate! There comes the
landlord. Treat my horse well, if you please; we are going to the Falls.'

SCENE THIRD.

'Madam, are you ready for the woods?'

'Quite. How still the air is! Why don't you thank me for insisting on
coming? You have no gratitude. There's not two inches of snow on the
ground. It all seems piled upon these grand old trees. There! see that
tuft of it falling and now spreading into a cloud of spangles in the
sun-light which streams down by those old pines. Hark! the roar of waters!
The sound seems to find new echoes in these snow-laden boughs, and lingers
as if loth to depart.'

'This way, Madam; the trees are bent too low over the path to allow a
passage there. We are near the bank which overlooks the first