afforded by the natural
world is that of a complete and far-reaching ice-storm, locally known
as a glissade, transcending in delicate aerial fantasy the swiftly
changing faint green panorama of early spring or the amber hazes of
opulent autumn. A true and perfect glissade is comparatively rare;
like a fine display of the auroral arches, another wonder in the
visible universe, or the vast expanding and nobly symbolical rainbow,
it does not often occur, nor when it does, is it always a spectacle of
permanence as well as beauty. The conditions under which it develops
may frequently exist in the upper atmosphere, but to ensure the magical
and lovely effects which so singularly transform the plainest
landscape, these conditions must remain unchanged for a certain length
of time in order that the work of crystallization may be thoroughly
carried out. The movements and fluctuating currents of the air do not
often long maintain this tranquil and stationary poise, and
consequently we may sometimes witness attempts on the part of Nature to
create these distinctive and wondrous results which are quickly doomed
to thaw and oblivion. In the next place it follows that what we see so
seldom must greatly impress us because of its unfamiliarity and from
the fact that its evanescence renders its loveliness more precious; the
element of surprise increases our enjoyment, and all the more since the
materials in use are the oldest and most familiar in the world. Then,
to crown the work, there is not at any other season of the year or
during any variation of a winter climate, anything more soothing,
entrancing, more grateful and refreshing than the texture of the air
itself, the feeling of the air during the period of suspended
atmospheric action. It is not joyous, but it is better than joy.
There is nothing violent, nothing extreme; there is no dust, no flurry,
no glare. It is not cold but only pleasantly, smoothly cool, and the
final impression is one of temporary transportation to some calm
celestial region of infinite peace and purity.

Standing at the left of Poussette's church on the brink of the Fall,
the eye, on the Monday following Crabbe's ignominious return, would
have rested lovingly upon such a scene of enchantment. The great
triple ledges of water which formed the cascade were only partially
frozen, and the spray, still dashing in parts against the rocks and
bare branches standing around them, seemed to congeal in mid-a