244 WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 
The day is beautiful, the purity of the atmosphere, 
the stillness of the open water, as it peeps now and then 
through the floating ice, reminds me of a day, two 
years ago, when hunting on this same broad stream, I 
saw a sight that held me spell-bound, and for a time 
mute with astonishment and admiration. 
There was a party of us camped for the night about 
four miles south of Bellevue. The first night it tarned 
cold, and the morning following the air seemed filled 
with frost. The slightest sounds were carried to almost 
phenomenal distances ; our voices, unusually clear that 
morning, seemed to possess increased strength and vol- 
ume. Conversation in ordinary tones echoed and re- 
echoed through the woods. When the sun rose the sky 
was cloudless: his bright rays pierced through the 
deep and almost impenetrable gloom; the frost disap- 
peared and rose in clouds of vapor, on every side, the 
trees were laden with the most beautiful frost I ever 
saw. Our first view was taken when in the mid- 
dle of the river, as we were slowly and gently sculling 
across. 
All at once as if some huge curtain was raised, the 
sun glared over the tops of the adjacent hills and the 
frost-laden trees were exposed to our view, as if by 
magic. We were west of an island, and had a distinct 
view of the lights and shadows caused by the sun shin- 
ing through the trees. In the darkest shadows the 
frost, dull and lifeless, had the appearance of hammered 
silver; then as the light grew stronger, the frost turned 
to a brighter silver, and when the full rays were turned 
on, it sparkled and scintillated in the morning light. 
No diamond ever showed more variable and brilliant 
hues than did the frost that morning, as it quivered 
